My Short Story Book
[Illustration]
LIST OF THE SERIES
_Uniform in Price and Style_
_MY BIBLE STORY BOOK_
_MY SHORT STORY BOOK_
_MY WILD ANIMAL BOOK_
_MY FARMYARD STORY BOOK_
_MY NURSERY RHYME BOOK_
_MY NURSERY TALE BOOK_
[Illustration]
My Short Story Book
by
Olive Molesworth,
E. Nesbit,
L.L. Weedon, etc.
[Illustration]
Ernest · Nister · London ·
E · P · Dutton & Co. New York ·
No. 3233.
[Illustration]
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE SNOW WITCH _Louisa Molesworth_ 7
THE CHRISTMAS-TREE PUNCH _L. L. Weedon_ 12
THE GRATEFUL PEDLAR _E. Nesbit_ 16
THE LITTLE LOST DOLL _M. A. Hoyer_ 20
THE UNINVITED GUEST _Emily Bennett_ 24
THE WINGED FLOWER _E. Dyke_ 28
THE STUCK-UP RABBIT _E. Nesbit_ 30
APRIL SHOWERS _L. L. Weedon_ 32
THE STORY OF TOMMY _Constance Milman_ 35
THE NEW SHIP _L. L. Weedon_ 40
THE HAPPY LILY _E. Nesbit_ 44
CONTENTED CHARLIE _L. L. Weedon_ 47
OUR CAT’S TALE _E. Nesbit_ 50
DOING NOTHING _E. Nesbit_ 52
GREEDY TODDLES _L. L. Weedon_ 57
THE SANDMAN _Sheila_ 60
DODO’S KITTEN _L. L. Weedon_ 64
THE THREE WISHES _E. Nesbit_ 68
THE FASHIONABLE FUR _E. Nesbit_ 71
NELL’S SECRET _L. L. Weedon_ 77
HIDE AND SEEK _E. Nesbit_ 81
TWELFTH NIGHT FAIRY _L. L. Weedon_ 85
THE PEN FAIRY _E. Nesbit_ 89
THE LITTLE DANCING GIRL _L. L. Weedon_ 92
DOLLY’S VOYAGE _L. L. Weedon_ 96
THE LOVE MATCH _E. Nesbit_ 99
THE LITTLE GREEN MAN _E. Dyke_ 101
THE RUBBER FAIRY _E. Nesbit_ 104
THE PROUD GILT BUTTON _L. L. Weedon_ 106
THE GRATEFUL FAIRY _E. Nesbit_ 110
THE BUNCH OF VIOLETS _E. Dyke_ 114
THE PINK EGG _E. Nesbit_ 117
OUR BLACK CAT _E. Nesbit_ 120
THE MIRROR OF TRUTH _E. Nesbit_ 123
THE LITTLE BOY NEXT DOOR _E. Nesbit_ 127
[Illustration]
THE SNOW WITCH.
_THERE_ was skating on the ponds where the snow had been cleared; there
were icicles on the trees, nice blue, clear skies in the daytime, cold,
bright, wintry moonlight at night.
Lovely weather for Christmas holidays! But to one little five-year-old
man, nothing had seemed lovely this Christmas, though he was spending
it with his Father and Mother and his big sisters at Grandpapa’s
beautiful old country-house, where everybody did all that could be done
to make Grandpapa’s guests happy.
For poor little Roger was pining for his elder brother, Lawson, whom
he had not seen for more than four months. Lawson was eight, and had
been at school since Michaelmas, and there he had caught a fever which
had made it not safe for him to join the rest of the family till the
middle of January. But he was coming to-morrow.
Why, then, did Roger still look sad and gloomy?
“Stupid little boy,” said Mabel. “I’m sure we’ve tried to amuse him.
Why, Mamma let him sit up an hour later than usual last night, to hear
all those funny old fairy tales and legends Uncle Bob was telling.”
“Yes, and weren’t they fun?” answered Pansy. “I did shiver at the witch
ones, though, didn’t you?”
Poor little Roger! Pansy’s shivering was nothing to his! They had all
walked home from the Vicarage, tempted by the clear frosty moonlight,
and the hard, dry ground; and trotting along, a little behind the
others, a strange thing had happened to the boy. Fancy—in the field
by the Primrose Lane, through the gateway, right in a bright band
of moonlight, _he had seen a witch_! Just such a witch as Uncle Bob
had described—with shadowy garments, and outstretched arms, and a
queer-shaped head, on all of which the icicles were sparkling, just as
Uncle Bob had said. For it was a winter-witch he had told the story
about, whose dwelling was up in the frozen northern seas; “the Snow
Witch” they called her.
[Illustration]
Cold as it was, Roger was in a bath of heat, his heart beating wildly,
his legs shaking, when he overtook his sisters. And the night that
followed was full of terrible dreams and starts, and misery, even
though nurse and Baby were next door, and he could see the nightlight
through the chinks.
If it had not been that Lawson was coming—Lawson, who never laughed at
him or called him “stupid little goose”; Lawson, who listened to all
his griefs—Roger could not have borne it. For, strange to say, the
little fellow told no one of his trouble; he felt as if he could _only_
tell Lawson.
No wonder he looked pale and sad and spiritless; there was still
another dreadful night to get through before Lawson came.
But things sometimes turn out better than our fears. Late that
afternoon, when nursery tea was over and bed-time not far off, there
came the sound of wheels and then a joyful hubbub. Lawson had come!
Uncle Bob had been passing near the school where he was, and had gone a
little out of his way to pick him up. Everyone was delighted—though of
them all, _none_ so thankful as Roger.
“Though I won’t tell him to-night,” decided the unselfish little
fellow, “not to spoil his first night. I shan’t mind when I know he’s
in his cot beside me.” And even when Lawson asked him if anything were
the matter, he kept to his resolution.
But he awoke in the middle of the night from a terrible dream; Lawson
awoke too, and then—out it all came. “I thought she was coming in at
the window,” Roger ended. “If—if you look out—it’s moonlight—I think
_p’r’aps_ you’ll see where she stands. But no, no; don’t—_don’t_; she
might see you.”
So Lawson agreed to wait till to-morrow. “You go to sleep,” he said.
“_I’m_ here, and you can say your prayers again if you like.”
Lawson was up very early next morning. When breakfast was over he told
Roger to come out with him. Down the Primrose Lane they went, in spite
of Roger’s trembling.
“Now, shut your eyes,” said Lawson, when they got to the gate. He
opened it, and led his brother through.
“Look, now!” he said, with a merry laugh. And what do you think Roger
saw?
An old scarecrow, forgotten since last year. There she stood, the
“Snow Witch”—an apron and ragged shawl, two sticks for arms, a bit of
Grandpapa’s hat to crown all—that was the witch!
“Shake hands with her, Roger,” said Lawson. And shake hands they both
did, till the old scarecrow tumbled to pieces, never more to frighten
either birds or little boys. “Dear Lawson,” said Roger lovingly, as he
held up his little face for a kiss. And happy, indeed, were the rest of
the Christmas holidays.
_L. Molesworth._
THE CHRISTMAS TREE PUNCH.
“YOU mustn’t go into the dining-room, children,” said Mother, popping
her head in at the school-room door.
“All right, Mother!” Jack and Dorothy and Eva called after her, but Jim
didn’t say anything.
He was the naughty boy of the family, and went by the name of “Jim the
Terrible,” and I am afraid he very often deserved his name.
When the others went to say good night to Mother, Jim paused outside
the dining-room door; it was open just the least little bit in the
world, and he peeped in and saw a wonderful tree, standing in the
middle of the room, laden with toys.
Right at the top hung a Punch doll, dressed in satin and tinsel, and
he shone and glittered so that Jim could see him better than the other
toys.
But his Mother called to him, so he could not wait to examine the tree
more closely.
When the children were in bed Jim made up his mind to lie awake, and
as soon as the others were asleep, he stole softly downstairs to have
another look at the Christmas-tree.
The room was a blaze of light now, and the Punch doll at the top shook
his staff at Jim as soon as he entered.
“Oh! you naughty boy,” he cried. “You Terrible Jim. What do you mean by
coming here when your Mother told you not to go near the dining-room!
I’ll teach you to disobey! Oh—o—o—o—! Go to bed! go to bed!”
All the while Punch was speaking he was growing larger and larger,
until at last he seemed as big as the giant in the pantomime, and then
he gave a terrific jump from the top of the tree, and began to chase
Jim upstairs.
Oh! how the little boy ran, with Punch close behind him all the time.
At length he reached the nursery, and with a bound sprang into his bed
and tucked the clothes up round him. There he lay trembling for ever
such a time, but when at length he ventured to peep out, the nursery
was quite dark, and Punch had evidently gone away, so he curled himself
up and went to sleep.
The next day when the children were called in to the forbidden room,
they simply danced and screamed with delight when they saw the
beautiful Christmas-tree.
At least all except Jim, for when he looked at the Punch doll on the
top of the tree, it seemed to him that it was frowning at him, and he
made up his mind _never_ to peep through cracks of doors again, when it
was forbidden him, however much he might want to know what was behind
them.
Now, before he had made this good resolution he had been thoroughly
miserable.
He could take no pleasure at all in the beautiful presents which Mother
gathered for them from the Christmas-tree, for all the time he was
watching the Punch doll to see if he would come down from his perch and
chase him upstairs again.
No sooner did he resolve to be a better boy in future than the
expression on Punch’s face changed in a most surprising manner: he
seemed almost to smile at Jimmy.
[Illustration]
Even when the tree was stripped of everything except Punch, and the
children were busy pulling the plums out of the big snapdragon Father
had lighted, Jimmy fancied the old fellow nodded his head at him once
or twice in a friendly fashion, and the little boy was so relieved and
happy that he clapped his hands for joy, and shouted with the rest.
_L. L. Weedon._
THE GRATEFUL PEDLAR
THERE was once a poor old pedlar who sold ribbons and brooches and
tapes and needles; his hair was long and his back was bent, and perhaps
he did look rather strange; but that was no reason why the boys should
have called him names and thrown stones at him as he went through the
village. At last a stone hit him on the forehead and he fell on the
dusty road, and the bad boys ran away, afraid of what they had done.
But one boy named Jack had seen the thing from a field some way off,
and now he came running up, and bathed the poor old man’s head and
spoke kindly to him, and when the pedlar was better he said: “You are a
good boy and you may have what you like out of my pack.”
Now, Jack did not like to take anything valuable out of a poor man’s
pack, so he looked at all the pretty things, and then he picked out an
old knife.
[Illustration]
The pedlar laughed. “You have chosen the most valuable thing I have,”
he said; “that knife will cut through iron or stone as easily as
through butter.”
“Oh! then,” said Jack hastily, “let me have these old spectacles.”
The pedlar laughed louder than ever.
“Those spectacles will make you see to any part of the world, and see
through stone or iron as easily as through glass,” he said; “there—take
both!”
And putting the two into Jack’s hand he vanished—and he did it quite
easily, because he was a magician.
So now Jack’s fortune was made; he could see where gold and precious
stones lay under the earth and he could cut away the rocks that covered
them as though they were butter.
So he was rewarded for his kind-heartedness.
But the greatest reward of all came to him when the Princess of that
land was carried off and hidden by an enchanter. And the King, after
vainly offering all sorts of other prizes, at last said that any man
who could find the Princess and set her free should marry her.
So Jack put on his spectacles and saw the Princess sitting crying in
a lonely tower. It was a year’s journey off, but he made the journey,
and wherever he was, he put on his spectacles again and looked at the
beautiful Princess, and that gave him courage.
At last he came to the tower, and with his magic knife he cut through
the iron door and set the Princess free, and with the same knife he
killed the wicked enchanter.
Then he took the Princess home in triumph and the grateful pedlar came
to the wedding-feast.
_E. Nesbit._
[Illustration]
THE LITTLE LOST DOLL.
SHE was lost as they went through the wood. How it happened nobody
quite knew, but they supposed she must have tumbled out of the
perambulator as Kitty pushed it through the ferns and long grasses, and
so poor Dolly was left there, lying on her back, staring up at as much
sky as was visible through the fern-fronds, and the foxglove leaves,
and the branches of the trees overhead.
Would they come back for her? The children’s voices and footsteps
grew fainter and fainter, till at last they died quite away in the
distance, and the robin began singing again on the branch over her
head. Presently the little bird caught sight of Dolly, and flew down
and looked at her with his bright eyes, and then a tiny field-mouse
ran round and over her with her little light paws—which must have
tickled, but still Dolly never moved, and a wise old beetle came out of
his hole, and twiddled his long whiskers as he peered at her curiously.
[Illustration]
“Sweet! sweet!” said the robin. “Who is she?”
“Twee! twee!” whispered the mouse. “I don’t know!”
“Hum, hu-um!” buzzed the beetle. “Why doesn’t she speak?”
But Dolly didn’t say a word!
Now, eventide came, and the sun grew tired, and put himself to bed
under a crimson-and-gold counterpane. The robin found a comfortable
twig on which to perch, and tucked his head under his wing. The mouse
went home to her babies, of whom she had six—all packed warm and tight
in a neat little nest hung on to a cornstalk in the next field. And the
beetle spread his shining wings and went for a fly round before he,
too, rolled himself in a roseleaf blanket and went to sleep! But Dolly
never closed her eyes!
Then the great stars lit their lamps, and looked down at her through
the fern-fronds, but if they said anything no one heard them—they were
too far off!
* * * * *
“Dolly, dear Dolly, where are you?” cried a little voice, and little
footsteps came pressing through the tall bracken fern.
But Dolly didn’t answer!
“Dolly! Dolly! Oh! I wish I could find my Dolly!” There were tears in
the little voice now, and the footsteps were more hurried. Yet Dolly
lay still!
The sobs grew louder and louder, the little feet almost touched Dolly
as she lay hidden under the big foxglove; then the little steps went
on, and the sobs grew fainter in the distance, and Dolly lay still
staring up at the sky!
So the days went by, and the winter came, and the falling leaves
drifted over Dolly, and the snow covered her, but she never moved nor
shivered—till one day in spring-time a great wind arose, which blew all
the dead dry leaves away in little rustling dances—and lo! John the
woodman caught sight of Dolly’s pink cheeks and blue eyes still staring
up at the sky!
“Why,” he exclaimed, “I do believe there’s little missie’s doll, as she
fretted so at losing!”
And he took Dolly home in his pocket!
_M. A. Hoyer._
[Illustration]
THE UNINVITED GUEST.
EFFIE was quite in distress about the spare room in her doll’s-house,
because she had no “visitor doll.”
[Illustration]
All the other rooms were occupied, for there were two smart maids
in the kitchen who were beginning to cook the dinner; then in the
dining-room there was a “mamma” sitting on the blue sofa, gazing at the
bowl of gold-fish. In the nursery, the three children were already put
to bed, and the poor, tired nurse rested by the bright coal-scuttle on
the floor. In the drawing-room, two gay dolls in ball-dresses sat by
the piano; but there was no one for the spare room!
“It seems a great pity,” said Mamma, “because you put all the
nicest things in this room, Effie—the wax candles, the pretty box of
chocolates, the lace curtains to the bed, and the dumb-bells; we must
try and think of someone to come and stay here.”
[Illustration]
“Mamma, do you think Rosie would lend me one of her dolls?” suggested
Effie.
“Supposing you write and ask her,” said Mamma.
Effie seemed to think this a good idea, but then she would have to
wait a few days, because her friend was away, staying at a farmhouse.
“Shall we put the china baby in,” said Mamma, “or is he quite one of
the family?”
“Oh, Mummy, he’s the youngest child of all!” replied Effie, shaking her
head.
“I am afraid he is too much of a baby,” said Mamma, looking into the
spare room, “and he might get into the shower-bath or open the door of
the bird-cage—perhaps it would be unsafe.”
Effie nodded.
“We will write to Rosie, then,” said Mamma encouragingly.
That night, when Effie was fast asleep, a little grey mouse peeped
through a crack in the nursery floor, and seeing that the room was
empty, she hurried into every corner to find some chance crumb of cake
or bread, but alas for her! the room had been too carefully swept, so
the hungry little mouse could find nothing for her supper.
Suddenly, she saw the dolls’-house, so she squeezed through the glass
door, which Effie had not quite shut, and very soon found her way into
the spare room.
“_The very thing!_” cried she to herself, whisking her tail with
joy. “Here is a nice little bed to sleep in, and a wax candle on the
dressing-table for supper! How lucky I am! this is indeed a nice house
to visit!”
The next morning, Effie ran to her dolls’-house and gave a little
scream. “Mummy,_ look_! there’s been a mouse in the spare room! It’s
eaten two of the candles—look!”
“That is not quite the guest you hoped for, is it, Effie?” said Mamma.
“No, but do you think it will come again to-night? Oh! I should like to
see it in the morning!” said Effie.
_Emily Bennett._
[Illustration]
THE WINGED FLOWER
A GAILY-TINTED little flower once lived in the corner of a field. No
other flowers grew near, and she often felt sad and lonely. But one day
a beautiful butterfly hovered over her head and began to talk to her.
Presently he alighted upon one of her leaves, and gazed admiringly into
her sweet face. The flower felt very happy, and said: “How good it is
of you to stop here and talk to me!”
“I must be going soon,” replied the butterfly. “How I wish that you
could fly away with me! You have no idea how delightful it is to flit
about in the air!”
“It must indeed be nice!” replied the little flower. “But I cannot fly,
for, as you see, I have no wings, and besides, my stalk holds me fast
to the ground. So I have to stay always in one place. I must just make
the best of it,” added she, trying to be brave, although her heart
ached at the thought of parting with her winged friend.
Then a kind little Fairy popped up out of the grass, and said: “I have
been listening to your talk. If you, fair flower, would indeed like to
fly away with your friend, I will give you a pair of wings like mine.”
Then the Fairy touched the flower with her wand, and she sprang from
her stalk, with two gauze-like wings to bear her up. She looked now
something like the butterfly, only even more beautiful. The two
friends flew away together over the fields, and the Fairy returned to
Fairyland, feeling very happy because she had been able to please the
little flower.
_E. Dyke._
[Illustration]
THE STUCK UP RABBIT.
THERE was once a little yellowy-brown rabbit, who was so proud that
there was no bearing him. He ran away from home and went to live with
some strange rabbits. “I have a right to be proud,” he said, “because
my parents are Belgian hares.” But he looked so exactly like the other
rabbits that no one believed him, and they turned him out for boasting.
So he went to live in the cucumber-frame, and as the gardener did not
notice him he had rather a good time of it. But presently the cucumbers
were all over, and then the gardener shut up the frame and went away.
And then the bunny grew hungrier and hungrier, and he cried aloud, but
no one would help him. “It serves him right for being so proud,” said
the other rabbits.
But his mother, who lived quite on the other side of the field, heard
him cry, and she came jumping on to the cucumber-frame with such
a bounce that she broke the glass and tumbled in. “Come home this
minute,” she said. “I’ll teach you to run away from home.”
As she took him past the strange rabbits they all called out: “Hullo,
Stuck-up, where are you off to?”
“He’s going home to his father and mother,” said Mrs. Bunny.
“But he said his father and mother were Belgian hares.”
“Belgian fiddlesticks!” said his mother. “I’ll teach him to be ashamed
of his family!” So she took him home by the ear. He’s quite a different
bunny now, and works hard to support his old father and mother, as all
good rabbits should.
_E. Nesbit._
APRIL SHOWERS.
TOMMY was a terrible tease, and poor little Mamie came in for most of
the teasing.
Tommy wasn’t really an unkind little boy, but he was very thoughtless,
and very often he led Mamie into all sorts of scrapes. One day he
persuaded her to play at Indians with him; he screwed up her hair into
tight knots, made her shut her eyes and then blacked her face. When the
little girl looked in the mirror over the mantelpiece and saw how ugly
she was, she ran out of the room, meaning to go to Nurse to be washed
clean again; but Tommy ran after her, and, just as she was passing the
drawing-room door, he gave her a push, and in she went, right into the
middle of a group of ladies who were visiting her Mamma. Oh! how angry
Mamma was, for she thought Mamie had done it on purpose.
But what hurt Mamie’s feelings the most was the way in which Tommy
treated her dolls. He didn’t like dolls himself, and he couldn’t
understand how his sister _could_ love a silly wax thing. But she did.
She thought Rosalind was the sweetest and loveliest of babies.
One day Tommy bought a penny squirt. He played for a long time at
storms at sea with it, sailing his boat on a big pan of water that
stood out in the garden, and squirting at it until it sank.
But he grew tired of this, and then he began to squirt Rosalind, as she
lay cuddled up in Mamie’s arms.
Poor Rosalind! Mamie tried hard to protect her, but in vain. “It’s only
an April shower,” said Tommy, laughing. “It won’t hurt her.” But dolly
was soon wet through, and the last remaining bit of pink on her cheeks
came off when Mamie dried her.
The next day Mamie told some of her friends of her troubles, and the
little girls put their heads together to think how they could punish
Tommy. “I know,” said Elsie Martin. And then there was a great deal of
whispering and laughing, after which the little girls parted.
Tommy was going out to tea that afternoon, and as he passed the end of
the garden wall, dressed out in his best, a sudden shower of water was
squirted all over him, spoiling his nice clean suit.
Tommy looked up in astonishment, for it was not raining; then he heard
a great deal of giggling and someone called out: “It’s only an April
shower; it won’t hurt you!”
Tommy didn’t say a word, but marched straight home, for he knew he
couldn’t go to his tea-party as he was. Mamie met him at the door. “I’m
so sorry,” she said, for she had already begun to repent of what she
had done. “Won’t you forgive me?”
“Never mind, Mamie,” said Tommy. “It served me right, and I’m sorry I
squirted Rosalind, and I’ll never tease you again.”
_L. L. Weedon._
[Illustration]
THE STORY OF TOMMY.
ONCE there was a little boy called Tommy. His Mother sent him one day
into the town to buy some needles. On his way home he got tired of
carrying them, so when he saw a hay-cart which he knew would pass his
Mother’s door he stuck the needles into a bundle of hay. When he got
home his Mother said: “Well, Tommy, and where are the needles?”
“Oh! Mother, they will be here directly. I was tired of carrying them,
so I stuck them into a hay-cart which is coming this way, and it will
soon be here.”
“Oh, you stupid boy, Tommy! you _stupid_ boy! If you were tired of
carrying the needles you should have stuck them into your coat.”
“I’ll do better next time, Mother; I’ll do better next time.”
A few days after, his Mother said: “Tommy, will you go into the town
and fetch a pound of butter?”
Off went Tommy, bought the pound of butter, and put it all over his
coat. When he got home his Mother said: “Well, Tommy, and where’s the
butter?”
“I put it all over my coat, but the sun melted it.”
“Oh! you stupid boy, Tommy! You should have put it on a nice white
plate and covered it with a piece of white paper.”
“Oh! I’ll do better next time, Mother; I’ll do better next time.”
A few days after, his Mother said: “Tommy, Farmer Jones has given us a
little hen. Will you go and fetch it?”
“Oh! yes,” said Tommy. Off he went, fetched the little hen, and put it
on a white plate; but before he could put a nice piece of white paper
over it, it had flown quite away!
When he got home, his Mother said: “Well, Tommy, and where is the
little hen?”
“Oh! Mother, I did what you told me; I put it on a white plate, but
before I could cover it with a piece of paper it flew quite away.”
“Oh! you stupid boy, Tommy! You stupid boy! You ought to have put it in
a wicker basket and shut down the lid.”
“I’ll do better next time, Mother; I’ll do better next time.”
A few days after, his Mother said: “Tommy, there is a plum pudding for
dinner. Go and fetch a pound of brown sugar.”
Off went Tommy, bought the pound of sugar, and put it in a wicker
basket, and shut the lid down tight. When he got home his Mother said:
“Well, Tommy, and where’s the sugar?”
“Here it is, Mother, here it is.” And he opened the basket, but it was
quite empty, for all the sugar had tumbled through the holes in the
wicker-work!
“Oh! you stupid boy, Tommy! You should have put the sugar in a paper
bag and tied a piece of string very tightly round it.”
“I’ll do better next time, Mother; I’ll do better next time.”
Some time after, his Mother said: “Tommy, Farmer Jones has promised us
a dear little puppy dog. Will you go and fetch it?”
“Oh! yes,” said Tommy. So off he went, fetched the little puppy dog,
put it in a paper bag, and tied a piece of string _very_ tightly round
its neck. When he got home and opened the bag, the poor little puppy
was quite dead.
“Oh! you stupid boy, Tommy! You stupid boy! You should have tied a
string quite loosely round the little dog’s neck, and let it run after
you, and you should have called, 'Hi, little dog!’”
“I’ll do better next time, Mother,” said Tommy, crying.
A long time after, his Mother said: “Tommy, will you go into the town
and fetch a leg of mutton? Now, mind you bring it home very carefully.”
“Oh! yes,” said Tommy. So off he went, bought a leg of mutton, tied a
piece of string round it, and dragged it after him on the ground, and
said: “Hi, little dog! Ho, little dog!” and all the little dogs in the
town came after him and ate the mutton, and when he got home there was
nothing left but the bone!
When his Mother saw it, she said: “Really, Tommy, you are _too_ stupid;
you really are _quite_ a goose.”
A little while after, Tommy was nowhere to be found. His Mother hunted
everywhere for him; she cried “Tommy!” here and “Tommy!” there, but she
could not find him. As she was coming through the yard and crying and
calling, “Tommy! where’s my boy Tommy?” she heard a little voice that
seemed to come from the poultry-house: “Here I am, Mother; here I am!”
She opened the door, and there was Tommy sitting on the goose’s nest.
She asked him what he was doing, and he said: “Oh! Mother, you said
I was quite a goose, so I thought I had better come and sit on the
goose’s nest, and I’ve broken all the eggs!”
Wasn’t he a silly boy?
_Constance Milman._
THE NEW SHIP.
“WHERE are you off to, children?” said Mother. She was just stepping
into the carriage to pay a round of visits when Geoffrey and his sister
came running out of the house in a state of breathless excitement.
“We’re going down to the river to sail my ship, Mother,” said Geoffrey.
“I’ll look after Rosie and see that she comes to no harm.”
“My dear boy, I couldn’t think of letting you go by yourselves,” said
Mother. “Father will be home to-morrow, and then he will take you,” she
added, as she saw the children’s eager faces begin to cloud over. Then
she kissed them both, got into the carriage, and drove away.
[Illustration]
“It’s a jolly shame!” said Geoffrey crossly. “As if we should come to
any harm! Why, I’m as well able to take care of you as Father. Of
course I shouldn’t let you fall in.”
“Well, it’s no use,” sighed Rosie; “we can’t go, so we may as well
think of something else to do.”
A rebellious frown gathered on Geoffrey’s face. “I’m going to the
river,” he said; “I shall only stay a few minutes to see how the
'Dancing Polly’ sails. Mother will never know!”
Rosie hesitated a minute, but when she saw Geoffrey running down the
drive without her, it was too much, and off she went after him.
For a whole hour the children spent a most delightful time sailing the
“Dancing Polly,” but alas! the crew, which consisted of a wooden doll,
fell overboard, and in stretching over to rescue it Rosie lost her
balance and toppled into the river.
Geoffrey shrieked for help. “Rosie’s drowning! Rosie’s drowning!” he
cried, and in a moment someone came dashing down the bank, there was a
plunge, a moment of dreadful suspense, and then Rosie was lying on the
grass with Father standing over her. Yes, it was Father, who was a
captain in the Royal Navy, and who had come home from sea a whole day
before he was expected.
“However did your Mother come to let you two mites go off to the river
by yourselves?” said Father on their way home.
Geoffrey hung his head for a moment, and then, like a brave little man,
he told his Father all the truth.
“Ah! Geoff, my boy,” said his Father, “you’ll never make a sailor if
you can’t obey orders!”
And what did Mother say?
Why, not one angry word, for no sooner did Geoffrey see her than
he burst into tears, and Mother put her loving arms round him and
whispered: “My darling, I _know_ you won’t disobey me again!”
And Geoffrey never did.
_L. L. Weedon._
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE HAPPY LILY.
THERE was once a beautiful white Lily who lived in a green garden, and
had all the happiness of sun and dew that can come into a flower’s
life. Only one thing saddened her; now and then the gardener would come
and gather some of her sisters: he took them away, and she never saw
them again. One dreadful day the gardener came with a sharp knife and
cut the Lily’s stalk and carried her away in his hand. As she went she
shed bitter tears, and the gardener said: “What a lot of dew there is
in this Lily!”
When she was brought to the house she was placed in a tall green vase
and set by the bedside of a little sick child. When the child saw her
beauty his tired eyes lighted up with pleasure, and he cried: “Oh, the
dear Lily! Mother, when can I go out to see the other lilies growing?”
And from that moment he began to get better.
[Illustration]
“It was the Lily did it,” said his Mother, with tears of happiness. “He
was so tired that if the Lily had not come to cheer him, he might have
gone to sleep and never wakened here again.”
The Lily tried hard not to fade. She held herself up bravely, and
day by day the sick child looked at the Lily and grew stronger and
stronger. And at last a day came when he was well enough to be taken
into the garden to see the lilies growing, and when he was gone the
Lily drooped and drooped, for she felt that the end of her pretty green
and white life was near. But though she was sad, she was not sorry, for
she felt that she had done some good with her life. And as she drooped
there a white butterfly came fluttering in. “Oh, happy Lily!” he cried.
And she looked sadly at him. “I am not sorry—only sad,” she said.
“Sad,” he said; “do not you know what happens to all flowers who are
able to help and comfort any little child? When they die, they turn
into fairies and can fly for ever through all the green gardens of the
world. The other flowers will only be flowers next year, but you will
be a fairy.”
And as he spoke the Lily died and became a fairy, and she and the
butterfly spread their white wings and flew out into the sunshine
together.
_E. Nesbit._
CONTENTED CHARLIE.
NO one bothered about Charlie; he was so happy and contented that the
other children half thought he really _preferred_ broken toys to whole
ones. He toddled through life with a happy smile on his face, made a
gee-gee of the old bench in the back-yard, and never once envied Tommy
his fine new Dobbin.
It was not only in the matter of toys that Charlie failed to receive
his just share. When black Biddy had a brood of seven chicks, and each
of the children claimed one as a special pet, it was the lame one that
was called Charlie’s. One day, Mother found her little lad sitting by
himself on the doorstep, with Hopperty, as the lame chick was called,
huddled up in his pinafore. “What’s the matter, Charlie boy?” said she,
for she noticed that the little cheeks were very white and the pretty
blue eyes heavy.
“My head’s so funny, Mother!” said Charlie.
The next day there were six children playing in the field behind the
house, and one little boy lay tossing on his bed upstairs.
Now, you would have thought that amongst so many children one would
scarcely have been missed, but _Charlie_ was. The children felt as
though they could not play, now that he was not with them. Then they
remembered what a sweet, unselfish little fellow he had been.
“We gave him the lame chicken!” said Dora regretfully.
“I never once offered him a ride on Dobbin,” sighed Tommy.
“I don’t think any of us were _very_ kind to him,” said Alice. “He was
so contented that we thought anything would do for him.”
The week that Charlie was ill was the most miserable the children had
ever spent, and when at the end of that time the Doctor said the worst
was over and Charlie began to mend, there was _nothing_ his brothers
and sisters would not have given him, they were so thankful. The
chickens were secretly carried up to Charlie’s bedside, but Mother said
she could _not_ have the sick-room turned into a poultry-yard.
“But we gave him the lame chicken,” the children pleaded; “and oh!
Mother, we _are_ so sorry!”
“Well,” said Mother, “he loves Hopperty best now; but, my darlings,
Charlie will be down amongst you all soon, I hope, and then you must
remember to try and be as unselfish to him as he has always been to
you.” The children did not forget Mother’s words, and as for Charlie,
he is the happiest little boy in the world, and the other children are
all the happier too, I know, for having learnt to be a little more like
their unselfish little brother.
_L. L. Weedon._
[Illustration]
OUR CAT’S TALE.
THIS is a true story, but you needn’t believe it unless you like. It
happened to a cat I know, who has never said anything untrue in her
life. One day when this cat had gone down to the sea to bathe, she
was standing on the steps of her bathing-machine looking at the sea
and wondering whether it would be cold—as I daresay you have often
done—when she saw something golden and gleaming in the water. She
thought it was a fish, and dived into the water at once. But it was no
fish; it was a yellow sea-cat, with fins and a fish’s tail—a sort of
cat-mermaid.
The cat who told me the story said that the sea-cat took her by the
paw and led her down into the deep parts of the sea and showed her
wonderful things. Everything in the sea-cat’s world is just the
opposite of what it is here. Whatever is wet here—milk, for instance—is
dry down there; and whatever is dry here—such as a cat’s bed—is wet
there.
But I never allow my friend the cat to talk much of this adventure. Not
because I don’t believe her; but because I think it may make her proud
if she talks too long about the wonderful things she saw there. Anyhow,
I don’t see how you can doubt a cat’s word. A cat hasn’t any words, do
you say? No—that’s just it.
_E. Nesbit._
[Illustration]
DOING NOTHING.
TOMMY would not learn his lessons. He wouldn’t do his sums, he upset
the ink over his geography book, and smashed his slate. He tore a leaf
out of his grammar and made a paper boat of it. He ought to have been
punished, but he wasn’t, because his Mamma thought that dear Tommy must
be ill or he wouldn’t behave so badly; so, thinking the fresh air would
be good for him, she asked him to pick her a bunch of buttercups out
of the meadow, but Tommy said he would rather not—he didn’t want to do
anything ever again.
Tommy was not a bad little boy generally, but sometimes the idle fairy,
who is no bigger than a grain of mustard-seed, though very strong,
sat in his ear and whispered naughty things to him. He threw all his
lesson-books in a heap on the school-room floor, and went out to the
orchard, where he ate seven big apples one after the other, and lay on
his back looking up at the apple-trees, and trying to feel glad that he
had had his own way. Presently he sighed.
[Illustration]
“What do you want?” said a voice, and Tommy saw a little red-cheeked
man in a green cap, swinging on one of the apple boughs and looking at
him.
“I only want to do nothing,” whined Tommy; “it’s very hard they won’t
let me.”
“Oh, if that’s all,” said the little man, “come with me,” and, taking
Tommy’s hand, he led him through a convenient little door which opened
in the trunk of the apple-tree. It led straight into the most beautiful
garden in the world.
“Now then,” said the little man, “do nothing as hard as you like.” And
he plumped Tommy down on a grassy bank.
Presently a troop of merry children came by with balls and hoops. Tommy
jumped up to catch a golden ball that rolled his way.
“Lie down, sir,” said the little man, for all the world as though he
had been a dog, Tommy thought; “you wanted to do nothing, remember!”
“I meant no lessons,” said Tommy.
“You didn’t say so,” said the little man. “Besides, all those children
have done their lessons, or they would not be allowed to stay here.”
Some more children came by riding on white ponies. One pony had no
rider. Tommy started up. It would be lovely to ride that long-tailed
pretty little pony.
“Lie down, sir,” said the apple-man crossly; “you came here to do
nothing and I’m going to see that you do it.”
[Illustration]
“I am doing something anyhow,” said Tommy suddenly. “I’m sitting down.”
“All right,” said the apple-man; “we’ll soon settle that;” and a strong
hook suddenly caught Tommy by the back of his clothes and hung him up
in the air. “Now you are not doing anything, anyway,” said the little
man; “the hook is doing the work.”
Imagine being hung up by a hook just out of reach of everything,
while long processions of little green men came and offered you all
the things you wanted most in the world—cricket-bats and ferrets,
paint-boxes and hard-bake, guinea-pigs, catapults, and white mice,
marbles, buns, and sheaves of letters with valuable foreign stamps on
them. Tommy cried with rage, but the little apple-man only laughed, and
kept saying: “How do you like doing nothing, eh!—jolly, isn’t it?”
Then he saw his Mother coming along the path, and to his horror he saw
that a leopard was slinking after her. He called aloud, but she did not
hear.
“Oh, let me go and drive the leopard away,” he cried to the little
green man; “it will eat my Mammy—I know it will. Oh, Mammy, Mammy!”
but she did not hear, and the little man said: “Oh, nonsense! if you
haven’t got the pluck to master a simple addition sum, you can’t master
a leopard, you know”; but Tommy struggled so hard that the hook gave
way and he fell with a bounce on the orchard grass. He rushed off to
find his Mother. To his delight she was safe, and there was no leopard
about in the house or garden.
He threw his arms round her neck. “Mammy,” he said, “I do love you so.
I’ll learn everything and do everything you tell me.”
“Ah!” thought his Mother, “the fresh air has done him good.”
But it was not the fresh air; it was the little apple-man.
_E. Nesbit._
GREEDY TODDLES.
TODDLES was a greedy boy. If ever he had a cake or and orange, he would
go away by himself to eat it, so that he might not have to give any
away. He was a _very_ greedy boy.
One day he sat on the fence at the end of his mother’s garden eating a
slice of bread-and-butter, and an old crow flew down from a tree close
by and looked at the food longingly.
“I’m hungry,” said the crow, for Toddles lived in the land where birds
can talk. “Give me a few crumbs of your bread.”
But the greedy boy took no notice; he just went on eating the
bread-and-butter and never offered the bird a crumb. Then the hungry
crow turned upon him angrily, and pecked his bare legs until he
screamed with pain. Down the garden path ran Toddles, and the crow ran
after him. At each step the boy seemed to dwindle and grow smaller,
whilst the crow grew and grew, until he was larger than the largest
eagle. Then he made a peck at Toddles, caught him up in his beak, and
flew away with him, and put him into a cage that hung from the topmost
branch of the tallest tree. “There you shall stay,” he said, “until you
have learned to be a better boy.”
[Illustration]
It was dreadfully uncomfortable in the cage, and Toddles cried and
screamed until he made himself quite ill, and the crow sat on the
branch beside him and teased him and laughed at him the whole day long.
When the next morning came, the bird gave him a piece of bread and left
him. He had just begun to eat it, when a little voice beside him piped,
“Give me a crumb!”
It was a little Jenny Wren, and she looked so pitifully at the boy
that he broke off a corner of his food and gave it to her. Toddles
could have eaten it up in no time, he was so hungry, but just as he had
commenced he heard a little dog barking on the ground below. It was a
thin, starved little creature, and Toddles, whose heart was growing
much softer, broke his morsel of bread in two, and threw half to the
dog. The next morning the little boy was very hungry indeed, and the
food that was given him was less than ever. Just as he was going to
eat it, he heard a child crying, and, peeping between the bars of his
cage, he saw a little hungry child. She had had no food for days, she
said, and Toddles was so sorry for her that he dropped her the whole
of his breakfast. Then the crow came swooping back, opened the door of
the cage, and taking the little fellow in his beak, flew back with him
to his mother’s garden, and dropped him on the fence where he had first
found him.
“You have learnt your lesson, Toddles,” said he, “so there is no need
to punish you any more.” And Toddles _had_ learnt a lesson, for he was
never greedy again.
_L. L. Weedon._
THE SANDMAN.
“WILL you get out of my way, lumbering elf? This is the third night I
have tumbled over you.”
[Illustration]
“Softly, good Father Sandman, softly! If you were not so blind you
would have seen me. Have you put all your children to bed, old Father
Sandman?”
“Go along for a teasing, impertinent imp!”
Pipistrello laughed shrilly as he swung himself to and fro on the
branch of a low shrub, chanting—
“Close, little eyelids, close up tight, for the Sandman’s come to town!”
The old fellow had gone into his cave; it was nearly dark now. Boum!
An old brown shoe came flying out, and, catching the elf as he swung,
toppled him neatly on to the grass beneath. He was not hurt, for the
Sandman goes very softly shod, that the children may not hear him. But
he was extremely angry. “Very good!” he cried, shaking his morsel of a
fist; “to-day you, Father Sandman, and to-morrow me! Mark my words, you
will be sorry for it before the moon is many nights older.”
A chuckle was heard coming from the cave, and that was all. Pip went
off, meditating revenge. In the middle of supper he snapped his fingers
gleefully. “The very thing,” he cried; and he began to hum; “Close,
little eyelids, close up tight, for the Sandman’s come to town!”
Old Father Sandman was hunting about his cave in a fine state of mind.
“Ach! where is my bag of sand? Where can it have gone? It is the
children’s bedtime; the Nurses and the Mammas will be wondering where I
am! My sand-bag, my precious sand-bag—oh, if I could but find it!” The
poor old gentleman trotted to and fro, and seemed nearly distracted.
“I wish I could help you,” said a bat, who generally shared his cave;
“I have been asleep all day, you know, and have seen no one.”
“If you will let me ride on your back,” cried the old fellow eagerly,
“I might catch my brother Sandman, who lives the other side of the
wood, before he goes out. He would lend me some sand, perhaps.”
“Come along then,” said the bat.
But the second Sandman declined to help. Poor Father Sandman got back
to his cave, and there was Pip swinging on the same branch as before,
and looking very malicious. “I believe,” gasped the old gentleman,
“that it is you that stole my sack!”
Pip laughed, and skipped out of reach, crying: “My turn to-day, Father
Sandman.”
But although mischievous, he was not a bad-hearted sprite, and
presently he went and fetched the sand-bag. Then he made a bargain.
“Father Sandman, will you say you are sorry?”
“Pipistrello, I will say I am sorry,” was the reply.
“And you won’t bear malice?”
“I will not bear malice—give me my bag.”
“One thing more. Will you let all the children sit up half an hour
longer in winter, and an hour in summer?”
“It can’t be done—well, perhaps, if I must—yes, then; but the babies
must go to bed a quarter of an hour earlier all the year round.”
“Please yourself about the babies,” said Pip. “Catch, Father Sandman!”
The next minute the old fellow, with his sack on his back, and a smile
on his face, was trotting off to the town.
_Sheila._
[Illustration]
DODO’S KITTEN.
YOU mustn’t go into the morning-room, Dodo—don’t forget, will you?
“No, Mother,” Dodo answered, but she didn’t seem very pleased. It
happened that she was a very curious little girl, and always liked
to know what was going on, and she was quite certain that something
interesting was taking place now.
Mary and Eric had just come out of the morning-room, whispering
together, and if Eric, who was younger than Dodo, might go in, she
thought it was very unkind of Mother not to let her.
Dodo was so cross that she sulked nearly all the afternoon, and was so
tiresome when nurse was dressing her to go down to the drawing-room,
that the other children were ready long before she was.
[Illustration]
But at last she trotted downstairs, with Spot at her heels—Spot
_always_ waited for Dodo—and as the two of them passed the
morning-room door, they both stopped.
Strange to say, Spot was quite as curious as Dodo. He sniffed at the
door, and whined, and wagged his short stumpy tail violently to and
fro. The little girl’s hand was on the handle of the door. Should she
turn it? Surely one little peep _couldn’t_ matter?
It always seemed to Dodo that the handle turned of its own accord. _I_
don’t think it could have done so, but at any rate the door opened a
little way, and out dashed a fluffy white kitten. In an instant Spot
was after it, and chased it down the hall and out into the garden.
[Illustration]
Dodo didn’t know what to do; she couldn’t very well run after Spot,
because just at that moment Mary called her.
“Be quick, Dodo; Mother wants you,” she said. So Dodo went into the
drawing-room feeling very guilty, and soon afterwards Spot came in,
licking his lips.
“Had he eaten the kitten?” his mistress thought, but she didn’t _dare_
say anything.
The next morning when Dodo came down to breakfast, she found all sorts
of nice presents laid out beside her plate.
“They can’t be for me,” she said, but Mother kissed her and said:
“Yes, they are, my pet. You surely haven’t forgotten that it is your
birthday? I am so sorry that I have no present for you, but yesterday
I bought you a little white kitten and shut it up in the morning-room.
Some one must have let it out, for we can’t find it anywhere.”
You can think how Dodo felt then. She grew redder and redder, and then
she burst out crying. After that she did the best thing she could have
done. She told Mother all about it, and Mother kissed and comforted
her, and forgave her, but she made her promise to try and not be so
curious or so disobedient again.
And before breakfast was over, what do you think happened? Dick, the
gardener’s boy, brought in a lovely white Persian kitten, that he had
found in the tool-house. Of course, it was Dodo’s, and it was the very
sweetest and dearest kitten in the world.
Spot was inclined to be jealous of the new pet, and was very naughty at
first, barking and snapping at it in a very rude manner; but in the end
even _he_ couldn’t help liking the pretty little fluffy thing. Before
a week had passed he and Snow became the very best of friends, and
he wouldn’t have chased that kitten for the meatiest bone in a whole
butcher’s shop.
_L. L. Weedon._
[Illustration]
THE THREE WISHES.
THERE were once two little white rats who lived in a hutch with wide
bars. They had plenty of soft hay to sleep in, and bread-and-milk at
the proper times. But they were dull, for they never saw the world, and
they had nothing to talk of in the long winter evenings. One winter day
a Fairy knocked at their door.
“I am cold and hungry,” she said, “and Fairyland is a long way off; I
can never get there in this snowy weather.”
“Come in,” said Mrs. Whiterat, and the Fairy crept in through the bars.
Mr. Whiterat gave the Fairy some bread-and-milk, and Mrs. Whiterat sat
close beside her in the hay—so that soon the Fairy felt quite warm and
cheerful again. And she lodged with the white rats all the winter, and
they were all three as happy as could be.