Bernice wakes up early because she can see the sun is shining and she is very excited to spend the day at the park with Bobby. Papa helps her to get a big breakfast and off they go to play. When Bernice is eating dinner she tells Mama Bear all about her day and the new friend she made. At bedtime Papa Bear tells her a story about Boo-Boo and a trip to the forest to meet Bixi.

Of course, no one but an elf would have appeared like that, just in time to say the right thing; so the children were not at all surprised when a particularly elfish elf came tumbling out of the hedge and perched himself on a thistle and winked at them.

“Do you mean to say you know where the kite has gone?” asked both the children, breathlessly.
“Look up there and see,” answered the elf, pointing to the sky.
The sky was covered with stars, hundreds and thousands of them, all twinkling round the moon just as Chloe had painted on the kite. Only, she could not help thinking that her stars had more shape and were decidedly more like stars than the real stars were; but this, she supposed, might be because the real stars were such a long way off. One of them was different from all the others; it had a long bright tail that glittered like a cracker at Christmas time, and it was scurrying across the sky at such a pace that the rest of the stars had to get out of its way as best they could. Most of the people who looked out of their windows that night thought they saw a comet; but Jerry and Chloe knew better.

“Oh,” they cried, clapping their hands with excitement. “There is our kite, and it is flying to the moon after all!”
“There’s no doubt about that,” said the elf, who was still winking at them from the top of the thistle.
“But why did it not fly to the moon this afternoon, when all the other boys were looking on?” asked Jerry, regretfully.
“Because there wasn’t a moon to fly to, of course!” answered the elf. “You shouldn’t expect too much, even from the biggest kite in the village. As soon as there was a moon, you see, away it flew.”

“Then, if I had painted the sun on it, instead of the moon, it would have flown away this afternoon!” exclaimed Chloe.
“Exactly so,” said the elf. “Now, what ever made you to paint a thing like the moon on anybody’s kite, eh?”

“Well, you see, the moon is so nice and easy,” explained Chloe. “All you have to do is to draw a circle round the biggest plate you can find; and then you take away the plate, and you paint in the eyes and the nose and the mouth, and there you are! You can’t do much more than that with three paints and a brush that’s got hardly any hairs, can you?”
“Yes, you can,” said the elf, “you can paint the sun, and that’s ever so much better than painting the moon—nasty, silly, chilly thing!”

“Oh, but you can’t paint the sun when you’ve only got three paints,” objected Chloe. “It takes ever so many more paints than that to make it shine properly; and even then, it doesn’t always.”
“Shine!” repeated the elf. “Who said anything about shining? When I say the sun, I mean the other side of the sun, of course. That doesn’t shine!”
He seemed so hurt about it that Chloe quickly said. “I’m very sorry,” she said. “Of course, I would like to paint your side of the sun very much, but it is a little difficult when I have never been there, isn’t it?”
“Perhaps it is,” admitted the elf; “but if that is all, I’ll take you there this very minute. Will you come?”

Chloe looked round; and there was Jerry still gazing up at the star with the long tail, that was causing so much commotion in the sky. Just then, it reached the moon and went straight into it with a big splash; and Jerry heaved a deep sigh.
That decided things for Chloe. “If you could,” she said, turning to the elf in a great hurry, “I think we would rather go to the moon.”
The elf instantly got upset. “What!” he exclaimed, shaking all over. “You would sooner go to the moon than the back of the sun? Well, I am sorry for you.”
Chloe was just going to say something else, when Jerry came. “You see,” he explained to the elf, “it’s not the moon we want, it’s the kite. And the kite has gone to the moon, unfortunately. I suppose I am glad it has gone,” he added rather doubtfully, “but I do wish it had waited to take me with it.”

“Oh, well,” said the elf, calming down a little, “if you are quite sure you don’t want to go to the moon, I shall have the greatest pleasure in taking you there. I’ll call a comet at once.” He put his fingers to his mouth and blew a whistle that was long enough to reach the sky. “Now that I come to think of it,” he continued thoughtfully, “it is a very good thing you did not want to go to Elfland, because we should have had to wait until the morning.”
“Why couldn’t we go to-night?” asked Jerry.
“Because there isn’t an Elfland to go to,” answered the elf, promptly. “When the sun goes down it takes the back of itself with itself, and there isn’t an Elfland again until the next morning. I wouldn’t be here now, if I hadn’t missed the last sunbeam this evening. That is the worst part of living in a place that disappears every night.”

“Oh, but it doesn’t disappear really,” said Chloe, who wanted to show that she knew a little geography; “the sun is shining somewhere else at this very moment, only we can’t see it.”
“Rubbish!” said the elf, scornfully. “Don’t you believe everything you’re told about the sun! Who said it didn’t disappear, eh? Has anyone ever gone after it to see?”
“N-no,” said Chloe, doubtfully, “but—”
“That proves it doesn’t go on shining, then,” said the elf, triumphantly.
“Here is our comet; jump in, or else we shall be late.”

Down swooped the great shining comet, and there it lay across the road, waiting for them to get on. The children climbed on to its broad glittering tail and held tightly to each other, while the elf got in front of them and stood like the man at the wheel, with his hand on the comet’s head; then up they flew at a terrific pace, right through the wonderful blue darkness that stretched all round them. Far above was the great land of light that lay round the moon; but the country of the stars came in between, and the stars were still so far off that they had not even begun to look like real stars.
“Afraid of the dark?” asked the elf over his shoulder.
“Oh, no,” said Chloe. This is a nice, friendly kind of darkness.”
“They are like real stars,” murmured Chloe, for she had begun to have serious doubts whether the stars she had painted on the kite were not wrong after all. It was very comforting to find that the stars that were whizzing past them in hundreds and thousands looked just like the stars she had been used to seeing on Christmas trees.
It grew lighter and lighter as they came nearer the moon, and even the stars began to look pale in the white light that was shining so close to the edge of their country. The stars were growing fewer, too, for stars naturally prefer to shine in a place where they can be seen. Then the elf gave another turn to the points of the comet, and it glided gently from the country of the stars into the pale white of the moon.
“It’s like being inside a great flame that isn’t hot,” whispered Chloe.
Even the elf had to admit that the country of the moon had something in its favour. “For those who like light,” he allowed, “the moon is very nice. For my part, I prefer Elfland, where there isn’t any light at all.”

“If you please,” Chloe said politely, “can you tell me when we shall get to the moon?”
“Why,” laughed the elf, “we are at the moon now!”
Chloe looked round her in bewilderment. “But where are the eyes and the nose and the mouth?” she asked.
The elf shook his head. “I am afraid,” he said seriously, “that you must have found them in the plate. Perhaps Jerry knows where they are.”
But Jerry was looking everywhere for something that was far more important. Some people might want to come all this way to look for the man in the moon, but for his part he intended to find the biggest kite in the village, the kite that had taken him so long to make. “Do you think we shall find it soon?” he asked impatiently.

Nobody answered him, for just then the comet came to such a sudden standstill that all three of them were nearly jerked off into the air. It was not the comet’s fault, however, for right in its way was Jerry’s kite; and it was lucky for everybody, that night, that there was not a bad accident.

“Why don’t you look where you are going?” asked the kite rudely.
Jerry was so astonished at being addressed in this manner by a thing he had made with his own hands, that he did not know what to reply. Just then a strange, clear voice from beyond spoke.
“Who is daring to make all this commotion in my country?” said the voice.

“Hullo!” muttered the elf, suddenly; “I was expecting that. Good-bye, children; I’m off!” And pointing his hands downward, he took a dive from the head of the comet and disappeared in the direction of the stars.
At the same instant, out from the pale white distance of the country of the moon glided a tall figure, as white and delicate and shimmering as the light that surrounded it.
“Is it—can it be the man in the moon?” whispered Chloe to the boy beside her.
Then the figure came closer, and they saw that it was a wonderful, mysterious-looking, white woman.
“I am the Lady of the Moon,” she said, in the same clear, cold voice. “Snow and stillness and space are wherever I go; when I smile, I make the whole world beautiful, but my smile takes the colour away from the flowers and the ripple away from the water and the warmth away from the sunshine.”
She looked round, and her eye landed on Jerry’s kite. “What is that creature doing in my country?” she demanded.

All the rudeness seemed to have gone out of the biggest kite in the village, for it lay there at the feet of the Lady of the Moon, and had not so much as a word to say for itself. Jerry, however, summoned up courage to answer for it. After all, it was through him that the kite was there, and he naturally felt bound to defend it.
“If you please,” he said, “it is my kite. I made it all by myself and Chloe painted the moon and the stars on it.”
“I am afraid,” said Chloe, quickly, “that the moon is not very much like the moon, but it was the best I could do with three paints and a brush that hadn’t any hairs. The stars are right,” she added anxiously.
The Lady of the Moon smiled. “Stars, indeed!” she observed. “What does it matter how the stars are painted? The moon is far more important, and you have made a regular muddle of that! And who told you children that you might come into my country, I should like to know?”

“The elf brought us,” explained Jerry. “He was here a minute ago, but he has just left.”
“No doubt he has,” said the Lady of the Moon, with a little laugh. “Elves know better than to come my way. I can turn their laughter into frost, and they don’t like that. As for you, unless you want to be stuck in the middle of the moon for the rest of your lives, you had better quickly head home again.”

Chloe was only too anxious to be off, for she had no wish to spend the rest of her life with someone like this. Jerry, however, did not mean to have his journey to the moon for nothing.
“Please, may I take my kite back with me?” he asked boldly. “I want to show the other boys and girls that it did fly to the moon after all.”
“That’s all very well,” objected the kite, “but I don’t want to go back among a lot of girls and boys who do not know how to appreciate me. When a fellow has once been a comet, you cannot expect him to end his days as an everyday kite.”
“Oh, well,” said the Lady of the Moon, gathering her cloak closely round her and stepping away from them, “settle that among yourselves.”
She had hardly finished speaking when a faint gleam of pink pierced the white light around her and touched the edge of her cloak. She gave a cry, and waved her arms about her in the greatest excitement.
“Go, go, go! Dawn is coming, and you will be stuck on the moon,” she said to them. “Go, go, go!”

Chloe began to feel worried but Jerry had a sudden inspiration.
“Jump, Chloe, jump!” he shouted, seizing her by the arm and springing away from the comet.

“Now,” said Jerry sternly to his kite, “you’ve just got to take us home straightway without any more fuss! If you want to stay you can come back again and be a comet for the rest of your days, but first you will show the village that you know how to fly. Now, down you go!”
Evidently, the kite felt that there was some sense in Jerry’s words, for it made no further objections, but sailed swiftly out of the country of the moon just in time. The downward journey was much simpler than the one of the night before, for the sun was rising as fast as it could, and the stars were disappearing so quickly that there were hardly any of them left to get in the way. This was a very good thing, for, as I said before, Jerry’s kite had not been trained to be a comet, and it takes a good deal of steering to get through the countries of the sky without any problems.

The sun was shining brightly, and the birds were singing, and the children were laughing on their way to school, when Jerry and Chloe at last reached home on the biggest kite in the village.

“Oh, oh!” cried all the boys and girls, rushing up to them in great excitement. “Here’s Jerry and Chloe, they have been sailing about on the biggest kite in the village! Where have you been, Jerry?”
Jerry smiled and waved them all back with his hand.
“Where do you think?” he asked. “Didn’t I tell you my kite was going to the moon?”
Then Jerry went home for breakfast; but Jerry’s kite sailed back to the countries of the sky, and it has been a comet ever since.

Jerry had made the biggest kite in the village; and Chloe, the woodcutter’s daughter, had painted a big round moon on it and several stars as well. That alone was enough to show that it was by no means an ordinary kite; so it was no wonder that Jerry felt very proud of himself when he ran on to the village green to fly it.
“Stand back, all of you!” he said, as the girls and boys came crowding round him. “Now, you shall see my kite fly to the moon!”

No doubt, Jerry was inclined to make quite enough fuss about his kite; but it is not every day that one has a chance of flying the biggest kite in the village, especially when one is only seven years old. He felt very sad, however, when he found that his kite had no intention of flying to the moon. Every time he threw it into the air, back it fell again on the grass; and although he tried again and again, and used yards and yards of the very best string that his money could buy, anyone could see that something was decidedly wrong with the biggest kite in the village.

Jerry turned red, and blinked his eyes, and reminded himself desperately that he was seven years old. It was certainly hard to have spent so many days making a kite that would not fly in the end.
“Silly thing!” he muttered crossly. “If I had the chance, wouldn’t I fly to the moon! Kites don’t know when they are well off!”
Jerry was upset and threw himself down on the ground and kicked and yelled.
“What is the use of a kite that won’t fly?” they said. “Take it home, Jerry, and make it the same size as other people’s kites! And mind you let us know what the moon is like, when your kite gets there!”
Jerry got onto his feet again. “Some day,” he shouted, “I will show you all.”
“When will that be, Jerry?” cried all the boys and girls.
“When my kite has flown to the moon,” answered Jerry, in a determined tone; and he picked up his kite there and then, and marched off to the school to find Chloe, the woodcutter’s daughter.

“Hullo, Chloe!” he said, popping his head in at the schoolroom window. “Haven’t you finished that yet?”
Chubby looked up with a sad face. After painting a moon and several stars on the biggest kite in the village, it was not pleasant to be kept in school just because seven would not go into sixty-three.
“I shall never finish it, Jerry, never!” she said with a sigh.
“Chloe,” said Jerry, seriously, “you’ve been crying.”
Chloe rubbed her eyes quickly with her two fists. “I don’t think so,” she replied in a muffled tone; “it was just three tears that trickled down my nose; but that isn’t crying. You know it isn’t, Jerry!”
Jerry rubbed his own eyes a little guiltily.

“My kite wouldn’t fly,” he remarked, and tried to look as though he did not care a bit.
“What!” cried Chloe. “Your kite wouldn’t fly? Then I didn’t need to cry at all.”
Jerry clambered on the window ledge and sat there with his legs swinging to and fro. He wished Chloe would not talk so much about crying. “All the string got mixed up,” he explained with dignity; “I expect that was it.”
“I don’t,” said Chloe, decidedly; “it was because the tail was too short. I told you that, all the time.”

No doubt there was something in what she said, but reasons are not much good when you are seven years old and your kite won’t fly, and Jerry was not in a mood to be trifled with.
“If you know so much about it,” he retorted, “you’d better come and fly it yourself.”
“I only wish I could,” sighed poor little Chloe. “If you’ll tell me how many times seven goes into—”
“Oh, don’t,” interrupted Jerry, crossly. “How can I do math when my kite won’t fly?”
Then he flung himself down from the window ledge, and started off to find someone who would tell him why his kite would not fly. Half-way down the village street, he met a fine black raven.

“Good day to you,” said Jerry, who knew that ravens could explain most things if they chose. “Can you tell me why my kite won’t fly?”
“Caw, caw!” croaked the raven. “Nine times, Jerry, nine times! Caw, caw!”
“I wonder what he means,” thought Jerry, and trudged on a little farther. Soon he met a sheep. Now, sheep do not know much as a rule, but they are always extremely anxious to tell what they do know. So Jerry asked her at once why his kite would not fly.
“Baa, baa!” said the sheep. “Nine times, Jerry, nine times! Baa, baa!”
“Everybody is going mad this afternoon,” thought Jerry; and he went on a little farther. Just at the end of the village, a large beetle came buzzing round his head.
“Buz-z-z!” hummed the large bettle. “Nine times, Jerry, nine times! Buz-z-z!”
“Oh, go away!” cried Jerry, impatiently. “What do you all mean by nine times?”

The beetle did not go away an inch, but buzzed closer to Jerry’s head than before. “Buz-z-z,” he hummed; “nine times, Jerry, nine times, nine times, nine times, nine times—”
All at once, the beetle’s meaning entered Jerry’s head, which was hardly to be wondered at, considering how close his head was at that moment to the beetle.
“Of course it’s nine times!” he cried. “Why didn’t I think of that before?” Then he turned round and dragged his kite all the way back to the school, where Chloe still sat sighing over her math.

“It goes nine times exactly, Chloe,” he told her through the window; “so now you can come and help me to carry this great big kite.”
“Where are we going, Jerry?” asked Chloe, when she had finished her Math and joined him.
“We are going out into the world, to discover the reason why my kite won’t fly,” answered Jerry; and between them they picked up the biggest kite in the village and carried it out into the world.
“How are we going to discover why your kite won’t fly?” asked Chloe, when they had walked a good way. She had had no dinner and was beginning to feel remarkably hungry.
“We will ask everybody we meet,” said Jerry, who had had his dinner and was therefore not at all hungry. “There is sure to be someone in the world who can tell us, and we will not rest until we find him.”

“We haven’t met anybody yet,” remarked Chloe, rather sadly. “How long do you think we will have to go on walking before we find the right person?”
“Perhaps for years and years,” answered Jerry, cheerfully. “But if we are quick, we may meet them sooner than that.”
He quickened his steps as he spoke, and Chloe had to run a little to keep up with him. It was beginning to grow dark now, and the country seemed more and more bare.
“The world is not as full of people as I expected to find it,” said Jerry, in a disappointed tone. “I do hope we shall soon meet someone who will know why my kite won’t fly.”

Just then, he thought he heard something from behind that sounded like a sob. Sure enough, there was Chloe, wiping her eyes with the corner of her shirt.
“I’m so hungry,” she sobbed. “I want my dinner. Can’t we go home, Jerry, and put off seeing the world until to-morrow?”
Jerry looked at her and sighed. If it had been any one but Chloe, he would most certainly have grumbled at her. As it was, he only propped up the kite against the hedge and made her sit down beside it.
“I am afraid I don’t know the way home,” he said; “but if you will wait here, I will go and get you something to eat.”

He was not at all sure where he was going to find it, but he hastened along the road as fast as he could and hoped he would soon come to a house.

Long before he came to a house, however, he came to a man, a little old man, who was carrying a large sack on his shoulder. As soon as he saw Jerry, he swung the sack on to the ground and began untying the mouth of it.
“Well, my little fellow,” he said in a friendly tone, “what do you want out of my bag?”
“That depends on what you have got in your bag,” answered Jerry, promptly.
“I have everything in the world in my bag,” replied the little old man, “for everything is there that everybody wants. I have laughter and tears and happiness and sadness; I can give you riches or poverty, sense or nonsense; here is a way to discover the things that you don’t know, and a way to forget the things that you do know. Will you have a toy that changes whenever you wish, or a book that tells you stories whenever you listen to it, or a pair of shoes in which you can dance from boyhood into youth? Choose whatever you like and it shall be yours; but remember, I can only give you one thing out of my bag, so think well before you make up your mind.”
Jerry did not stop to think at all. “Do you have something to eat in your bag, something that will please a hungry little girl who has had no dinner?” he asked.
The little old man smiled and pulled out a small cake about the size of Jerry’s fist. It did not look as though it would satisfy any one who was as hungry as Chloe; but as the old man disappeared, sack and all, the moment he had given Jerry the cake, it was not much good complaining about it. So back trotted Jerry to the place where he had left Chloe; and to his great relief her face beamed with joy as soon as she had eaten one mouthful.
“What a beautiful cake!” she cried; “it tastes like strawberry jam and toffee and ices, and all the things I like best. And see! as fast as I eat it, it comes again, so that I shall never be able to finish it. Take some, Jerry.”
“Why,” said Jerry, as soon as he had taken a bite, “it tastes like currant buns and ginger-beer and all the things I like best. It is certain that we shall never be hungry as long as we have a fairy cake like this.” Then he told her how he had come by it.
“Perhaps,” remarked Chloe, “the little old man could have told you why your kite wouldn’t fly.”
“Perhaps he could,” said Jerry, carelessly, “but I didn’t think to ask him. We’ll come along and ask the next person instead.”

When, however, they looked round for the kite, it was nowhere to be seen. The moon came out obligingly from behind a cloud and helped them as much as it could; but although they searched for a long time, not a trace could they find of the biggest kite in the village.
“Oh dear, oh dear!” sighed Chloe. “Perhaps I went to sleep while you were away, and somebody came along and took it. But I thought I stayed awake, Jerry; I did indeed!”
“And so you did, to be sure!” cried a voice from the hedge; “but you would have to be very wide awake to keep that kite from giving you the slip, as soon as the moon came up!”

Kit started out on his travels once more; and no sooner did he get outside the city gates than he began to whistle his wonderful tune, and down swept all the birds of the air in hundreds, and they flew in front of him as before and led him to the very edge of the enchanted forest. There they left him, for no one can help anybody to go through an enchanted forest, and Kit knew quickly enough that he must find the Princess by himself. He was not a bit afraid, though, and he plunged straight into the wood without looking back.
He had not taken two steps before he had completely lost himself. The trees were Soso thick overhead that not a streak of sunshine was able to get through, and the forest was so full of wild beasts that it was impossible to walk five yards without tumbling over a lion or a bear. But this did not frighten Kit at all, for he had learned to talk the language of the woods all the time that the other boys were knocking one another on the head; and so he soon made friends with every animal in the forest, and they told him the best places to find apples and nuts and blackberries, and the bees brought him the very best honey they could make, and he grew so happy and so contented that he quite forgot he was enchanted and could not escape if he wanted to.

But it is impossible to be happy for long when one is bewitched; and, one day, Kit found himself in a part of the forest that was more horrible than any dark passage that was ever invented. It was not only dark, but it was strangely silent as well; and a curious feeling of gloom and unhappiness suddenly crept over Kit. If it had been a nice sort of silence, the sort we find when we get away from the other boys and girls into a place where it is quiet enough to hear the real sounds of the air, Kit would still have been quite happy; but here there was nothing to be heard at all, not even the brushing of the leaves, nor the blooming of the flowers, nor the growing of the grass. But the most frightening thing of all was when he clapped his hands together and stamped as hard as he could on the ground, he didn’t make a sound; and when he tried to speak, he found he could only whisper; and when he burst out laughing, he made no more noise than if he had been smiling. Still, he kept his wits about him, for, of course, there was the Princess to be rescued, and at last he thought of trying to whistle. At first he could not make a note sound in the stillness, but he went on trying until the wonderful tune he had learned long ago from the birds themselves began to echo once more through the silent forest.

He did not get an answer at once, for really nice birds cannot be expected to go out of their way to a place where there is no sunshine and the flowers cannot enter into conversation with them; but after a while a very fat blackbird, who certainly had arrogance enough for anything, came hopping along from branch to branch until he landed on Kit’s shoulder, and with him came sunshine and sound and merriment into the very heart of the melancholy forest, for none of these things are ever far off when a blackbird is near. Kit gave a shout of joy and followed after the blackbird, who was hopping along the ground in front of him; and the next minute he found himself standing in a blaze of sunlight in front of a high stone wall. Beyond the wall he could see the tall towers of a great castle; but he did not trouble himself much about the other side of the wall, for on the top of it, with the sunshine pouring all over her, sat the most charming little girl he had ever seen.

She had lost one of her shoes, and there was the faintest sign of a scratch on her round, dimpled chin, and her long black hair flowed around her shoulders in a way that some people might have called untidy; but Kit was sure that she had come straight out of Fairyland, and he was too amazed even to make a bow in front of her.
“Dear me! What are you doing here?” asked the girl, in a tone of great surprise.
Kit took a step nearer the wall, and pulled off his cap. Her voice reminded him that, although she belonged to Fairyland, she was still a little girl and would expect him to remember his manners. “I have come to rescue the Princess,” he said. “Can you tell me where she is?”
“She lives in the castle over there,” answered the girl. “What are you going to do when you have rescued her?”
“Well, I suppose I shall ask her to marry me,” said Kit. “Do you think she will?”
“Ah,” she replied gravely, “that depends on whether you have my permission. Tell me who you are, to begin with.”
“I am Kit and I am not very brave,” he said simply; and he stared when she broke into the merriest peal of laughter imaginable.
“What nonsense!” she cried. “If you were not brave, you would never have gotten here at all.”
“Is that true?” asked Kit eagerly. “Then do you think the Princess will marry me?”
The girl looked down at him for a moment, with her untidy little head on one side. Then she bent and held out her two hands to him. “I think, perhaps, the Princess will,” she said softly. “If you will help me down from this enormous high wall, we will go and ask her.”

So Kit lifted her down from the wall, which was quite an easy matter, for it was in reality no higher than he was and the little girl was certainly the lightest weight he had ever held in his arms. “What are you looking for?” he asked, when he had set her on the ground, for she was kneeling down and turning over the dry leaves in a most distressed manner.
“I am looking for my crown, of course,” she said with a pout; “it tumbled off my head just before you came, and I was too frightened to jump all that long way to find it.”
“Here it is,” said Kit; and he picked up the little glittering crown and set it gently on the top of her beautiful, rumpled hair. Then he started back in surprise. “You are the Princess!” he shouted.
“Of course I am,” laughed Princess Winsome, putting her hand in his; “I knew that, all the time! Shall we go home now?”

Kit did not reply immediately, for no one can do two things at once, and it took him quite a long time to kiss the small soft hand that lay in his own big one. And as for going home, when they did start they did not get very far; for it must not be forgotten that they were still in an enchanted forest, and it is easier to get into an enchanted forest than to get out of it again. However, as they had everything in the world to talk about, they would probably have been most annoyed if they had found their way instead of losing it; so they just went on losing it as happily as possible, until they could not walk another step because an immense giant was occupying the whole of the roadway. There he sat, smoking a great pipe that looked like a chimney-pot that wanted sweeping; and when the Princess saw him, she was so frightened that she hid herself behind Kit and peeped under his arm to see what was going to happen.

“Hullo!” said the giant, in a huge voice that made the grass stand on end with fright, just as it does after a hoar-frost; “what’s this? You’re running away with the Princess!”
“To be sure I am,” said Kit; “and if you don’t let me pass, I shall have to fight you.”
“Oh, dear,” sighed the giant, raising a wind that made the trees shiver for miles round. “They all say that, and there’s no peace for a poor giant now-a-days. When I was a boy, the Prince was always put under a spell as well as the Princess. However, I suppose I must make an end of you, if you are determined to fight.”
And he laid down his pipe and rose most unwillingly to his feet.
Kit laughed out loud with gladness, for at last he had found a good reason for a fight, and no one would be able to say he was not brave any more. But before there was time to strike a single blow, the giant gave a loud howl of alarm, took to his heels, and in another moment was completely out of sight. Kit turned in amazement to his little Princess; and then he saw what had frightened the giant, for all the animals of the forest, all the lions and the tigers and the bears and the wolves, stood there in rows, waiting to help him. So there is no doubt that that giant would have fought with somebody if he had not run away.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” said the little Princess, in a whisper.

But Kit covered his face with his hands. “It is no use,” he said in a disappointed tone; “the other boys will never believe that I am brave.”
Princess Winsome came and pulled his hands away and laughed softly. “I think you are the bravest boy in the world,” she said.
“Of course he is!” chuckled a voice somewhere near. “How silly some people are, to be sure!” And there sat the Weird Witch under a tree, all in her pink and green gown, with her great eyes brimful of fun and nonsense. And as the boy and girl stood hand in hand before her and caught the glance of her beautiful witch’s eyes, all sorts of muddles fell out of their heads, and they began to understand everything that had been puzzling them for years and years and years. That only shows what a witch can do when she is the right sort of witch!
“Dear little Princess,” cried Kit, “it doesn’t matter whether the other boys believe me or not, so long as you know I am brave.”
“Besides,” added Princess Winsome, “we are not going to try to make anybody believe anything. I think we’ll stay here, instead, for ever and ever and always.”
“A very good idea,” smiled the Weird Witch of the Willow-Herb, as she nodded at them both. “Always remain enchanted if you can.”

So they had the nicest and the funniest wedding possible, on the spot; and there was no time wasted in sending out invitations, for all the guests were already waiting there in rows—with the exception of the singing-birds; and Kit very soon summoned them by whistling a few notes of his wonderful tune. The Princess laid her own wedding-breakfast under the trees, and the wedding-guests helped her by bringing her everything that was nice to eat in the forest, such as roasted chestnuts and preserved fruits and truffles and barley-sugar-cane, and lots of dewdrops and honey-drops and pear-drops; and the Weird Witch completed the feast by turning a piece of rock that nobody wanted into a wedding-cake, and everyone will agree that it is better for a rock to turn into a wedding-cake than for a wedding-cake to turn into a rock. And all the flowers came of their own accord and arranged themselves on the table, which they certainly did much more prettily than anybody else could have done it for them; and when the wedding was over they just walked away again instead of stopping until they were no longer okay, which of course is what they would have done at any other wedding.

And although the bride had lost her other shoe by the time she was ready to be married, and although her beautiful hair was more untidy than ever and her crown had tumbled off again and had to be brought to her by an obliging lion, Kit never noticed any of these things and only felt quite certain that he was marrying somebody who had come right out of Fairyland and was not an ordinary Princess at all. No doubt, it was because he was in an enchanted forest that he made such a mistake.

As for the Weird Witch of the Willow-Herb, she went back to her pink cottage on the top of the hill, so as to be ready to make the next person happy who came up the white winding path. But before she went, she took care that all the singing-birds should fly back to Kit’s home and tell the other boys how brave he had been, which they did with the greatest pleasure imaginable. It is said that the story became slightly exaggerated; but when we know how much one little bird can tell, it is not difficult to imagine the kind of story that could be told by hundreds and hundreds of little birds.

The Weird Witch of the Willow-Herb lived in a pink cottage on the top of a hill. She was merry and beautiful and wise and kind; and she was all dressed in pink and green, and she had great eyes that were sometimes filled with laughter and sometimes filled with tears, and her round soft mouth looked as though it had done nothing but smile for hundreds and hundreds of years. Her pink cottage was the most charming place in the world to live in; the walls were made of the flower of the willow-herb, and the roof was made of the green leaves, and the floors were made of the white down; and all the little lattice windows were cobwebs, spun by the spiders who live in Fairyland and make the windows for the Fairy Queen’s own palace. And no one but an elf or a fairy could have said how long the Weird Witch of the Willow-Herb had been living in her cottage on the top of the hill.

Now, any one might think that this wonderful Witch was so sweet and so wise that all sorts of people would be coming, all day long, to ask her to help them; for, of course, that is what a witch is for. But this particular Witch, who lived in her pink cottage on the top of the hill, had not been living there all that time for nothing.
“If I did not keep a few spells lying about at the bottom of the hill, I would never have a moment’s peace,” chuckled the Witch of the Willow-Herb. And that is why most of the people who came to ask her for spells never got as far as the pink cottage at all, for they found what they wanted at the bottom of the hill; and no doubt that saved everybody a great deal of trouble.
“Poor people!” said the Weird Witch, with her voice full of kindness; “why should I make them climb up all this way, just to see me?”

Sometimes, however, it did happen that somebody got to the top of the hill; or else it is clear that this story would never have been written. For, one day, as the Witch sat on the doorstep of her pink cottage, looking out over the world with her great eyes that saw everything, the little Princess Winsome came running up the white path that twisted round and round and up and up until it reached the cottage at the top; and she did not stop running until she stood in front of the Weird Witch herself. She looked as though she must have come along in a great hurry, for she had lost one of her shoes on the way and there was quite a serious scratch on her dimpled chin; but, of course, it is difficult to walk sedately when one is going to call on a witch.
“I am Princess Winsome,” she announced, as soon as she had breath enough to speak.
“To be sure you are,” smiled the Weird Witch, who knew that before; “and you have run away from home because—”
“Because I want to find the bravest boy in the world,” interrupted the Princess, who never liked to let anybody else do the talking.
“Are there no brave boys in your country, then?” asked the Witch.
“That’s not it,” answered Princess Winsome; “the boys in my country are so brave that it is no fun playing with them. They stop all the games by fighting about nothing at all; and it’s dreadfully boring when you’re a girl, isn’t it?”
“Perhaps it is,” smiled the Witch. “Then why are you looking for the bravest boy of all?”
“Ah,” said the little Princess, wisely, “the bravest boy of all would never fight unless there was a reason, you see; and so we should have lots of time to play. But how am I to find him?”
“The only way to find him is to let him find you,” said the Weird Witch; “and the best thing I can do for you is to trap you in the middle of an enchanted forest, where no one but the bravest boy in the world would ever come to find any one. Now, go quickly, or you won’t get there in time!”

And the Princess with the scratch on her chin must certainly have made haste, for she had quite disappeared by the time the Witch’s next visitor came up the winding white path; and that happened the very next minute. This time it was a boy who came along,—a tall, strong, jolly-looking boy, with his hands in his pockets and his cap at the back of his head, whistling a strange wild tune that was made up of all the songs of all the birds in the air, so that, as he whistled it, every bird for miles round stopped to listen.
“I am Kit,” he said, pulling off his cap to the Witch.
“To be sure you are,” smiled the Weird Witch, “and you have run away from home because the other boys think you are not brave, and you want to show them that you are as brave as they are, only you won’t fight without a reason. Isn’t that it?”
“Of course it is,” answered Kit, who liked to have his talking done for him; “but how shall I find something worth fighting about?”
“That is not difficult,” said the Weird Witch. “All you have to do is to go to the court of King Hurlyburly, and ask him to give you something brave to do. The King is always going to war about something, so you will soon have as much fighting as you want. Now, be off with you, or else someone will get there before you!”
“All right,” said Kit. “Which is the way?”
“Any way you like,” laughed the Weird Witch.
“But in what direction?” asked Kit.
“It doesn’t matter,” laughed the Weird Witch.

So Kit made another bow and marched away again down the hill-side, whistling the same tune as before; and all the birds of the air came flying along when they heard it, and they flew in front of him to show him the way, and he followed them over meadows and streams and orchards and cornfields, until they brought him to the walls of King Hurlyburly’s city. And they would not have left him then, if he had not pointed out to them, most politely, that although it was very obliging of them to have come so far with him, he would find it a little inconvenient to travel any further with so many companions. So they flew away again; and Kit marched into the city and up to the gates of the King’s palace.
“I have come to fight for the King,” said Kit, when the guards came out and asked him what he wanted. And he looked such a fine strong fellow, that they took him at once to the King.
“You have come in the very nick of time,” said King Hurlyburly, “for the Commander-in-Chief of the royal forces has overslept so often that I had him fired this morning. The army is in consequence without the Commander-in-Chief; so if you will become their General and invade the country of my neighbour King Topsyturvy, I shall be much obliged to you.”
“Why do I have to invade the country of King Topsyturvy?” demanded Kit.

The King pushed his crown on one side, which he always did when he felt puzzled. “Now that you mention it,” he said, “I believe there was a reason, but for the life of me I can’t remember what it was. However, the reason is of no importance—”
“Oh yes, it is,” interrupted Kit. “I can’t possibly fight without a reason, you know.”
“That’s awkward,” said King Hurlyburly. “Perhaps the army will know.” And he sent a message round to the barracks to ask the soldiers why they were going to war. But although the soldiers were all ready to begin fighting, they had not the least idea what the war was about. So the King’s crown became more crooked than before.
“Would you be able to invent a reason?” he asked Kit, for he could not help thinking how nice it would be to stay at home while his soldiers were being led to war by someone else. “You may marry the Princess Winsome, if she agrees, when you come back victorious,” he added as an afterthought.
But Kit only shook his head. He had never heard of the Princess Winsome, and he was not going to fight anybody without a very good reason for it.
Then King Hurlyburly had a brilliant idea. “Go and declare war on the enemy, to begin with,” he said; “and perhaps they will remember the reason.”

There was certainly no harm in declaring war; so Kit rode off at once on one of the King’s fastest horses, and arrived the next morning at the court of King Topsyturvy, just as his Majesty was sitting down to breakfast.
“I have come from King Hurlyburly to declare war,” said Kit, who always went straight to the point.
“What for?” asked King Topsyturvy.
“I don’t know,” said Kit. “That’s what I want you to tell me.”
The King ate two eggs before he replied.
“Well,” he said presently, “I believe I said Hurlyburly was a shocking old muddler. I suppose that’s it. All right! When do you want to begin?”
“I don’t want to begin at all,” answered Kit. “Why did you say he was a muddler?”
“Oh, just to make conversation,” said King Topsyturvy, helping himself to marmalade.
“Then you don’t really think he is an old muddler?” asked Kit.
“Dear me, no,” said King Topsyturvy. “I never thought that.”
“Then write that down on a piece of paper, and there needn’t be a war at all!” cried Kit.
The King stroked his beard. “Perhaps there needn’t,” he agreed. “But I never write.”
“I do, though,” said Kit, who had learned to write while all the other boys were making catapults; “you’ve only got to sign your name here.”
King Topsyturvy stopped eating his breakfast, just long enough to sign the beautiful apology Kit had written on a sheet of note-paper; and then Kit jumped on his horse again and rode back to the palace of King Hurlyburly.

“Well,” said his Majesty, “did you discover the reason?”
“There wasn’t any reason, and there isn’t going to be a war,” answered Kit; and he held out the beautifully written apology from King Topsyturvy.
“What!” cried his Majesty, in alarm. “Do you mean to say you’ve stopped the war?”
“Of course I have,” said Kit. “And I have come back victorious, as you see. Didn’t you say something about a Princess?”
“But,” stammered the King, “how am I to appease the army? The army has set its heart on a war.”
“So did I,” answered Kit, sadly; “but I never can find anything worth fighting about. Meanwhile, where is the Princess?”
“You have not earned the Princess,” said King Hurlyburly, who was now thoroughly cross. “I believe you are not very brave at all!”
“That is what the other boys say,” answered Kit, smiling. “It is not my fault that there is nothing to fight about. Will you please send for the Princess so I can meet her?”

“The Princess has run away from home, so I can’t send for her,” said the King, irritably. “She is trapped in an enchanted forest, and surrounded with wild beasts and magic spells and giants. It is not at all a nice place for a Princess to be in, but how am I to get her away?”
“Why,” exclaimed Kit, laughing, “here is something for your army to do. Let it go and rescue the Princess.”
“Nothing would convince the army to go near the place,” explained the King, sorrowfully; “the army is too afraid of being bewitched.”
“Hurrah!” shouted Kit, laughing more than ever. “At last I have found something brave to do! I will go and rescue the Princess.”

THE UNFORTUNATE FIREFLIES

Several very large families of Fireflies lived in the marsh and were much admired by their friends who were awake at night. Once in a while some young Firefly who happened to awaken during the day would go out and hover over the heads of the daylight people. He never had any attention paid to him then, however, for during the day he seemed like a very commonplace little beetle and nobody even cared to look at him a second time. The only remarkable thing about him was the soft light that shone from his body, and that could only be seen at night.
The older Fireflies told the younger[Pg 149] ones that they should get all the sleep they could during the daytime if they were to flutter and frisk all night. Most of them did this, but two young Fireflies, who cared more about seeing the world than they did about minding their elders, used to run away while the rest were dreaming. Each thought herself very important, and was sure that if the others missed her they wouldn’t sleep a wink all day.
One night they planned to go by daylight to the farthest corner of the marsh. They had heard a couple of young Muskrats talking about it, and thought it might be different from anything they had seen. They went to bed when the rest did and pretended to fall asleep. When she was sure that the older Fireflies were dreaming, one of them reached over with her right hind leg and touched the other just below the edge of her left wing-cover. “Are you ready?” she whispered.

“Yes,” answered the friend, who happened to be the smaller of the two.
“Come on, then,” said the larger one, picking her way along on her six tiptoes. It was already growing light, and they could see where they stepped, but, you know, it is hard to walk over rough places on two tiptoes, so you can imagine what it must be on six. There are some pleasant things about having many legs. There are also some hard things. It is a great responsibility.
When well away from their sleeping relatives, they lifted their wing-covers, spread their wings, and flew to the farthest corner of the marsh. They were not afraid of being punished if caught, for they were orphans and had nobody to bring them up. They were afraid that if the other Fireflies awakened they would be called “silly” or “foolish young bugs.” They thought that they were old enough to take care of themselves, and did not want advice.

“Oh, wouldn’t they make a fuss if they knew!” exclaimed the Larger Firefly.
“They think we need to be told every single thing,” said the Smaller Firefly.
“Guess we’re old enough now to go off by ourselves,” said the Larger Firefly.
“I guess so,” answered the Smaller Firefly. “I’m not afraid if it is light, and I can see pretty near as well as I can at night.”
Just then a Flycatcher darted toward them and they had to hide. He had come so near that they could look down his throat as he flew along with his beak open. The Fireflies were so scared that their feelers shook.
“I wish that bird would mind his own business,” grumbled the Larger Firefly.
“That’s just what he was doing,” said a voice beside them, as a Garter Snake drew himself through the grass. Then their feelers shook again, for they knew that snakes do not breakfast on grass and berries.

“Did you ever see such luck?” said the Smaller Firefly. “If it isn’t birds it is snakes.”
“Perfectly dreadful!” answered the other. “I never knew the marsh to be so full of horrible people. Besides, my eyes are bothering me and I can’t see clearly.”

“So are mine,” said the Smaller Firefly. “Are you going to tell the other Fireflies all about things to-night?”
“I don’t know that I will,” said the Larger Firefly. “I’ll make them ask me first.”
Then they reached the farther corner of the marsh and crawled around to see what they could find. Their eyes bothered them so that they could not see unless they were close to things, so it was useless to fly. They peeped into the cool dark corners under the skunk cabbage leaves, and lay down to rest on a bed of soft moss. A few stalks of last year’s teazles stood, stiff and brown, in the corner of the fence. The Smaller Firefly landed on one and let go in such a hurry that she fell to the ground. “Ouch!” she cried. “It has sharp hooks all over it.”

While they were lying on the moss and resting, they noticed a strange plant growing near. It had a flower of green and dark red which was unlike any other blossom they had ever seen. The leaves were even stranger. Each was stiff and hollow and grew right out of the ground instead of coming from a stalk.
“I’m going to crawl into one of them,” said the Larger Firefly. “There is something sweet inside. I believe it will be lots better than the skunk cabbage.” She balanced herself on the top of a fresh green leaf.
“I’m going into this one,” said the other Firefly, as she landed on the edge of a brown-tipped leaf. “It looks nice and dark inside. We must tell them about this at the party to-night, even if they don’t ask us.”

Then they repeated together the little verse that some of the pond people use when they want to start together:
“Tussock, mud, water, and log,
Muskrat, Snake, Turtle, and Frog,
Here we go into the bog!”
When they said “bog” each dropped quickly into her own leaf.
For a minute nobody made a sound. Then there was a strange sputtering, choking voice in the fresh green leaf and exactly the same in the brown-tipped one. After that a weak little voice in the green leaf said, “Abuschougerh! I fell into water.”
Another weak voice from the brown-tipped one replied, “Gtschagust! So did I.”
On the inside of each leaf were many stiff hairs, all pointing downward. When the Fireflies dropped in, they had brushed easily past these hairs and thought it rather pleasant. Now that they were sputtering and choking inside, and wanted to get out, these same hairs stuck into their eyes and pushed against their legs and made them exceedingly uncomfortable. The water, too, had stood for some time in the leaves and did not smell good.
Perhaps it would be just as well not to tell all the things which those two Fireflies said, for they were tired and out of patience. After a while they gave up trying to get out until they should be rested. It was after sunset when they tried the last time, and the light that shone from their bellies brightened the little green rooms where they were. They rested and went at it carefully, instead of in the angry, jerky way which they had tried before. Slowly, one foot at a time, they managed to climb out of the doorway at the top. As they came out, they heard the squeaky voice of a young Mouse say, “Oh, where did those bright things come from?”
They also heard his mother answer, “Those are only a couple of foolish Fireflies who have been in the leaves of the pitcher-plant all day.”

After they had eaten something they flew toward home. They knew that they would be late for the party, and they expected to surprise and delight everybody when they reached there. On the way they spoke of this. “I’m dreadfully tired,” said one, “but I suppose we shall have to dance in the air with the rest or they will make a fuss.”
“Yes,” said the other. “It spoils everything if we are not there. And we’ll have to tell where we’ve been and what we’ve done and whom we have seen, when we would rather go to sleep and make up what we lost during the daytime.”

As they came near the middle of the marsh they were surprised to see the mild summer air twinkling with hundreds of tiny lights as their friends and relatives flew to and fro in the dusk. “Well,” said the Larger Firefly, “I think they might have waited for us.”
“Humph!” said the Smaller Firefly. “If they can’t be more polite than that, I won’t play.”
“After we’ve had such a dreadfully hard time, too,” said the Larger Firefly. “Got almost eaten by a Flycatcher and scared by a Garter Snake and shut up all day in the pitcher-plant. I won’t move a wing to help on their old party.”

So two very tired and cross young Fireflies sat on a last year’s cat-tail and sulked. People didn’t notice them because they were sitting and their bright bellies didn’t show. After a long time an elderly Firefly came to rest on the cat-tail and found them. “Good evening,” he said. “Have you danced until you are tired?”

They looked at each other, but before either could speak one of their young friends landed beside them and said the same thing. Then the Smaller Firefly answered. “We have been away,” she said, “and we are not dancing to-night.”
“Going away, did you say?” asked the elderly Firefly, who was rather deaf. “I hope you will have a delightful time.” Then he bowed and flew off.
“Don’t stay long,” added their young friend. “We shall be so lonely without you.”

After he also was gone, the two runaways looked into each other’s eyes. “We were not even missed!” they cried. “We had a bad time and nobody makes any fuss. They were dancing without us.” Poor little Fireflies!

They were much wiser after that, for they had learned that two young Fireflies were not so wonderfully important after all. And that if they chose to do things which it was never meant young Fireflies should do, they would be likely to have a very disagreeable time, but that other Fireflies would go on eating and dancing and living their own lives. To be happy, they must keep the Firefly laws.

In part 8 of The Transfer Student, Red is trying to stay alert for the rest of the day so she can attend the next meeting of the Solving a Mystery Club after school. When she arrives everyone is already there and they get to work trying to figure out how they are going to solve the mystery of the missing nuggets. Kirt comes up with an idea and they head out to get started. They are all surprised by what they see.

Willie Bakes a Birthday Cake is a story about a baker who loves to bake. Willie has always dreamed of being a baker and now he has his own shop. Mondays are his favourite day of the week and sometimes on Sundays he is so excited he can’t sleep. This Monday Willie is skipping to work and he meets lots of his friends on his way. When he is finished for the day a friend calls and needs help, can Willie help them?

This is the next part in our series about Red, the transfer student. In this part Red is having some bad dreams and is feeling very tired after not sleeping well. She heads to school but all she can think about is going back home and having a nap. When Red is having lunch with her friends they discover that there might be a new mystery for them to solve and agree to meet after school in the library. Poor Red is not going to get her nap after all.

Rachel Meets the Forest Witch is a story about a young girl named Rachel who loves to read. Rachel has a great imagination and when she is walking to the store and passes the house all her friends told her about she thinks she sees someone looking at her from the window upstairs. It’s just her imagination, right?

Bernice Goes to a Movie is the latest story about our friend, Bernice the Bear. In this story it is raining and Bernice is excited because now she can go to the movies with Bobby. They decide which movie they want to see and have a great time. That night Bernice thanks Papa Bear for taking them to the movie just before he tells her a bedtime story about Boo-Boo and Kai-Kai.

In part 2 of Fern and Crunch Look for a New Home they realize that their owners are really gone. Before they go back to the shelter Crunch wants to go on an adventure and look for new owners on their own. They decide to head to the dog park and get some advice. Let’s see if someone can help them.

Twice every year, in the early spring and in the late fall, Peter Rabbit watches the Smiling Pool with a great deal of eagerness. Can you guess why? It is because two very good friends of Peter’s are in the habit of stopping there for a few days for rest and refreshment before continuing the long journey which they are obliged to make. They are Mr. and Mrs. Quack, the Mallard Ducks. Peter is very fond of them, and when the time for their arrival draws near, Peter watches for them with a great deal of anxiety. You see they have told him something of the terrible dangers which they always encounter on these long journeys, and so Peter is always afraid that something terrible may have happened to them, and it is a great relief when he finds them swimming about in the Smiling Pool.

One reason Peter is so fond of Mr. and Mrs. Quack is because they always have a story for him. Sometimes it is a story of adventure, a tale of terrible danger and narrow escapes. Sometimes it is about their home in the far Northland, and again it is about the wonderful Southland where they spend the winter. But the story that Peter likes best is the one about where and how the Quack family got their funny, webbed feet. Mr. Quack doesn’t think those feet funny at all, but Peter does. He never grows tired of watching Mr. and Mrs. Quack use them, because, you know, they are used so differently from other feet. And always he goes back to the dear Old Briar-patch with renewed admiration for the wisdom of Old Mother Nature.

Peter noticed those feet the first time he met Mr. and Mrs. Quack. He couldn’t help but notice them. It happened that Mr. and Mrs. Quack were out on the bank of the Smiling Pool as Peter came hurrying over in his usual way, hippety-hippety-hop. They heard him coming and not knowing at first who it was they at once started for the water. Peter never will forget the funny way in which they waddled. He never had seen anybody quite so awkward. But when they reached the water he forgot to laugh. He simply stared open-mouthed in astonishment. You see there they were as graceful as they had been awkward on land.

Afterward, when Peter had become acquainted with them and they were the best of friends, he ventured to speak of their unusual feet.
“Do you know,” he said, “you have the most interesting feet of anybody I know of. They are so broad that the first time I saw them I couldn’t believe my own eyes. I didn’t suppose anybody had such broad feet. I suppose there is some special reason why they are so broad and why your legs are so short. Do you know how Mother Nature happened to give you feet so different from the feet of other birds, Mr. Quack?”
Mr. Quack chuckled. “I tell you what it is, Peter,” said he, “if you’ll tell me why it is you have such long hind legs and such a funny short tail, I’ll tell you why it is that Mrs. Quack and I have such broad feet, though I must confess that I don’t see anything odd about them.”

Peter agreed at once. He told Mr. and Mrs. Quack all about what happened to his grandfather a thousand times removed, the very first Rabbit, way back when the world was young, and how ever since then all Rabbits have had long hind legs and short tails. When he had finished Mr. Quack thoughtfully scratched his handsome green head, looked at his reflection in the Smiling Pool to make sure that he was looking his very best, looked behind to see that the feathers in the tip of his tail had the proper curl, and then gazed off over the Green Meadows with a far-away look in his eyes as if he were looking way back to the time he was to tell about. At last, just as Peter Rabbit was beginning to lose patience Mr. Quack began.

“It must be, Peter,” he said, “that my great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather lived just about the same time as your great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather, way back in the days when the world was young. Perhaps they knew each other. Perhaps they were acquainted just as you and I are now. Anyway, according to what has been handed down in the family, Grandfather Quack was very much such a looking fellow as I am now, except in the matter of his bill and feet. His bill was not broad like mine but more like the bills of other birds, and his feet were like the feet of Mr. Grouse and Bob White. They were made for scratching, and there was nothing between the toes. You see, Old Mother Nature was experimenting. She made everybody a little different from everybody else and then started them forth in the Great World to shift for themselves and to find out what they really needed that they hadn’t got.
“Old Mr. Quack, my great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather, soon discovered one thing, and that was that his legs were too short for him to get around very fast. When he walked, everybody laughed at him. He didn’t mind this so very much, though he did a little. But what he did mind was the fact that his neighbors could run about so much faster than him that they got all the best of the food, and quite often he went hungry.

“One day he happened to be sitting on the bank of the Smiling Pool, thinking the matter over and wondering what he had best do, when Mr. Fox snuck up behind him and startled him so that he lost his balance and tumbled down the bank into the water. This frightened him more than ever, and he flapped about and squawked and squawked and flapped until Mr. Fox nearly split his sides laughing at him. And when he was quite out of breath, Mr. Quack discovered that he was making all this fuss for nothing. He didn’t sink, but floated on the water, and what was more the water didn’t get under his feathers at all. When he tried to walk, of course he couldn’t, and he had a funny feeling because his feet didn’t touch anything and felt so very useless. But he kept moving them back and forth, and pretty soon he discovered that he moved ahead. Of course he moved very slowly, because his feet were not made for use in the water, but he moved, and that was enough. He knew then that he could get back to land. Then he tried his wings and he found that he could rise into the air from the water quite as easily as from the land. Right then and there all fear of the water left him. In fact, he liked it.

“Little by little, Grandfather Quack began to understand that he had made a great discovery. He had discovered the safest place in all the Great World for him. Out on the water he was safe from Mr. Fox and Mr. Wolf. So he took to spending most of his time on the water or near it. When he wanted a nap, he would hide among the rushes that grew in the water. ‘If only I didn’t have to leave the water for food!’ sighed Grandfather Quack. ‘If only I could find food here, I would never leave the water.’

“At the time he was squatting at the very edge of the Smiling Pool. Presently he noticed a funny water bug crawling on the bottom where the water was only an inch or two deep. ‘I wonder if that fellow is good to eat,’ he thought, and almost without thinking he plunged his head under water and caught the bug. It was good. Grandfather Quack at once started to look for more, and while doing this he discovered that there were a great many seeds from the rushes scattered about in the mud at the bottom of the Smiling Pool, and that these also were good to eat. Then quite by accident he got hold of a tender root in the mud and found that this was especially good.
“This was enough for Grandfather Quack. He had found that he could get plenty to eat without leaving the Smiling Pool. Moreover, he didn’t have to share it with anybody, because there was no one else who thought of looking for food there. He knew when he was well off. So Grandfather Quack grew fat and was happy. The only things that bothered him were the slowness with which he had to pick up seeds, one at a time, and the slowness with which he could paddle about, for you couldn’t really call it swimming. But in spite of these things he was happy and made the best of his lot.

“One day he tugged and tugged at a root with his head under water. When at last he had to bring his head up for a breath, whom should he discover but Old Mother Nature watching him from the opposite bank. ‘Come over here, Mr. Quack, and tell me all about it,’ she commanded.
“Grandfather Quack started across the Smiling Pool, but because his feet were not made for swimming, it took him a long time to get there. Old Mother Nature smiled as she watched him. ‘You look better on the water than you do on land,’ said she. ‘In fact, I believe that is just where you belong. Now tell me how you happened to take to the water.’
“Grandfather Quack told her the whole story and how Old Mother Nature did laugh when he described how frightened he was when he fell in that time. Suddenly she reached out and caught him by the bill. ‘I don’t think much of that bill for poking about in the mud,’ she said. ‘How will this do?’ She let go, and Grandfather Quack found he had a broad bill just suited for getting food out of the mud. Then Old Mother Nature instructed him to hold forward first one foot and then the other. Between the toes she stretched a tough skin clear to the toe nails. ‘Now let me see you swim,’ she said.

“Grandfather Quack tried. He kicked one foot and then the other, and to his great joy he shot along swiftly. When he drew his feet back for another kick his toes closed together, and so his feet came through the water easily. But when he kicked back they were widespread, and the skin between them pushed against the water, and drove him ahead. It was wonderful! It was splendid! He hurried over to Old Mother Nature, and with tears of joy in his eyes he thanked her. And from that day to this members of my family have had the same broad bills and webbed feet, and have lived on the water,” concluded Mr. Quack.

In this story we are going to meet a dog and a cat who are the best of friends. Fern and Crunch have been together since they were little and when their owners find out they need to move for work they try to find a home for the two of them. A friend offers to help take care of them until they can find a new home but it is hard to find a home for a dog the size of Fern. They end up in a shelter and realize they have to find a way out.

In this story Bernice talks to Papa about her swimming lessons and her frustration with not being as fast as her friends. Papa talks to her about this and when it is bedtime he tells her a story about Boo-Boo and Kai-Kai.

Marcella was having a tea party up in the nursery when Daddy called to her, so she left the dollies sitting around the tiny table and ran down stairs carrying Raggedy Ann with her.
Mama, Daddy and a strange man were talking in the living room and Daddy introduced Marcella to the stranger.
The stranger was a large man with kindly eyes and a cheery smile, as pleasant as Raggedy Ann’s. He was a dear friend on Marcella’s Father and Mother.
He picked up Marcella and put his fingers on her curls as he talked to her Father and Mother, so, of course, Raggedy Ann liked him from the beginning. “I have two little girls,” he told Marcella. “Their names are Virginia and Doris, and one time when we were at the sea-shore they were playing in the sand and they covered up Freddy, Doris’ boy-doll in the sand. They were playing that Freddy was in bathing and that he wanted to be covered with the clean white sand, just as the other bathers did. And when they had covered Freddy they took their little pails and shovels and went farther down the beach to play and forgot all about Freddy.
“Now when it came time for us to go home, Virginia and Doris remembered Freddy and ran down to get him, but the tide had come in and Freddy was away out under the water and they could not find him. Virginia and Doris were very sad and they talked of Freddy all the way home.”

“It was too bad they forgot Freddy,” said Marcella.
“Yes, indeed it was!” the new friend replied as he took Raggedy Ann up and made her dance on Marcella’s knee. “But it turned out alright after all, for do you know what happened to Freddy?”
“No, what happened to him?” Marcella asked.
“Well, first of all, when Freddy was covered with the sand, he enjoyed it immensely. And he did not mind it so much when the tide came up over him, for he felt Virginia and Doris would return and get him.
“But in a short time Freddy felt the sand above him move as if someone was digging him out. Soon his head was uncovered and he could look right up through the pretty green water, and what do you think was happening? The Tide Fairies were uncovering Freddy!
“When he was completely uncovered, the Tide Fairies swam with Freddy away out to the Undertow Fairies. The Undertow Fairies took Freddy and swam with him away out to the Roller Fairies. The Roller Fairies carried Freddy up to the surface and tossed him up to the Spray Fairies who carried him to the Wind Fairies.”
“And the Wind Fairies?” Marcella asked breathlessly.
“The Wind Fairies carried Freddy right to our garden and there Virginia and Doris found him, none the worse for his wonderful adventure!”

“Freddy must have enjoyed it and your little girls must have been very glad to get Freddy back again!” said Marcella. “Raggedy Ann went up in the air on the tail of a kite one day and fell and was lost, so now I am very careful with her!”
“Would you let me take Raggedy Ann for a few days?” asked the new friend.

Marcella was silent. She liked her new friend, but she did not wish to lose Raggedy Ann.
“I will promise to take very good care of her and return her to you in a week. Will you let her go with me, Marcella?”
Marcella finally agreed and when the friend left, he placed Raggedy Ann in his bag.
“It is lonely without Raggedy Ann!” said the dollies each night.
“We miss her happy painted smile and her cheery ways!” they said.
And so the week dragged by….

But, my! What a chatter there was in the nursery the first night after Raggedy Ann returned. All the dolls were so anxious to hug Raggedy Ann they could scarcely wait until Marcella had left them alone.
When they had squeezed Raggedy Ann almost out of shape and she had smoothed out her yarn hair, patted her apron out and felt her shoe-button eyes to see if they were still there, she said, “Well, what have you been doing? Tell me all the news!”
“Oh we have just had the usual tea parties and games!” said the tin soldier. “Tell us about yourself, Raggedy dear, we have missed you so much!”
“Yes! Tell us where you have been and what you have done, Raggedy!” all the dolls cried.

But Raggedy Ann just then noticed that one of the penny dolls had a hand missing.
“How did this happen?” she asked as she picked up the doll.
“I fell off the table and onto the tin soldier last night when we were playing. But don’t mind a little thing like that, Raggedy Ann,” replied the penny doll. “Tell us about yourself! Did you have a nice time?”
“I will not tell you a thing until your hand is mended!” Raggedy Ann said.
So another doll ran and brought a bottle of glue. “Where’s the hand?” Raggedy asked.
“In my pocket,” the penny doll answered.

When Raggedy Ann had glued the penny doll’s hand in place and wrapped a rag around it to hold it until the glue dried, she said, “When I tell you of this wonderful adventure, I know you will all feel very happy. It has made me almost burst my stitches with joy.”

The dolls all sat upon the floor around Raggedy Ann, the tin soldier with his arm over her shoulder.
“Well, first when I left,” said Raggedy Ann, “I was placed in the new Friend’s bag. It was rather stuffy in there, but I did not mind it; in fact I believe I must have fallen asleep, for when I awakened I saw the new Friend’s hand reaching into the bag. Then he lifted me from the bag and danced me upon his knee. ‘What do you think of her?’ he asked to three other men sitting nearby.

“I was so interested in looking out of the window I did not pay any attention to what they said, for we were on a train and the scenery was just flying by! Then I was put back in the bag.
“When I was next taken from the bag I was in a large, clean, light colored room and there were many, many girls all dressed in white aprons.
“The stranger friend showed me to another man and to the girls who took my clothes, cut my seams and took out my cotton. And what do you think? They found my lovely candy heart had not melted at all as I thought. Then they laid me on a table and marked all around my outside edges with a pencil on clean white cloth, and then the girls re-stuffed me and dressed me.
“I stayed in the clean big light room for two or three days and nights and watched my Sisters grow from pieces of cloth into rag dolls just like myself!”

“Your SISTERS!” the dolls all exclaimed in astonishment, “What do you mean, Raggedy?”
“I mean,” said Raggedy Ann, “that the new Friend had borrowed me from Marcella so that he could have patterns made from me. And before I left the big clean white room there were hundreds of rag dolls so much like me you would not have been able to tell us apart.”
“We could have told you by your happy smile!” cried the French dolly.
“But all of my sister dolls have smiles just like mine!” replied Raggedy Ann.
“And shoe-button eyes?” the dolls all asked.
“Yes, shoe-button eyes!” Raggedy Ann replied.
“I would tell you from the others by your dress, Raggedy Ann,” said the French doll, “Your dress is fifty years old! I could tell you apart by that!”
“But my new sister rag dolls have dresses just like mine, for the new Friend had cloth made especially for them exactly like mine.”

“I know how we could tell you from the other rag dolls, even if you all look exactly alike!” said another doll, who had been thinking for a long time.
“How?” asked Raggedy Ann with a laugh.
“By feeling for your candy heart! If the doll has a candy heart then it is you, Raggedy Ann!”

Raggedy Ann laughed, “I am so glad you all love me as you do, but I am sure you would not be able to tell me from my new sisters, except that I am more worn, for each new rag doll has a candy heart, and on it is written, ‘I love you’ just as is written on my own candy heart.”
“And there are hundreds and hundreds of the new rag dolls?” asked the little penny dolls.
“Hundreds and hundreds of them, all named Raggedy Ann,” replied Raggedy.
“Then,” said the penny dolls, “we are indeed happy and proud for you! For wherever one of the new Raggedy Ann dolls goes there will go with it the love and happiness that you give to others.”

It was the last day of Old Mother Nature’s school in the Green Forest, and when jolly, round, bright Mr. Sun had climbed high enough in the blue, blue sky to peep down through the trees, he found not one missing of the little people who had been learning so much about themselves, their relatives, neighbors and all the other animals in every part of this great country. You see, not for anything in the world would one of them willingly have missed that last lesson.

“I told you yesterday,” began Old Mother Nature, “that the land is surrounded by water, salt water, sometimes called the ocean and sometimes the sea. In this live the largest animals in all the Great World and many others, some of which sometimes come on land, and others which never do.

“One of those who come on land is first cousin to Little Joe Otter and is named the Sea Otter.
“He lives in the cold waters of the western ocean of the Far North. He resembles Little Joe Otter quite a bit but has finer, more handsome fur. He is among the shyest and rarest of all animals, and has taken to living in the water practically all the time, rarely visiting land. He lies on his back in the water and gets his food from the bottom of the sea. It is mainly clams and other shellfish. He rests on floating masses of sea plants. He is very playful and delights in tossing pieces of seaweed from paw to paw as he lies floating on his back. Of course he is a wonderful swimmer and diver. Otherwise he couldn’t live in the sea.

“Another who comes on land, but only for a very short distance from the water, is called the Walrus. He belongs to an order called Finnipedia, which means fin-footed. Instead of having legs and feet for walking, members of this order have limbs designed for swimming; these are more like fins or paddles than anything else and are called flippers. The Walrus is so big that I can give you no idea how big he is, except to say that he will weigh two thousand pounds. He is simply a great mass of living flesh covered with a rough, very thick skin without hair. From his upper jaw two huge ivory tusks hang straight down, and with these he digs up shellfish at the bottom of the sea. It is a terrible effort for him to move on shore, and so he is content to stay within a few feet of the water. He also lives in the cold waters of the Far North amidst floating ice. On this he often climbs out to lie for hours. His voice is a deep grunt or bellowing roar. The young are born on land close to the water.

“The Sea Lions belong to this same fin-footed order. The best known of these are the California Sea Lion and the Fur Seal, which is not a true Seal. The California Sea Lion is also called the Barking Sea Lion because of its habit of barking, and is the best known of the family. It is frequently seen on the rocks along the shore and on the islands off the western coast. These Sea Lions are sleek animals, exceedingly graceful in the water. They have long necks and carry their heads high. They are covered with short coarse hair and have small, sharp-pointed ears. Their front flippers have neither hair nor claws, but their hind flippers have webbed toes.

They are able to move about on land surprisingly well for animals lacking regular legs and feet, and can climb on and over rocks rapidly. Naturally they are splendid swimmers.

“The largest member of the family is the Steller Sea Lion, who sometimes grows to be almost as big as a Walrus. He is not sleek and graceful like his smaller cousin, but has an enormously thick neck and heavy shoulders. His voice is a roar rather than a bark. The head of an old Sea Lion is so much like that of a true Lion that the name Sea Lion has been given to this family.

“The most valuable member of the family is the Fur Seal, also called Sea Bear. It is nearly the size and shape of the California Sea Lion, but under the coarse outer hair, which is gray in color, is a wonderful soft, fine, brown fur. The young of all members of this family are born on shore, but soon take to the water. The Fur Seal migrates just as the birds do, but always returns to the place of its birth. Man and the Polar Bear are its enemies on land and ice, and the Killer Whale in the water. The males are three or four times the size of the females. Among themselves the males are fierce fighters.

“The true Seals are short-necked, thick-bodied, and have rather round heads with no visible ears. The Walrus and Sea Lions can turn their hind flippers forward to use as feet on land, but this the true Seals cannot do. Therefore they are more clumsy out of water. Their front flippers are covered with hair.

“The one best known is the Harbor or Leopard Seal. It is found along both coasts, often swimming far up big rivers. It is one of the smallest members of the family. Sometimes it is yellowish-gray spotted with black and sometimes dark brown with light spots.

“The Ringed Seal is about the same size or a little smaller than the Harbor Seal and is found as far north as it can find breathing holes in the ice. You know all these animals breathe air just as land animals do. This Seal looks much like the Harbor Seal, but is a little more slender.

“Another member of the family is the Harp, Saddle-back or Greenland Seal. He is larger than the other two and has a black head and gray body with a large black ring on the back. The female is not so handsome, being merely spotted.

“The most handsome Seal is the Ribbon Seal. He is about the size of his cousin the Harbor Seal. He is also called the Harlequin Seal. Sometimes his coat is blackish-brown and sometimes yellowish-gray, but always he has a band of yellowish-white, like a broad ribbon, from his throat around over the top of his head, and another band which starts on his chest and goes over his shoulder, curves down and finally goes around his body not far above the hind flippers. Only the male is so marked. This Seal is rather rare. Like most of the others it lives in the cold waters of the Far North.

“The largest of the Seals is the Elephant Seal, once numerous, there are only a few members of this branch of the family left. He is a tremendous fellow and has a movable nose which hangs several inches below his mouth.

“The strangest-looking member of the family is the Hooded Seal. Mr. Seal of this branch of the family is rather large, and on top of his nose he carries a large bag of skin which he can fill with air until he looks as if he were wearing a strange hood or bonnet.

“The Seals complete the list of animals which live mostly in the water but come out on land or ice at times. Now I will tell you of a true mammal, warm-blooded, just as you are, and air-breathing, but which never comes on land. This is the Manatee or Sea Cow. It lives in the warm waters of the Sunny South, coming up from the sea in the big rivers. It is a very large animal, sometimes growing as big as a medium-sized Walrus. The head is round, somewhat like that of a Seal. The lips are thick and big, the upper one split in the middle. The eyes are small. It has only two flippers, and these are set in at the shoulders. Instead of hind flippers, such as the Seals and Sea Lions have, the Manatee has a broad, flattened and rounded tail which is used as a propeller, just as fish use their tails. The neck is short and large. In the water the Manatee looks black. The skin is almost hairless.

“This curious animal lives on water plants. Sometimes it will come close to a river bank and with head and shoulders out of water feed on the grasses which hang down from the bank. The babies are, of course, born in the water, as the Manatee never comes on shore.
Now I think this will end to-day’s lesson and the school.”

Peter Rabbit hopped up excitedly. “You said that the largest animals in the world live in the sea, and you haven’t told us what they are,” he cried.

“True enough, Peter,” replied Old Mother Nature pleasantly. “The largest living animal is a Whale, a true mammal and not a fish at all, as some people appear to think. There are several kinds of Whales, some of them comparatively small and some the largest animals in the world, so large that I cannot give you any idea of how big they are. Beside one of these, the biggest Walrus would look like a baby. But the Whales do not belong just to this country, so I think we will not include them.

“Now we will close school. I hope you have enjoyed learning as much as I have enjoyed teaching, and I hope that what you have learned will be of use to you. The more knowledge you possess the better fitted you will be for your work in the Great World. Don’t forget that, and never miss a chance to learn.”

And so ended Old Mother Nature’s school in the Green Forest. One by one her little pupils thanked her for all she had taught them, and then started for home. Peter Rabbit was the last.
“I know ever and ever so much more than I did when I first came to you, but I guess that after all I know very little of all there is to know,” said he shyly, which shows that Peter really had learned a great deal. Then he started for the dear Old Briar-patch, lipperty-lipperty-lip.

It’s the last day of school at Old Mother Nature’s school and she is teaching them about the mammals of the sea. The students listen carefully as she tells them all about the different mammals until Peter Rabbit realizes she hasn’t mentioned the very biggest one.

Bobby and the Dinosaurs is a story about Bernice’s friend Bobby and what he decides to do on a rainy day. Bobby wakes up and has his day all planned until he looks out the window and sees the pouring rain. Bobby’s world has come to an end and he has no idea what he can do now. His mom suggests a science project but Bobby says he doesn’t like science anymore so he decides he wants to build a time machine and go back to visit the dinosaurs. He heads off to his room to see what he needs for the machine.

Wilfred the Stinky Dog is a story about Gianna and her French Bulldog Wilfred. Wilfred and Gianna were in the backyard playing ball when Wilfred found something to roll in. It was something yucky and stinky and now he needs a bath. Gianna takes him into the house but Wilfred sees something in the laundry room that sends him to hide under the couch. What could he have seen?

Spotty the Turtle sat on an old log on the bank of the Smiling Pool, taking a sun-bath. He had sat that way for the longest time without once moving. Peter Rabbit had seen him when he went by on his way to the Laughing Brook and the Green Forest to look for someone to pass the time of day with. Spotty was still there when Peter returned a long time after, and he didn’t look as if he had moved. A sudden thought struck Peter. He couldn’t remember that he ever had seen Spotty’s house. He had seen the houses of most of his other friends, but think as hard as he could, he didn’t remember having seen Spotty’s.
“Hi, Spotty!” he shouted. “Where do you live?”
Spotty slowly turned his head and looked up at Peter. There was a twinkle in his eyes, though Peter didn’t see it.
“Right here in the Smiling Pool. Where else should I live?” he replied.
“I mean, where is your house?” returned Peter. “Of course I know you live in the Smiling Pool, but where is your house? Is it in the bank or down underwater?”
“It is just wherever I happen to be. Just now it is right here,” said Spotty. “I always take it with me wherever I go; I find it the handiest way.”
With that, Spotty disappeared. That is to say, his head and legs and tail disappeared. Peter stared very hard. Then he began to laugh, for it came to him that what Spotty had said was true. His house was with him, and now he had simply retired inside. He didn’t need any other house than just that hard, spotted shell, inside of which he was now so cosily tucked away.
“That’s a great idea! Ho, ho, ho! That’s a great idea!” shouted Peter.
“Of course it is,” replied Spotty, putting nothing but his head out, “You will always find me at home whenever you call, Peter, and that is more than you can say of most other people.”

All the way to his own home in the dear Old Briar-patch, Peter thought about Spotty and how strange it was that he should carry his house around with him.
“I wonder how it happens that he does it,” thought he. “No wonder he is so slow. Of course, it is very handy to have his house always with him. As he says, he is always at home. Still, when he is in a hurry to get away from an enemy, it must be very awkward to have to carry his house on his back. I—I—why, how silly of me! He doesn’t have to run away at all! All he has got to do is to go inside his house and stay there until the danger is past! I never thought of that before. Why, that is the handiest thing I ever heard of.”

Now Peter knew that there must be a good story about Spotty and his house, and you know Peter dearly loves a good story. So at the very first opportunity the next day, he hurried over to the Smiling Pool to ask Grandfather Frog about it. As usual, Grandfather Frog was sitting on his big green lily-pad. No sooner did Peter pop his head above the edge of the bank of the Smiling Pool than Grandfather Frog exclaimed:
“Ribbit! You’ve kept me waiting a long time, Peter Rabbit. I don’t like to be kept waiting. If you wanted to know about Spotty the Turtle, why didn’t you come earlier?” All the time there was a twinkle in the big, goggly eyes of Grandfather Frog.
Peter was so surprised that he couldn’t find his tongue. He hadn’t said a word to any one about Spotty, so how could Grandfather Frog know what he had come for? For a long time he had had a great deal of respect for Grandfather Frog, who, as you know, is very old and very wise, but now Peter felt almost afraid of him. You see, it seemed to Peter as if Grandfather Frog had read his very thoughts.

“I—I didn’t know you were waiting. Truly I didn’t,” stammered Peter. “If I had, I would have been here long ago. If you please, how did you know that I was coming and what I was coming for?”
“Never mind how I knew. I know a great deal that I don’t tell, which is more than some folks can say,” replied Grandfather Frog.
Peter wondered if he meant him, for you know Peter is a great gossip. But he didn’t say anything, because he didn’t know just what to say, and in a minute Grandfather Frog began the story Peter so much wanted.

“Of course you know, without me telling you, that there is a reason for Spotty’s carrying his house around with him, because there is a reason for everything in this world. And of course you know that that reason is because of something that happened a long time ago, way back in the days when the world was young. Almost everything to-day is the result of things that happened in those long-ago days. The great-great-ever-so-great grandfather of Spotty the Turtle lived then, and unlike Spotty, whom you know, he had no house. He was very quiet and bashful, Mr. Turtle, and he never meddled with any one’s business, because he believed that the best way of keeping out of trouble was to attend strictly to his own affairs.
“He was a good deal like Spotty, just as fond of the water and just as slow moving, but he didn’t have the house which Spotty has now. If he had had, he would have been saved a great deal of trouble and worry. For a long time everybody lived at peace with everybody else. Then came the trying time, of which you already know, when those who lived on the Green Meadows and in the Green Forest had the very hardest kind of work to find enough to eat, and were hungry most of the time. Now Mr. Turtle, living in the Smiling Pool, had plenty to eat. He had nothing to worry about on that score. Everybody who lives in the Smiling Pool knows that it is the best place in the world, anyway.”
Grandfather Frog winked at Jerry Muskrat, who was listening, and Jerry nodded his head.
“But soon Mr. Turtle discovered that the big people were eating the little people whenever they could catch them, and that he wasn’t safe a minute when on shore, and not always safe in the water,” continued Grandfather Frog. “He had two or three very narrow escapes, and these set him to thinking. He was too slow and awkward to run or to fight. The only thing he could do was to keep out of sight as much as possible. So he learned to swim with only his head out of water, and sometimes with only the end of his nose out of water. When he went on land, he would cover himself with mud, and then when he heard anybody coming, he would lie perfectly still, with his legs and his tail and his head drawn in just as close as possible, so that he looked for all the world like just a little lump of brown earth.
“One day he had crawled under a piece of bark to rest and at the same time keep out of sight of any who might happen along. When he got ready to go on his way, he found that the piece of bark had caught on his back, and that he was carrying it with him. At first he was annoyed and started to shake it off. Before he succeeded, he heard someone coming, so he promptly drew in his head and legs and tail. It was Mr. Fisher, and he was very hungry and fierce. He looked at the piece of bark under which Mr. Turtle was hiding, but all he saw was the bark, because, you know, Mr. Turtle had drawn himself completely under.
“‘I believe,’ said Mr. Fisher, talking out loud to himself, ‘that I’ll have a look around the Smiling Pool and see if I can catch that slow-moving Turtle who lives there. I believe he’ll make me a good dinner.’
“Of course Mr. Turtle heard just what he said, and he blessed the piece of bark which had hidden him from Mr. Fisher’s sight. For a long time he lay very still. When he did go on, he took the greatest care not to shake off that piece of bark, for he didn’t know but that any minute he might want to hide under it again. At last he reached the Smiling Pool and slipped into the water, leaving the piece of bark on the bank. After that, when he wanted to go on land, he would first make sure that no one was watching. Then he would crawl under the piece of bark and get it on his back. Wherever he went he carried the piece of bark so as to have it handy to hide under.

“Now all this time Old Mother Nature had been watching Mr. Turtle, and it pleased her to see that he was smart enough to think of such a clever way of fooling his enemies. So she began to study how she could help Mr. Turtle. One day she came up behind him just as he sat down to rest. The piece of bark was uncomfortable and scratched his back, ‘I wish,’ he said, talking to himself, for he didn’t know that any one else was near, ‘I wish that I had a house of my own that I could carry on my back all the time and be perfectly safe when I was inside of it.’
“‘You shall have,’ said Old Mother Nature, and reaching out, she touched his back and turned the skin into a hard shell. Then she touched the skin of his stomach and turned that into a hard shell. ‘Now draw in your head and your legs and your tail,’ she said.
“Mr. Turtle did as he was told to do, and there he was in the very best and safest kind of a house, perfectly hidden from all his enemies!
“‘Oh, Mother Nature, how can I ever thank you?’ he cried.
“‘By doing as you always have done, attending only to your own affairs,’ replied Old Mother Nature.

“So ever since that long-ago day when the world was young, all Turtles have carried their houses with them and never have meddled in things that don’t concern them,” concluded Grandfather Frog.
“Oh, thank you, Grandfather Frog,” exclaimed Peter, drawing a long breath. “That was a perfectly splendid thing for Old Mother Nature to do.”
Then he started for his own home in the dear Old Briar-patch, and all the way there he wondered and wondered how Grandfather Frog knew that he wanted that story, and to this day he hasn’t found out. You see, he didn’t notice that Grandfather Frog was listening when he asked Spotty about his house. Of course, Grandfather Frog knows Peter and his curiosity so well that he had guessed right away that Peter would come to him for the story, just as Peter did.

Seven little Rabbits lay on their nest at the bottom of the burrow, and wriggled and squirmed and pushed their soft noses against each other all day long. Life was very easy for them, and they were content. The first thing that they remembered was lying on their bed of fur, hay, and dried leaves, and feeling a great,warm, soft Something close beside them. After a while they learned that this Something was their Mamma Rabbit. It was she who had gotten the nest ready for them and lined it with fur. She didn’t care so much about looking beautiful as she did about making her babies comfortable.

It was their Mamma Rabbit, too, who fed them with warm milk until they were old enough to go out of the burrow. Then they would nibble bark and tender young shoots from the roots of the trees, and all the fresh, green, growing things that Rabbits like. She used to tell them about this food, and they wondered and wondered how it would taste. They began to feel very big and strong now. The soft fur was growing on their little bodies and covering even the soles of their feet. It was growing inside their cheeks, too, and that made them feel important, for Papa Rabbit said that he did not know any other animals that had fur inside their cheeks. He said it was something to be very proud of, so they were very proud, although why one should want fur inside of one’s cheeks it would be hard to say.

What tangles they did get into! Each little Rabbit had four legs, two short ones in front, and two long ones behind to help him take long jumps from one place to another. So, you see, there were twenty-eight legs there, pushing, catching in the hay, kicking, and sometimes just waving in the air when their tiny owners chanced to roll over on their backs and couldn’t get right side up again. Then Mamma Rabbit would come and poke them this way and that, never hurting any of them, but getting the nest in order.
“It is a great deal of work to pick up after children,” she would say with a tired little sigh, “but it will not be long before they have homes of their own and are doing the same thing.”

One fine morning when the children were alone in their burrow, the biggest little Rabbit had a strange feeling in his face, below and in front of his long ears, and above his eager little nose. It almost scared him at first, for he had never before felt anything at all like it. Then he guessed what it meant. There were two bunchy places on his face that Mamma Rabbit had told him were eyes. “When you are older,” she had said to him, “these eyes will open, and then you will see.” For the Rabbit children are always blind when they are babies.
When his mother told him that, the biggest little Rabbit had said, “What do you mean when you say I shall ‘see’? Is it anything like eating?”
And Mamma Rabbit said, “No, you cannot taste things until you touch them, but you can see them when they are far away.”
“Then it is like smelling,” said the biggest little Rabbit.
“No, it is not like smelling, either, for there are many things, like stones, which one cannot smell and yet can see.”
“Then it surely is like hearing,” said the biggest little Rabbit.

“Oh dear!” exclaimed his mother, who was tired of having questions asked which could not be answered. “It is not a bit like hearing. You could never hear a black cloud coming across the sky, but you could see it if you were outside your burrow. Nobody can make you understand what seeing is until your eyes are open, and then you will find out for yourself without asking.”

This made the biggest little Rabbit lie still for a while, and then he said: “What is a black cloud, and why does it come across the sky? And what is the sky, and why does it let the cloud come? And what is—” But he did not get any answer, for his mother ran out of the burrow as fast as she could.

And now his eyes were surely opening and he should see! His tiny heart thumped hard with excitement, and he rubbed his face with his forepaws to make his eyes open faster. Ah! There it was; something round and bright at the other end of the burrow, and some strange, slender things were waving across it. He wondered if it were good to eat, but he dared not crawl toward it to see. He did not know that the round, bright thing was just a bit of sky which he saw through the end of the burrow, and that the slender, waving ones were the branches of a tree tossing in the wind. Then he looked at his brothers and sisters as they lay beside him. He would not have known what they were if he had not felt them at the same time.

“I can see!” he cried. “I can see everything that there is to see! I’m ahead of you! Don’t you wish that you could see, too?”
That was not a very kind thing to say, but in a minute more his brothers and sisters had reason to be glad that they couldn’t see. Even while he was speaking and looking toward the light, he saw a brown head with two round eyes look in at him, and then a great creature that he thought must surely be a dog ran in toward him. He pushed his nose in among his blind brothers and sisters and tried to hide himself among them. He thought something awful was about to happen.
“I wish Mamma Rabbit would come,” he squeaked, shutting his eyes as closely as he could. “I wish Mamma Rabbit would come.”
“Why, here I am,” she answered. “What are you afraid of?”

The biggest little Rabbit opened his eyes, and there was the creature who had frightened him, and it was his own mother! You can imagine how glad she was to see that one of her children had his eyes open.
“I will call some of my Rabbit friends,” she said, “and let you see them, if you will promise not to be afraid.”

The next day four of the other little Rabbits had their eyes open, and the day after that they all could see each other and the shining piece of sky at the end of the burrow. It was not so very long afterward that the Rabbit family went out to dine in the forest, and this was the first time that the children had seen their father. Then their father taught them how to gnaw tough bark to wear their teeth down, for Rabbits’ teeth grow all the time, and if they were to eat only soft food, their teeth would get too long. He taught them, too, how to move their ears in the right way for keen hearing, and told them that when chased they must run for the burrow or the nearest thicket. “Then crouch down on some leaves that are the color of your fur,” he said, “and you may not be seen at all.”

“Why should we run?” said the biggest little Rabbit.
“Because you might be caught if you didn’t.”
“What might catch us?” asked the biggest little Rabbit.
“Oh, a Hawk, perhaps, or a Weasel.”
“What does a Hawk look like?”
“Like a great bird floating in the sky,” said Papa Rabbit. “Now, don’t ask me any more questions.”
“Does a Hawk look like that bird above us?” asked the biggest little Rabbit.
His father gave one look upward. “Yes!” he said. “Run!”
And just as the Hawk swooped down toward the ground, he saw nine white-tipped tails disappear into a burrow nearby.

Nia is at Georgina’s house and has just met her mother. Georgina’s mother faints when she sees Nia but after she is revived she shares some cookies, cake and milk before Nia gets called back to her capsule and it is time to go. Georgina walks Nia back and they talk about future visits.

Nia is still exploring Earth. She has met a crow and a dog and then meets a calf. Beebs asks her to return to the capsule but Nia just wants to look over one more hill, then she’ll go back. At the top of the hill she sees lots of structures and hears a new sound. The creature that is making the sounds stops after a bit and the next thing Nia hears is “Hellooooo there.” What is she going to do?

We are back with another Bernice story. Bernice is talking to Papa Bear about things that are coming up and they start talking about summer vacation. Bernice has lots of plans for her summer vacation and talks to Papa Bear as she gets ready for bed and listens to a story about Boo-Boo and Kai-Kai.

Nia Visits Earth is an original story about an alien called Nia who is on her way to Beta to study. Nia is not very happy about this decision and makes some alterations to her capsule to slow down her journey. When Beebs, the computer, gets an alert they have to land and recharge their batteries. They find a suitable planet and land their ship. Nia decides to go and do some exploring while they are waiting.

This is the second part of The Stratford Academy for Cats and Dogs. Fuzzy is ready for his second day at school and the art competition. When he arrives lots of animals are still hissing and murmuring but some are being nicer. At the end of the day everyone moves to the art room for the art competition. Will Fuzzy win?

Mother Earth and the little flower fairies had been very busy indeed getting ready for their great Spring opening. For weeks and weeks they had been preparing all the little flower children so that they would be ready to respond to the call of the robin and to the caresses of the sun and the soft west wind.

First of all, Snowdrop had been made ready because she was one of the very first to venture out into the world. And she and her many little sisters, very prim and neat in their white starched frocks, sat quite near the door. Sometimes Snowdrop would not wait for the robin and the sun to call her, but she would slip out quietly at the first warm shower. Nearby sat a whole row of happy Crocuses, happy and pretty in their bell-shaped dresses of white and purple and gold. Violets, nestling in their soft green coats, were there, and “Daffy-down-dilly dressed in a green petticoat and a new gown” was quite ready to “come to town.” Then there was dainty Spring Beauty and the proud and flaming Tulip and all the other dear, early flowers that make the world so beautiful after ice and snow are gone.

Yes,—every one was very busy and very happy,—every one,—except one poor, forlorn, little flower that sat, or rather lay, all alone in one corner. He did not look spick and span like the others, but his green coat hung about him quite wilted and soiled and his golden head drooped. He seemed very unhappy indeed.
“Come, come, Dandelion,—do tell us what has happened; you look quite crushed,” exclaimed one of the fairies, stopping long enough in her task of mixing colours to notice the sad little flower.
“Yes, Dandelion, do tell us,” cried Crocus who was all ready to push his little flower face out into the open air and who was waiting for the first opportunity to do so.
“Dandelion will tell us what has happened,” softly whispered Violet as she came closer to what was left of poor Dandelion.
“Well,—since all of you seem so interested I will tell you what happened. It certainly took all the pride out of me,—I still feel weak and pale. You know that we Dandelions are bold and venturesome folks and some of us make our appearance in warm and sunny places long before any of the rest of you have the courage to come out. Indeed it has long been a matter of pride with us to have some person find us even before Snowdrop makes her appearance.”

Snowdrop looked hurt at this, but said nothing and Dandelion continued:
“And so it happened that several of us slipped out and sprouted quietly and happily in Farmer Brown’s front yard. It was such a nice place,—the sun shone brightly and coaxed us to put our best blossoms—they were so large and yellow that I am sure they must have looked almost as fine as Chrysanthemum.”
Several of the flowers cast startled looks into the dark corner where the Chrysanthemum brothers and sisters were sleeping. But their slumbers were so sound, since they would not wake until autumn, that they did not hear Dandelion’s boastful remark.

“We made a beautiful spot of yellow on the lawn,” continued Dandelion. “Well, yesterday Farmer and Mrs. Brown were out in the garden and they saw us.
“‘Oh, see the dandelions! How early they are this year. I shall have to call the children.’”
“With that Mrs. Brown went into the house to call her little boy and girl who came out and greeted us joyfully.
“‘Let me see, Jack, if you like butter,’ said Ruth, as she held one of my blossoms under her brother’s chin. It surely looked quite yellow by reflection and of course this was a sure sign that he liked butter.

“‘Come, Ruth, let’s see if we can get enough stems to make a chain for you,’ cried Jack, and they found enough of my hollow stems to make a chain to go around Ruth’s little white throat.
“By this time I felt we were doing much to make the children happy and I lifted my head proudly and whispered to my companions that surely we were useful as well as beautiful. Just then Mrs. Brown called the children into the house and we were left alone in the garden.

“But not for long—Alas! Farmer Brown who had gone away while the children were with us now returned with a strange, sharp and shining tool in his hand. He came straight to where we were growing so happily and said:
“‘Now we’ll see whether this new weeding tool won’t get rid of these pesky dandelions. Every year they spread more and more so that by and by there’ll not be any grass. Perhaps by starting early to weed them out we can get rid of the pests!’ With that he dug the instrument deep into the ground and pulled up all my lovely little brothers and sisters. I alone remained, but even I was badly bruised as you can see, and I have come back to tell you how I have been treated. Wasn’t it an unkind thing? I had always thought that people loved us,—for we make the fields and meadows glow with the sun’s own colour.” And poor Dandelion drooped his golden head and was as sad as it is possible for a golden headed flower to be.

All the other flower children had looked very solemn and sympathetic during Dandelion’s story and when he had finished, they crowded about him.
“It’s just a shame,” murmured Crocus; “I hope no one will treat me so rudely.”
“Yes indeed,” whispered Snowdrop, “it would certainly be a painful misfortune to have one’s roots pulled up by a weeder,” and she shuddered so violently that her stiff little petticoats fairly shook.

But Mother Earth and the fairies only smiled and said nothing, for they knew quite well that it would take many, many farmers and more weeders than they could ever hope to buy to get rid of Dandelion and his numerous brothers and sisters.
And the little fairy who was Dandelion’s particular friend laid her tiny hand on his tousled golden head as she whispered, “Never mind, Dandelion dear, you are the children’s friend and companion and good old Mother Earth will never let you fall. She sends forth more of your kind than any other; she has made you so sturdy and strong that you can thrive almost anywhere—and I truly think that she loves you best.”

This is part one of our two part series titled The Stratford Academy for Cats and Dogs. In this part there is a new student at the Academy and the cats and dogs cannot believe their eyes when they see him. Fuzzy certainly does not fit in but he has transferred to this school for the art program. Fuzzy’s first day is very difficult until he gets to the art room and is able to create his first painting.

Nibbles is a small mouse who lives on a farm. Binks, the cat, has started making it hard to get food and Nibbles is tired of eating bread and cheese. When he hears that Rufus has lots of bags of food, Nibbles decides he needs to go and talk to him about it.

In our latest Bernice story, Bernice is getting ready for bed. After dinner Bernice does her homework and then starts her bedtime routine and Papa Bear has a story to help her get ready for bed.

The raindrops were kept busy one morning in the garden of the fairies. There were many flowers to be washed clean of the dust that had dulled their beautiful colours, and the green of the trees must be made bright once more; and to leave without a dance with the little waves of the brook was not to be thought of. So the raindrops fell early in the morning, but in the afternoon the sky became clear and there was promise in the beautiful rainbow that the raindrops’ work was done, for that day at least.

“Isn’t our garden beautiful after a shower?” said one fairy to another sitting beside her.
“Yes, the dust covers the colours of the flowers almost as soon as we have painted them. But see the gold of those daffodils! I like the reds and blues of the other flowers, too. They seem brighter than ever to-day. Sometimes I sit all day and look at them.”

“Oh! we have a rainbow this afternoon. It always looks to me like a great garden of flowers stretched in bands across the sky. I like to think that its yellow, red, and blue are made up of flowers like these in our garden here.”
“Do you see that colour next to the green? I love it; it is so dark and deep. Many times I have wished we might have a flower here on earth just like it.”
“Surely you, Fairy Artist, would have no trouble to make a colour like that; at least, it wouldn’t hurt for you to try.”
The fairy artist sat with her eyes turned toward the rainbow until it had faded from sight, and long after the sun had sunk to rest, she sat alone under the trees, thinking.

One morning she called all the fairies to her. “Dear fairies,” she said, “I am going to try to make a colour like that dark one in the rainbow. It may take me a long, long while, but one cannot give the children a greater joy than to add a new colour to the flowers on earth.”
No one knew better than she that a great task lay before her. Many days and weeks she tried. Sometimes the mixture was lighter than the colour in the rainbow, and sometimes it seemed too dark—never quite what she wished it to be.

Once, as she stood before the large bowl, mixing and stirring patiently—she stopped, and the fairies in the garden heard a shout of joy: “I have it! the beautiful colour! the beautiful colour!”
They hurried to the place where she always stood with her bowl and brush.
“See, it is the colour, indeed,” they said; but, as they looked into the bowl, the beautiful colour began to fade, and soon it was not at all like the colour she had longed for.

“Ah, I see,” said the artist fairy, sadly, “it is of no use to mix together these paints that I have been using. We must gather my material from all the colours of earth. My dear fairies, you must all help.” Many were sent far and wide to bring from the earth clays of every colour they could find. The artist fairy kept working faithfully and patiently.
One day when she had worked harder and longer than usual, she heard one say, “Surely, Artist Fairy, you do not mean to work all the evening? See, the sun is ready to sink.”
“Just a little longer; I feel sure that the colour will come before sunset. Look, does it not begin even now to change?”

The fairies looked into the bowl and all exclaimed at once, “The colour at last! It is indeed the deep colour of the rainbow!”
“Let us carry the bowl to the top of the bank and at moonlight we will celebrate the new joy that has come to us.”

It was a small bank that overlooked a little brook. Flowers had never grown there and sometimes the fairies felt sad when they looked upon that bare spot in their garden. Perhaps the great tree that spread out its branches took more than its share of the sunshine, but the fairies loved this bank. Moonbeams always seemed to lie so still there. “It’s just the place for our moonlight celebration!” one said.

All the creatures of the fairies’ garden came to the celebration. The night was glorious. The moon sent down her silvery beams earlier than usual, although the fireflies insisted that there was no need of her shining so brightly, and that she might throw all her beams to the waves in the brook, for they looked so beautiful with a silver covering. Not a grasshopper went to bed, and the frog made the music for the dance, at which the cricket felt sad, for she knew her voice could not be heard above his. The flowers sang their sweetest songs about the new colour that was to come among them. It was not very late when the fairies joined hands and danced together around the bowl. Perhaps this moonlight celebration would have lasted many hours longer, but as the fairies were finishing the dance, one of them touched the precious bowl and oh no! the next moment they saw the beautiful colour flow in tiny dark streams down the hillside. For a little while it glistened beneath the rays of the moon, and then it sank into the dark earth. The fairies stood and watched it, helpless.

“It is all lost. It is all gone in a moment,” said the Artist Fairy, as she turned for comfort to the rest.
“No, no, my dear Fairy. What you have once done you can do again.”
“I do not remember how it was made. No, I don’t think I can do it again. It is gone forever.”
“Do not say that, please. Have you not heard the saying that ‘nothing is ever truly lost’?”

Once more the raindrops visited the garden, and the fairies worked all day long and all night long before everything was done.
“It is so refreshing when the garden has been washed clean again of its dust.”
“Look,” cried one. “See our bank this morning.”
“It is covered with a carpet of purple! Come, let us look closer,” called another.
“It is the colour! It is the colour!” said the Artist Fairy, as she hurried toward the bank. “Nothing is lost,” she added, softly as she looked closer. Purple violets had been born that morning while the raindrops fell.

In A Mermaid Visits Souris Billy is bored. He has done everything he thinks he can and he still has nothing to do. Mom asks his older sister Jessica to take him for a walk to keep him occupied. They head to the beach and find something amazing there at their favourite log.

Bixi the Gnome Tells a Story is the next story in our Bernice series. Bernice has asked her Papa to tell her another story about Bixi the Gnome so she settles into bed and listens as Boo-Boo and Bluebell make another trip into the woods to find Bixi.

Do you like to go to sleep? Jackie in our story does not like sleeping. He enjoys getting ready for bed but not actually sleeping. Mom has asked him to try counting sheep. Jackie does but when number 10 doesn’t jump over the fence Jackie goes to see why.

Boo-Boo and Bluebell Search for a Hidden Trunk is the next series in our Bernice the Bear Series. In this story when Bernice gets home from school she and Papa make dinner together and she tells him about her day. Once she is ready for bed, Papa tells her a story about Boo-Boo and Bluebell.

Yuki and Koro is a story about a beautiful cat who has everything she could wish for. Yuki eats ice cream all the time and has a great mother. One day Yuki’s mom tells her she is going to be bringing her a big surprise when she gets home. What can it be, Yuki wonders?

One night a maple tree, the very one under which Mr. Red Squirrel sat when he first came to the forest, dreamed of her winter resting-time, and when she awakened early in the morning she found that her leaves were turning yellow. They were not all brightly colored, but on each was an edging, or a tip, or a splash of gold. You may be sure that the Forest People noticed it at once.
“I told you so,” chirruped a Robin to her mate. “The Orioles went long ago, and the Bobolinks start to-day. We must think about our trip to the South.” When she said this, she hopped restlessly from twig to twig with an air of being exceedingly busy.

Her husband did not answer, but began to arrange his new coat of feathers. Perhaps he was used to her fussy ways and thought it just as well to keep still. He knew that none of the Robins would start South until the weather became much colder, and he did not think it necessary to talk about it yet. Perhaps, too, Mr. Robin was a little difficult and was all the more slow and quiet because his wife was uneasy. In that case one could hardly blame her for talking over the family plans with the neighbors.

Later in the day, a Bobolink came up from the marsh to say good-by. He had on his traveling suit of striped brown, and you would never have known him for the same jolly fellow who during the spring and early summer wore black and buff and sang so heartily and sweetly. Now he did not sing at all, and slipped silently from bush to bush, only speaking when he had to. He was a good fellow and everyone felt sad to have him go.

Mrs. Cowbird came up while they were talking. Now that she did not care to lay any more eggs, the other birds were quite friendly with her. They began to talk over the summer that was past, and said how nicely the young birds were coming on.

The Mourning Doves were there with their young son and daughter, and you could see by looking at them that they were an affectionate family. “We shall be the last to go South,” they cooed. “We always mean to come North in the very early spring and stay as late as possible.

This year we came much later than usual, but it could not be helped.” They had spoken so before, and rather sadly. It was said that they could tell a sorrowful story if they would; but they did not wish to sadden others by it, and bore their troubles together bravely and lovingly.

“How do the new feathers work?” asked a Crow, flying up at this minute and looking blacker than ever in his fall coat. Then all the birds began to talk about dress. As soon as their broods were raised, you know, their feathers had begun to drop out, and they had kept on moulting until all of the old ones were gone and the new ones were on. When birds are moulting they never feel well, and when it is over they are both happy and proud.

“I changed later than usual this year,” said the Crow, “and I feel that I am wearing the very latest fashions.” This was a joke which he must have picked up among the Barnyard People, and nobody knows where they got it. Fashions never change in the Forest.

“I think,” remarked a Red-headed Woodpecker, “that I have the best wing feathers now that I ever had. They seem to be a little longer, and they hook together so well. I almost wish I were going South to try them on a long journey.”

“Mr. Woodpecker’s wing feathers are certainly excellent,” said his wife, who was always glad to see him well dressed. “I am sure that the strongest wind will never part them. I don’t see how the Owls can stand it to wear their feathers unhooked so that some of the air passes through their wings each time they flap them. It must make flying hard.”

“Well, if you were an Owl you would understand,” chuckled the Crow. “If their great wings were like ours, the noise of their flying would scare every creature within hearing.”

And so they chatted on, while from the meadow came the sound of the happy insects piping in the sunshine. It was chilly now at night and in the early morning, and they could give concerts only at noonday. The next day the Wild Turkeys came and there was great excitement in the forest. The Squirrels were busier than ever storing up all the acorns that they could before the newcomers reached the oak trees; and the Blue Jays were so jealous of the Turkeys that they over ate every day for fear there would not be enough to go around. As if that could ever happen!

The GroundHog was getting so sleepy now that he would doze off while people were talking to him, and then he would suddenly straighten up and say: “Yes, yes, yes! Don’t think that I was asleep, please. The colors of the trees are so bright that they tire my eyes and I sometimes close them.” The dear old fellow really never knew how he had been nodding.

The Snakes, too, were growing dull and slowing down, while the Bats talked freely of hanging themselves up for the winter. The Grouse and Quail made daily trips to the edges of the grain-fields, and found rich picking among the stubble. You could almost fancy that they came home each night fatter than when they went away in the morning.

Life went on in this way for many days, and the birds had all stopped singing. There were no more happy concerts at sunrise and no more carols in the evening; only chirrupings and twitterings as the feathered people hopped restlessly from one perch to another. All could see that they were busily thinking and had no time for music. The truth was that each bird who was not to spend the winter in the Forest felt as though something were drawing—drawing—drawing them southward. It was something they could not see or hear, and yet it was drawing—drawing—drawing all day and all night. They spoke of it often to each other, and the older birds told the young ones how, before long, they would all start South, and fly over land and water until they reached their winter home.

“How do we know where to go?” asked the children.
“All that you have to do,” the older ones said, “is to follow us.”
“And how do you know?” they asked.
“Why, we have been there before,” they answered; “and we can see the places over which we pass. But perhaps that is not the real reason, for sometimes we fly over such great stretches of water that we can see nothing else and it all looks alike. Then we cannot see which way to go, but still we feel that we are drawn South, and we only have to think about that and fly onward. The fathers and sons always will reach there first. The mothers and daughters come a few days later. We never make a mistake.”

“It is wonderful, wonderful,” thought a young Rabbit on the grass below. “I must watch them when they go.”

The very next morning the Forest People awakened to find a silvery frost on the grass and feel the still air stirred by the soft dropping of damp red, brown, and yellow leaves from the trees. Over the river and all the lowland near it hung a heavy veil of white mist.

“It is time!” whispered the Robins to each other.
“It is time!” cooed the Mourning Doves.
“It is time!” cried the Cowbirds in their hoarse voices.

All through the forest there was restlessness and quiet haste. The Juncoes had already come from the cold northland and were resting from their long flight. The GroundHogs, the Rabbits, and the Squirrels were out to say good-by. The Owls peeped from their hollow trees, shading their eyes from the strong light of the sun. And then the travelers went. The Robins started in family parties. The Mourning Doves slipped quietly away. The Cowbirds went in a dashing crowd. And the Crows, after much talking and disputing on the tree-tops, took a noisy farewell of the few members of the flock who were to remain behind, and, joining other flocks from the North, flew off in a great company which darkened the sky and caused a shadow to pass over the stubble-field almost like that of a summer cloud.

“They are gone!” sighed the GroundHog and his wife. “We shall miss them sadly. Well, we can dream about them, and that will be a comfort.”

“Jay! Jay!” shrieked a handsome-crested fellow from the tree above. “What if they are gone? They will be back in the spring, and we have plenty to eat. What is the use of feeling sad? Jay! Jay!”

Not everyone felt the same as the bluejays. The song-birds had many loving friends who missed them and longed for their return when the weather grew warm again.

Grandma the Gamer is all about Minecraft. Grandma comes to visit Katy and notices that Katy spends a lot of time playing computer games with her friends. Katy thinks Grandma just doesn’t understand how things are these days. After a little while Katy realizes she hasn’t seen her Grandma in a few days and wonders what she is doing.

There was once a donkey whose master had made him carry sacks to the mill for many a long year, but whose strength began at last to fail, so that each day as it came found him less capable of work. Then his master began to think of turning him out, but the donkey, guessing that something was in the wind that boded no good for him, he ran away, taking the road to Bremen; for there he thought he might get a job as a town musician. When he had gone a little way he found a hound lying by the side of the road panting, as if he had run a long way.
“Now, Holdfast, what are you so out of breath about?” said the donkey.
“Oh dear!” said the dog, “now I am old, I get weaker every day, and can do no good in the hunt, so, as my master was going to put me out to pasture, I have made my escape; but now, how am I to earn a living?”
“I will tell you what,” said the ass, “I am going to Bremen to become a town musician. You may as well go with me, and take up music too. I can play the lute, and you can beat the drum.”
And the dog agreed, and they walked on together. It was not long before they came to a cat sitting in the road, looking as dismal as three wet days.
“Now then, what is the matter with you, old one?” said the donkey.
“I would like to know who would be cheerful when his neck is in danger?” answered the cat. “Now that I am old my teeth are getting blunt, and I would rather sit by the oven and purr than run about after mice, and my owner wanted to get rid of me; so I took myself off; but good advice is scarce, and I do not know what is to become of me.”
“Go with us to Bremen,” said the ass, “and become a town musician. You understand serenading.”
The cat thought it was a great idea, and went with them accordingly. After that the three travellers passed by a yard, and a rooster was perched on the gate crowing with all his might.
“Your cries are enough to pierce bone and marrow,” said the ass; “what is the matter?”
“I have foretold good weather for Lady-day, so that all the shirts may be washed and dried; and now on Sunday morning company is coming, and the mistress has said that I must be let go so I am crowing with all my might while I can.”
“You had much better go with us,” said the donkey. “We are going to Bremen. At any rate that will be better than being let go. You have a powerful voice, and when we are all performing together it will have a very good effect.”
So the rooster consented, and they went on all four together.

But Bremen was too far off to be reached in one day, and towards evening they came to a wood, where they decided to pass the night. The donkey and the dog lay down under a large tree; the cat got up among the branches, and the rooster flew up to the top, as that was the safest place for him. Before he went to sleep he looked all round him to the four points of the compass, and saw in the distance a little light shining, and he called out to his companions that there must be a house not far off, as he could see a light, so the donkey said,
“We had better get up and go there, for these are uncomfortable quarters.” The dog began to fancy a few bones, not quite bare, would do him good. And they all set off in the direction of the light, and it grew larger and brighter, until at last it led them to a robber’s house, all lit up. The donkey, being the biggest, went up to the window, and looked in.
“Well, what do you see?” asked the dog.
“What do I see?” answered the donkey; “here is a table set out with splendid eatables and drinkables, and robbers sitting at it and making themselves very comfortable.”
“That would just suit us,” said the rooster.
“Yes, indeed, I wish we were there,” said the donkey. Then they consulted together how it should be managed so as to get the robbers out of the house, and at last they hit on a plan.

The dokey was to place his forefeet on the window-sill, the dog was to get on the donkey’s back, the cat on the top of the dog, and lastly the rooster was to fly up and perch on the cat’s head. When that was done, at a given signal they all began to perform their music. The donkey brayed, the dog barked, the cat mewed, and the rooster crowed; then they burst through into the room, breaking all the panes of glass. The robbers fled at the dreadful sound; they thought it was some ghost, and fled to the wood in the utmost terror. Then the four companions sat down to table, made free with the remains of the meal, and feasted as if they had been hungry for a month. And when they had finished they put out the lights, and each sought out a sleeping-place to suit his nature and habits. The donkey laid himself down outside on the hill, the dog behind the door, the cat on the hearth by the warm ashes, and the rooster settled himself in the loft, and as they were all tired with their long journey they soon fell fast asleep.

When midnight drew near, and the robbers from afar saw that no light was burning, and that everything appeared quiet, their captain said to them that he thought that they had run away without reason, telling one of them to go and reconnoitre. So one of them went, and found everything quite quiet; he went into the kitchen to strike a light, and taking the glowing fiery eyes of the cat for burning coals, he held a match to them in order to kindle it. But the cat, not seeing the joke, flew into his face, spitting and scratching. Then he cried out in terror, and ran to get out at the back door, but the dog, who was lying there, ran at him and bit his leg; and as he was rushing through the yard by the hill the donkey struck out and gave him a great kick with his hindfoot; and the rooster, who had been wakened with the noise, and felt quite brisk, cried out, “Cock-a-doodle-doo!”
Then the robber got back as well as he could to his captain, and said, “Oh dear! in that house there is a grewsome witch, and I felt her breath and her long nails in my face; and by the door there stands a man who poked me in the leg with a knife; and in the yard there lies a blackghost, who hit me with his wooden club; and above, upon the roof, there sits the justice, who cried, ‘Bring that thief here!’ And so I ran away from the place as fast as I could.”

From that time forward the robbers never ventured to that house, and the four Bremen town musicians found themselves so well off where they were, that that is where they stayed.

Wiggles the Dog is a story about a stray dog named Wiggles. Wiggles is looked after by Mr. and Mrs. Jones and he loves them dearly. They cannot have him in their house so they built a house for him in the backyard. Wiggles goes for a walk with the Jones’ everyday until one day no one comes. Let’s see what is going to happen with Wiggles.

Bernice and the Chocolate Easter Eggs is the latest in our stories about Bernice the Brown Bear. Bernice has come home very excited and can’t wait to tell Papa and Mama Bear about her day at school. When it is time for bed Bernice has some trouble getting settled so Papa Bear tells her a short story to help.

Mother Tiny-Tail sat in her little red plush rocking chair rocking to and fro singing:
“Alas! alack! I am old and gray,
And have no eggs for Easter Day.”
Just then a Funny Bunny came by with a hop, and a skip, and a bound and said, “Oh, Mother Tiny-Tail, no eggs for Easter, no eggs for the Tiny-Tails? That will never do!” So saying, he borrowed Mother Tiny-Tail’s market basket, and went hippety-hop to the Little Brown Hen who lives in the lane, saying:
“Please give me eggs now that I ask it,
Enough to fill my market basket.”
The Little Brown Hen said:
“If you will bring me an ear of corn,
I’ll fill your basket by Easter morn.”
Then Funny Bunny went with a hop, and a skip, and a jump to the little old Farmer who lived in the field and said:
“Please give me corn, now that I ask it,
Enough to fill my market basket.”

The Farmer replied:
“Bring me a sack of meal all ground,
I will fill your basket safe and sound.”
Funny Bunny went with a pitter, patter, pitter, patter, until he came to the Miller, and said:
“Please give me a meal-bag, since I ask it,
Enough to fill my market basket.”
The Miller laughed until his old fat sides shook and answered:
“Your request sounds rather funny,
I will give you meal for money.”

Then Funny Bunny sat down on a stone to think.
How was he going to get some money?
It was getting dark, and the Little Hill Men came out one by one, digging for fairy gold.
When Funny Bunny saw them he cried:
“Please give me money, since I ask it,
Enough to fill my market basket.”
Now, the Little Hill Men did not want to give something for nothing, so they shouted:
“With a hop, skip, bound, measure our hill
And your empty basket we soon will fill.”

Of course, the Little Hill Men never dreamed that he would do it, so they went on digging for fairy gold.
Funny Bunny was in real earnest, for he thought of Mother Tiny-Tail rocking sadly to and fro in her red plush rocking chair, so
From the daisies to the apple tree,
Skippety-hoppety-skip went he.
My! how fast his legs could carry him!
He came back singing:
“Your hill’s as long, your hill’s as wide
As anyone would care to ride!”
The Little Hill Men were so surprised he had answered their question that they all stopped digging and crowded around Funny Bunny. “Click, click, click,” they dropped gold into his market basket.
Then he ran with a hop, skip and jump to the Miller and bought a bag of meal. He took the meal to the Farmer and bought the corn. Then he took the corn to the Little Brown Hen, who lived in the lane, and she counted out one dozen, two dozen, three dozen, four dozen, five dozen beautiful white eggs. They filled the market basket Funny Bunny was carrying.
When he got home he set the market basket down in front of Mother Tiny Tail, saying:
“I’m Funny Bunny, I cannot stay,
But I wish you a happy Easter Day.”
Mother Tiny-Tail stopped rocking to and fro; but before she could say, “Thank you,” Funny Bunny was hippety-hoppety, off and away.
Mother Tiny-Tail painted the Easter eggs and hid them everywhere.
On Easter morning, all the Tiny-Tails cried, “Oh” and “Ah,” for they found the Easter Eggs in their shoes, in their oatmeal bowls, and in the most unexpected places.
Just at that very minute Funny Bunny peeped in the window and cried, as he held up a wonderful sugary egg:
“Kindness comes back now and then,
See my Easter egg, from The Little Hill Men!”
Funny Bunny was always so kind to the Little Tiny-Tails that the Hill Men remembered him.
Then, with a twinkle of nose, and a dancing of toes, Funny Bunny went hippety-hoppety, off and away, singing:
“I really would not think it funny,
If you should call me an Easter Bunny.”

To My Chocolate Easter Bunny
By Kelly Roper

Mom said not to eat you all at once
Or I would be quite sick.
But I can’t resist your chocolatey ears,
So I’ll eat them really quick.
Those ears were so delicious,
Maybe I’ll have just one more bite.
And then I’ll save the rest of you
For later on tonight.

Guess I got a little carried away,
I’ve eaten you down to your tummy.
It’s not my fault I can’t resist
Because you are so yummy.
It seems a shame to put what’s left
Back in that festive box.
I’ll just finish you – wait, what’s that I feel?
My belly’s having aftershocks!
I should have listened to my mom.
She warned me what would happen.
If I had listened to her my stomach
Wouldn’t be growling and snapping.

The Corgi Who Played Basketball is a story about a dog named Cooper. Cooper sees the basketball team is looking for new people and he decides he’d like to try out for the team. He goes after school to try out and realizes it is not quite what he thought it would be.

Kai-Kai and the Unicorn is another Bernice the Bear story. This time Bernice asks her father to tell her a less serious story so he says okay. Papa Bear decides to give Boo-Boo a rest for this story and tells about a time that Kai-Kai met a unicorn.

Luna and Pepper are back in the second part of their adventure. Luna and Pepper love their owners and feel sad that there are some cats that don’t have a home. They decide to go out and help. They have found the cats they were looking for, now what can they do?

Luna and Pepper is about two cats. Their owners have gone out for the day and Pepper can’t decide what to do first. She goes looking for Luna who loves to hide and jump out but Luna is nowhere to be found. When Pepper finds Luna she is sad, and tells Pepper she doesn’t feel like playing. So they go on an adventure to help others, because helping others makes us happy too.

Papa Bear Comes Home Late is another episode with Bernice the Bear. Papa had to go to work and he is late getting home. Bernice has already finished her dinner and is supposed to be asleep when Papa finally gets upstairs to talk to her but she is not in her bed. Papa finds her and tells her why he wasn’t home.

Bernice Goes to the Dentist is another episode with our friend Bernice. Bernice needs to go to the dentist for a checkup but she is nervous because a bear at school told her some things that made her feel that way. Will Bernice be able to go to the dentist? Or will she hide?

There came to our fields a pair of birds that had never built a nest nor seen a winter. How beautiful was everything! The fields were full of flowers, and the grass was growing tall, and the bees were humming everywhere. Then one of the birds began singing, and the other bird said, “Who told you to sing?” And he answered, “The flowers told me, and the bees told me, and the winds and leaves told me, and the blue sky told me, and you told me to sing.” Then his mate answered, “When did I tell you to sing?” And he said, “Every time you brought in tender grass for the nest, and every time your soft wings fluttered off again for hair and feathers to line the nest.” Then his mate said, “What are you singing about?” And he answered, “I am singing about everything and nothing. It is because I am so happy that I sing.”
After some time five little speckled eggs were in the nest, and his mate said, “Is there anything in all the world as pretty as my eggs?” Then they both looked down on some people that were passing by and felt sorry for them because they were not birds.

In a week or two, one day, when the father-bird came home, the mother-bird said, “Oh, what do you think has happened?” “What?” “One of my eggs has been peeping and moving!” Pretty soon another egg moved under her feathers, and then another and another, till five little birds were hatched! Now the father-bird sang louder and louder than ever. The mother-bird, too, wanted to sing, but she had no time, and so she turned her song into work. So hungry were these little birds that it kept both parents busy feeding them. Away each one flew. The moment the little birds heard their wings fluttering among the leaves, five yellow mouths flew open wide, so that nothing could be seen but five yellow mouths!

“Can anybody be happier?” said the father-bird to the mother-bird. “We will live in this tree always, for there is no sorrow here. It is a tree that always bears joy.”
Soon the little birds were big enough to fly, and great was their parents’ joy to see them leave the nest and sit crumpled up upon the branches. There was then a great time! The two old birds talking and chatting to make the young ones go alone! In a little time they had learned to use their wings, and they flew away and away, and found their own food, and built their own nests, and sang their own songs of joy.

Then the old birds sat silent and looked at each other, until the mother-bird said, “Why don’t you sing?” And he answered, “I can’t sing—I can only think and think.” “What are you thinking of?” “I am thinking how everything changes: the leaves are falling off from this tree, and soon there will be no roof over our heads; the flowers are all going; last night there was a frost; almost all the birds have flown away. Something calls me, and I feel as if I would like to fly far away.”
“Let us fly away together!”

Then they rose silently, and, lifting themselves far up in the air, they looked to the north: far away they saw the snow coming. They looked to the south: there they saw flowers and green leaves! All day they flew; and all night they flew and flew, till they found a land where there was no winter—where flowers always blossom, and birds always sing.

Transfer Student Part 6 has Red and the Solving a Mystery Club meeting after school to try and figure our what has happened to Mrs. Johnson. They decide to go to her house to look for clues. Will they be able to figure out what happened? Are the A.I.D involved?

The Transfer Student Part 5 is the first part in a story about Red and the Solving a Mystery Club. In this story Red is settling in and feeling more optimistic about her new home and school. When she gets to school her class has a substitute teacher and she gets a note from Charlie saying there will be a meeting in the library at lunchtime, they are concerned that something may have happened to Mrs. Johnson. Will they be able to find out if this is true?

In this story Bernice wakes up and doesn’t feel well, not even honey cakes can get her out of bed. When Daddy comes up to check on her he decides she is going to stay home and gets ready to tell her a story.

Princess meets Templeton part two finishes our story about Princess and the mouse she met in her basement, Templeton. Templeton came into Princesses’ basement when the heavy rain started but cannot get back out. Princess wants to help her new friend find a way out, but will she be able to?

You remember that Nip, the big dog, had carried away the Stuffed Elephant when Archie set his toy down on the barn floor for a moment. And, coming back, after having gone to look for the nest of a cackling hen, Archie did not find his Elephant awaiting him as he expected to.
“Oh, Elsie!” exclaimed the little boy. “Didn’t I leave my Elephant right here?” and he pointed to the place where he had set it.
“Why, yes, I think you did,” Elsie answered. “I saw you put it there. I was going to leave my Doll there, too, but she isn’t feeling very well, and has a little cold, so I carried her in my arms. I have her here now,” she added, as she held up her toy.
“Well, my Elephant is gone!” exclaimed Archie. “And I know I left it here! Yes, you can see where his feet stood,” he added, as he pointed to some marks in the dust of the barn floor.
Elsie, holding her Doll, stooped down beside her brother and looked at the dust.

“There are lots of marks,” said the little girl. “Your Elephant must have been walking around. Oh, Archie!” she cried, with shining eyes, “maybe he came to life and walked away!”
“Nope! He couldn’t do that!” Archie said. Of course he knew nothing of what the toys did after dark—how they made belief come to life, talked, and had fun among themselves.
“But now I know what has happened!” Archie exclaimed. “I can tell by the marks in the dust.”
“What happened?” asked Elsie.
“Nip has been here,” went on the little boy. “I can tell his paw marks in the dust. It wasn’t my Elephant walking around, it was Nip! And Nip has carried off my Elephant!”
“Oh, just as he did once with my old Rag Doll!” cried Elsie.
“That’s it!” her brother said. “Nip has carried away my Elephant. Come here, Nip! Where are you?” called Archie.

Now Nip was always ready to come when Archie called, for he and the little boy had many good times together, romping and playing tag in the yard. So, when he heard his name called, Nip came running into the barn to where Elsie and Archie were standing.
“Nip!” said Archie sternly, “did you take my Elephant? Did you carry him away?”
Now Nip understood a great deal that was said to him. He knew that he had taken away the Elephant. So, when Archie talked this way, Nip hung his head and put his tail between his legs.
“Nip!” went on Archie, “where is my Stuffed Elephant? Go get it! Bring back my Elephant! Go on, Nip!”
Nip gave a little bark. He sprang up, barked again, louder than before, and off he ran to a dim and distant part of the barn.
“Is he going after your Elephant?” asked Elsie.
“I hope so,” her brother answered. “We’ll follow him and see where he goes.”

But Nip ran too fast for the children to follow. Down the stairs, into the dark corner of that part of the barn where the garden tools were kept, ran Nip. He knew he had been found out, and that he must bring back Archie’s Elephant.
So, just as the Shovel, the Rake and the Pick had hurried away to look for the prize, and while the Wheelbarrow, the Hoe and the Lawn Mower were fussing to see why they couldn’t have a chance to win, Nip pounced down on the Elephant, lifted him up, and started back with him to Archie.
“Oh, I’m so glad you came to get me!” said the Elephant. “I was just going to try to find my way back myself, for I have had a most dreadful time trying to settle a dispute among the garden tools. Oh, I never should like to be a Judge!”
Nip did not answer, because he had the Stuffed Elephant in his mouth.
“I hope we are going to be friends, Mr. Nip,” went on the Elephant. “Please don’t carry me away again.”
Nip wanted to say that he wouldn’t but just then Elsie and Archie came running up, and the dog could not talk, nor could the Elephant pretend to be alive, for the eyes of the children were upon them.
“Oh, he has my Elephant!” joyfully cried Archie. “I guess you must have hidden him, Nip, for you knew where to find him! Bring my Elephant here!”
Nip put the Elephant down on the barn floor at Archie’s feet, and then the dog wagged his tail.
“He’s asking you to forgive him,” said Elsie.
“And I will,” promised Archie. “But don’t do it again!” he added, shaking his finger at Nip.
“Woof, woof!” barked the dog, and perhaps that meant he would not.

“Oh, I’m so glad to have my Elephant back!” said Archie, as he began playing with his toy.
“And I’m glad to be back,” thought the Elephant. “That Judge business was a great trial!”
Through the spring and into the summer Archie had fun with his Elephant. Then one day something very exciting happened. Archie was playing out in the backyard, near a little brook, with his Elephant, when along the front road came a music man and a monkey. Archie and his sister ran to hear the music and see the monkey, and Archie left his Elephant in the grass.
Soon after this it began to rain very hard and the children hurried into the house. Going up the steps Archie fell and bumped his head, making his nose bleed, and there was so much excitement for a time that the Elephant was forgotten. He was left out in the storm, and the rain came down harder and harder, making little puddles and tiny brooks in the yard; brooks that flowed into the large one.

“Oh, this is dreadful!” thought the poor Elephant, as the rain pelted down on him. “Of course if I was real I wouldn’t mind the rain, for real Elephants like water. But I’m getting soaking wet! It’s beginning to come through my stuffing. I’m feeling like a sponge!
“Oh, why doesn’t Archie come and get me, or at least give me an umbrella! I think I’ll try to walk under a toadstool to keep out of the wet. If I can only find one large enough.”
As no one was watching him, the Elephant had a chance to move about and make belief come to life. But he had waited too long. The rain had soaked into his cotton stuffing making him so heavy that now he could not move.
“Oh no, what is going to happen?” he thought.

He tried to lift first one leg, then another, but it was hard work. The water was beginning to rise around him. His feet were in mud puddles. He struggled hard to pull them out, and then, all at once, he lurched to one side, and fell over flat—right into a pool of water!

Down pelted more and more rain, harder and harder, until the backyard, where Archie had been playing with the Stuffed Elephant, was almost a little lake of water. The puddle rose higher and higher around the Stuffed Elephant as he lay on his side, unable to move because he was so soaked with water—like a sponge.
Inside the house where Archie lived there was trouble, because the little boy was hurt worse in his fall than was at first supposed. They had to send for the doctor, and of course no one thought of the poor Elephant.
“I’m glad I’m not out in this rain with my Doll,” said Elsie, as she sat at the window after the doctor had gone.
“Yes, it is a regular flood,” said Mother, sadly thinking of her little boy.
And still no one thought of the Elephant out in all the storm.

If Elsie remembered anything at all, she probably thought that Archie had brought his Elephant into the house. As for Archie, the doctor had given him something to make him sleep, and the little boy was too sick to even dream of his Stuffed Elephant.
As for the Elephant; well, he was in a sad state! The wet cotton stuffing inside him was cold and clammy. His trunk was like a wet piece of paper, and he feared his wooden tusks would come out, if the glue that held them in got too wet.
“Oh, dear! What am I to do?” thought the poor toy.
Now it happened that Jeff, a neighborhood boy, lived not far from Archie’s home. And about this time Jeff’s mother sent him to the store.
“Do I have to go to the store in this rain?” asked the little boy.
“You sure do!” replied his mother. “You aren’t made of sugar so you won’t melt. Put on your old coat and go to the store, please!”
So Jeff went. He took a “short cut” which led across the Dunn’s back yard, and Jeff passed the place where the poor Elephant lay in a puddle of water.
“Oh, man!” cried Jeff, laughing. “I found a toy, YIPEE! I know just what I’m going to do. I’ll put this Elephant on a board until I come back from the store. Then I’ll take him home with me!”
Jeff looked around until he found a flat board, large enough to hold the elephant. Putting the toy on this board, Jeff laid it to one side, and ran on to the store.

But Jeff was not to have that Elephant. While he was at the store the rain came down harder than ever, making so much water that the little brook in Archie’s back yard rose higher and higher.
The brook rose so high that the water reached the board on which the limp and soaking Elephant was lying on his side. And then the water lifted up the board, Elephant and all, and floated them down stream.
“Oh, my!” thought the poor Stuffed Elephant. “This is the last of me! I am going on a long voyage! I shall never see Archie again!”

Down the stream he floated on the board which was like a boat. Once a fish poked his head out of the water and called:
“Who are you and where are you going?”
Before the Elephant could answer the swift current had carried him farther downstream and away from the fish.
Once the board with the Elephant on it bumped against a big Water Rat.
“Be careful who you’re bumping!” snarled the Rat.
“Excuse me,” replied the Elephant. “I didn’t mean to.”
The Rat tried to grab the Elephant’s trunk, but again the swift current carried the boat downstream.
Finally the rain stopped, after a day or so, but by that time the Elephant had been carried a long way down the brook, at last coming to a stop when the board was caught in the roots of an overhanging tree. By now the Elephant was almost glued fast to the board, he was so wet.
The rain stopped, the brook went down, the sun came out, and the Elephant dried. But he still lay on the board, on the bank of the stream, under the roots of the tree.

A man, who happened to be passing, saw the Elephant, picked him off the board, and, seeing that he was an expensive toy, took the plaything to his home.
“What a fine Elephant!” said the man’s wife. “I’ll put him on the mantel, over the stove, so he’ll dry out more. Some child lost this. I wish I could find out who owned this Elephant.”
“I wish so, myself,” thought the Elephant. “Oh, shall I ever get back to Archie?”
It was a day or so after the big storm that Archie was able to be up and around, and the first thing he thought of, when he could go outdoors, was his Elephant.
“Oh, where is he?” cried the little boy. “I remember I left him in the yard when we heard the music man and ran to see the monkey. And then it rained and I fell down and bumped my nose. Oh, where is my Elephant?”
“If you left him out here in the yard I’m afraid the Elephant may have floated away,” said Mrs. Dunn. “The brook rose very high—almost up to our back steps—and it probably carried your Elephant away.”
“Oh, no. Will I ever get him back?” cried Archie, feeling sad.
“I don’t know,” his mother answered.

Archie felt so upset about his toy that his father put an ad in the paper, asking whoever found the Elephant to please bring him back and get a reward.

The man who had taken the Elephant home read the paper, and he saw the ad Mr. Dunn put in.
“There!” called the man to his wife. “Now I know where that Elephant belongs. I’ll take him back to the little boy.”
“Well, he’s good and dry,” said his wife. “I mean the Elephant is good and dry. He’s almost as good as new.” And, in fact, the Elephant was, for she had brushed off all the mud, and the heat had dried out the water.
Carrying the Stuffed Elephant, the man who had found the toy took it to Archie’s house.
“Oh, here he is! My Stuffed Elephant! He’s come back to me! Oh, how glad I am!” cried Archie, as he clasped the Stuffed Elephant in his arms. “Oh, how glad I am!”
“And I’m glad, too!” thought the Elephant. “I feared I would never see Archie and Elsie again! And I’m even glad to see Nip!” for the dog came to the door, wagging his tail.
Once again there was happiness in the Dunn house, for the lost Elephant was back.

“Let me go! Oh, please put me down! Where are you taking me?” called the Stuffed Elephant to Nip, the big dog.
Nip did not answer. This was not because he could not speak the toy language or the language of the Stuffed Elephants. But Nip held Archie’s plaything in his mouth, and you know a dog can’t even bark when he has something in his mouth. He can only growl.
Now, Nip was not a bad dog. And though he was playing a trick on the Stuffed Elephant, still Nip was not angry enough to do any growling. So he just kept still, and trotted along the barn floor, carrying the Elephant.

Nip, being a big dog, had no trouble carrying the Stuffed Elephant, though the toy was rather large. Stuffed with cotton, as the Elephant was, he was not very heavy, you see.
“Stop! Oh, please let me go! Where are you taking me?” asked the Elephant again.
But Nip never answered a word. All the dog had said at first was:
“I am going to carry you away!”
And he seemed to be doing this.

Through the barn he trotted with the Stuffed Elephant in his mouth. The Elephant had never been in this part of the barn before. Archie and Elsie never came here to play. It was too dark, and rather dusty and dirty, with cobwebs hanging down from the walls and ceiling.
Down the stairs trotted Nip, still carrying the Elephant. The dog trotted over to a dim and dusty corner, dropped the toy upside down on the floor and then barked:
“There you are! Now let’s see you find your way back! I’ll teach you to scare me by make believing your trunk is a snake!”
“Oh, but I didn’t do that! Really I didn’t!” exclaimed the Elephant, as he scrambled to his feet. He could move about and talk now, because no human eyes were there to watch him. “It was all an accident,” he went on. “The wind blew my trunk! I didn’t wave it at you to scare you by making you think it was a snake. Really I didn’t!”
“Yes, you did!” said Nip, and away he ran, soon being lost to sight in the darkness of this part of the barn.

For a little while the Stuffed Elephant stood there, swaying slowly to and fro, as real elephants do. He reached out with his trunk and gently touched the wooden walls. He could dimly see things all about him, but he did not know what they were.
“Oh, dear!” sighed the poor Stuffed Elephant. “I don’t like this at all! I wonder what I had better do?”
He was trying to think, and wondering if he could walk up the stairs and find his way back to the place where Archie had left him before Nip carried him away, when, suddenly, the Stuffed Elephant heard voices talking.
“Maybe he could settle it,” said one voice.
“Well, I’m willing to leave it to him if you are,” said a second.
“Who is he, anyhow?” asked a third voice.
“Oh, he’s some sort of animal,” went on the first voice. “He isn’t an angleworm, I know that much, but just what sort he is I don’t know. But he looks smart, and maybe he can settle this dispute for us.”
“I am a Stuffed Elephant, that’s who I am,” said Archie’s pet, speaking for himself. “And who are you, if you please? I can’t see any one, but I hear you talking. Who are you?”
“I am the Garden Shovel,” answered the first voice; “and I claim to be the most useful tool in all the world. Without me there never would be any garden, and things would not grow.”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed the second voice. “I am the Garden Rake, and I claim to be the most useful tool the gardener ever uses. Without me the ground would never be raked nice and smooth, so the seeds could be put in. I should get the prize for being the most useful.”
“How foolishly you talk!” put in the third voice. “Everyone knows that I am entitled to the prize. Talk about shoveling the ground, and raking the ground! What can you two do by yourselves, or together, for that matter, if the ground is hard? Answer me that. You must send for me, you know you must!”
“And who are you?” asked the Stuffed Elephant, for this tool had not yet named himself.
“I am the Pick,” was the answer. “And with my sharp points the hardest ground can be made soft, so the Rake and the Shovel can work. I am the most useful tool of all.”
“No, I am!” cried the Rake.
“Indeed you are not! I am!” exclaimed the Shovel.
“Well, there we are! Just where we started!” complained the Pick. “Why not leave it to this gentleman animal here. What did you say your name was?” he asked politely, and then Archie’s toy saw the Pick, the Rake and the Shovel step out from a dark corner and stand in a row before him.

“I am the Stuffed Elephant,” was the answer. “This is my first visit to this part of the barn. What is it you want me to do?”
“If this is your first visit you have never seen any of us before, have you?” asked the Shovel.
“Never before have I seen any of you,” the Elephant replied.
“Just the proper one for a Judge!” declared the Rake. “He will be honest and fair.”
“I’m willing to have him if you two are,” said the Pick.
“What’s it all about?” asked the Elephant. “I don’t understand. What is a Judge?”
“Someone who tells the right from the wrong,” answered the Rake. “Listen, Mr. Stuffed Elephant! Get up on that box, for a Judge must be above everyone else, and we will tell you what the trouble is.”

The Elephant got up on a strong, empty onion crate, and stood there with the Shovel, the Rake and the Pick standing in a row in front of him.
“You must say ‘Ahem!’ and bang on the box, like a real Judge,” said the Shovel.
“Ahem!” coughed the Elephant, as loudly as he could. Then he took up a piece of wood in the end of his trunk, and banged on the side of the onion crate.

“Now this is like a real court,” said the Rake, “and we shall have our quarrel settled.”
“Oh, have you three been quarreling?” asked the Elephant Judge.
“Well, not exactly; and the quarrel is not an angry one,” replied the Shovel. “You see,” he went on, “we three tools work in the garden. Or, rather, Jake, the man, uses us when he works. Now I claim I am the most useful of the three. Jake always takes me out when there is a bit of ground to be dug up, or turned over, when he wants to make the garden in the spring. So I think, Mr. Judge Elephant, Your Honor, that I am entitled to the prize.”
“Hum! Let me see now,” said the Elephant, trying to look very wise. “I suppose I must listen to what the others have to say.”

“Oh, yes, indeed!” exclaimed the Rake. “We must each state our case, as in a real court, and then you shall decide who is right. Now, for myself—Oh, by the way, have you quite finished?” he asked of the Shovel, politely.
“Yes,” was the answer, “I think I said enough to have the Elephant Judge give me the prize. Go on, Mr. Rake.”
“Well,” said the Rake, smiling a little to show his teeth, “I claim to be more useful than the Shovel. It is true Jake uses him to turn the ground over. But before the ground can be turned Jake uses me to take away the dead leaves and sticks that are not wanted. And even after the Shovel is used to turn the ground over, no seeds can be planted, and the garden can not really be made, until I am used again to smooth things over. So I claim to be the most useful tool.”
The Rake stepped back in line with the others, and they all waited for the Elephant to speak.

“Ahem!” said the animal judge very loudly. “There is one more to be heard. Proceed, Mr. Pick.”
The Pick, who had at least two good points in his favor, stepped forward, made a stiff little bow with his handle, and said:
“What my friends Rake and Shovel have told you, of course is true. They are useful, each in his own way. But I do the really hard work of the garden. When the earth is packed hard and dry, so that neither the Shovel nor the Rake can be used, Jake always comes and gets me. I am larger and stronger than either the Rake or the Shovel, though of course the Rake has a longer handle. But it is a very thin handle, and if Jake struck as hard a blow with the Rake as he strikes with me, the Rake’s handle would break. And no matter how hard he digs the Shovel into the hard ground, no earth can be turned over until I first loosen it. So I claim the prize.”
The Pick stepped back in line with the other two, all three bowed politely and waited.

“What am I to do now?” asked the Elephant.
“You must act as Judge and tell which of us is the most useful, to decide who gets the prize,” said the Rake.
“That is it,” chimed in the Pick and the Shovel.
“This is very hard—very hard indeed,” sighed the Elephant. “In fact I never before knew how hard it was to decide between right and wrong. Let me think a minute.”

He passed his trunk over his head, which was beginning to ache with all the talk he had listened to.
“Hum! Let me see now,” the Elephant spoke slowly. “It is true, Mr. Shovel, that you are very useful. Without you the ground could not be turned.”
“There! See! I told you I’d get the prize!” cried the Shovel.
“Wait a minute! I have not finished!” said the Elephant Judge. “What I was going to say was that before I could decide who wins I must see the prize. What is the prize? Bring it here that I may see it, and then I will decide who is to get it.”Oh, the prize!” cried the Shovel.
“That’s so, we forgot all about it!” gasped the Rake.
“What was the prize to be?” asked the Pick. “I declare we did not settle on any. How silly!”

“Until I see the prize I cannot give judgment,” said the Elephant; “so the case will have to ‘go over,’ as I believe they say in Court, until the prize is brought here. Stop arguing now, and get me the prize!”
“Yes! Yes! The prize! The prize!” cried the Rake, the Shovel and the Pick, and they all scurried away.
“Ha! Ha! Ha!” laughed another voice in the corner from where the three tools were.
“What silly chaps!” came in another voice.
“To forget the most important thing of all—the prize!” added another.
“Who are you?” asked the Elephant, stepping down off the onion crate.
“I’m the Hoe,” was the answer of the first. “If I had wished I could have told how useful I am. In fact, I think I would have to try for the prize.”
“I’m just as much entitled to it as you are,” someone else said. “You needn’t think you can get ahead of me!”
“Who are you?” asked the Elephant.
“The Wheelbarrow,” was the reply. “You ought to see the loads I carry. I ought to get the prize!”
“What about me?” asked a third voice.
“Who are you?” asked the Elephant.
“The Lawn Mower. Just think what an ugly place this place would be unless I kept the grass trim and neat. It should be my prize.”

“Oh, my goodness!” exclaimed the poor Elephant. “If there are to be more disputes, and more evidence in this case, I shall go crazy. Stop!” he cried, as the Wheelbarrow, the Hoe, and the Lawn Mower came forward, all talking at once. “Stop! I will do nothing until I see the prize! Court is adjourned!”

And as the Elephant said this the sound of loud barking sounded through the barn.
“Oh, maybe that is Nip coming to carry me back,” thought the Elephant. “I certainly hope so!”

Lucy Makes a Friend is the second and final part of our story about Lucy and the Stubby Tail. Lucy enjoyed meeting Archie and has decided to take his advice and go out and play with the other animals. When she heads over to talk to them, they are all staring at her so she turns quickly and goes home. Will she be able to try again?

Archie was so surprised at what happened that, for a moment, he could do nothing but stand and look at the stream of oats gliding down the wooden chute to the bin on the floor below.
“There goes your Elephant!” cried Elsie again. “He fell right into the oats, Archie!”
“Yes—yes—I—I see he did!” stammered the little boy.
“I’m glad my Doll didn’t go, too!” went on Elsie. “I guess I’d better take her away before she tumbles in.”
Elsie reached over to take her toy from the side of the oat bin where the Doll had been put.
But Elsie’s foot slipped on some hay on the floor, she tried to save herself from falling, her arm struck her Doll, and, a moment later, the Doll was sliding down the stream of smooth oats as the Elephant had done.
“Oh! No!” cried Archie. “Look at your Doll! She went down just like my Elephant!”
“Oh, No! Oh, dear!” wailed Elsie. “Where has she gone?”
“Down into the oat bin on the first floor,” explained Archie. “The oats go from this big bin to the little bin where Jake takes them out to give to the horses. Don’t cry, Elsie. We’ll get your Doll back.”

Archie had almost been going to cry himself when he saw his Elephant being buried in the rushing stream of oats. But when he heard his sister’s sobs he made up his mind to be brave and try to help her.
Archie was so excited that he still held up the sliding door of the oat bin, and the grains kept on sliding down the chute, carrying with them the Elephant and Doll, though now the toys were not in sight.
“Come on downstairs and get my Doll!” begged Elsie, tugging at her brother’s hand. “Come on and get your Elephant and my Doll.”
“Yup, we’d better do that,” Archie agreed.

Then he saw that he was still holding open the little door in the oat bin, so that pecks and bushels of the grains were still sliding down the chute.
“I’d better close that, or the Elephant and the Doll will be buried away down under so many oats they’ll never get out,” said the little boy.
He let go of the handle that they had pulled to raise the door, and it dropped shut, stopping any more oats from sliding down the chute. Then he took Elsie’s hand and hurried toward the stairs that led to the lower floor of the barn.

Meanwhile, as you probably have guessed, the Elephant and the Doll were not having a very good time. At first, when the Elephant felt himself fall in with the sliding oats, he did not know what had happened.
“I wonder what sort of adventure this is!” thought the Elephant. “It’s almost as bad as being thrown out into a snow drift, though I’m glad it isn’t cold. These oats are very scratchy, though, and they make me want to sneeze. But where am I going?”
The Elephant did not know. All he could tell was that he was being carried along in the dark with a lot of oats, for it was dark inside the grain chute.
Down, down, down went the Elephant, just as he had gone up, up, up on the rope.
“Where will I land?” thought the Elephant.
A moment later he found out, for he was shot from the chute into an almost empty grain bin on the lower floor. Out of the chute tumbled the Elephant, and he was very glad to be in an open space once more.
“But it is almost as dark as it was before,” he said and little light came from the top of the bin which did not close tightly, but it was only a little light.

But the Elephant’s troubles were not over. For no sooner had he been slid clear of the chute, landing on his feet, very luckily, than more oats poured out, for Archie was still holding open the door of the grain bin up above. So many oats came sliding down the chute that they rose all around the Elephant like rising water around a rock. The oats rose to his knees, to his stomach, where they tickled him a little, and then began to rise over his back.
“Oh!” he trumpeted, raising his trunk as high as he could. “I am going to be covered from sight in the oats!”
And then, when the oats almost covered his eyes, he had a glimpse of the Doll coming down the chute, in a shower of oats.
“Oh, you poor child!” called the Elephant.
“Yes, isn’t this terrible!” exclaimed the Doll. “Oh, how are we ever going to get out?”

The Elephant tried to answer, but now the oats rose over his mouth and he could not speak. Only the top of his head and the tip of his trunk stuck out above the oats.
The Doll, having come down a little later, was not so deeply covered by the grains. She tried to stand up, to keep her head as far above the oats as she could, but it was hard work. Around and around she slipped, from side to side.
More and more oats poured down, for Archie still held open the door, and at last the poor Doll was covered from sight, as was the Elephant.
And it was now that Archie and Elsie came racing down the stairs. Archie called:

“Jake! Jake! Where are you? Please, come here! Oh, my Elephant is in the oat bin, and so is Elsie’s Doll, and we’ve just got to get ’em out! We’ve just got to!”
“What’s that? Elsie is in the oat bin?” cried Jake, who had just come back to the barn.
“No, not Elsie, but her Doll!” shouted Archie. “And so is my Stuffed Elephant.”
“Well, that isn’t as bad as if one of you children were in the bin,” replied Jake. “I’ll help you, though. Show me which bin.”

Archie told him what he had done, and when Jake opened the bin on the lower floor it was full to the top and running over with oats.
“You surely let down enough grain,” said Jake.
“How are you going to get my Doll?” Elsie asked.
“And my Elephant?” added Archie.

“Oh, I’ll shovel them out,” said Jake. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll get the Doll and the Elephant.”
“Well, you’d better hurry, ’cause they might smother,” Elsie said.
“I’ll hurry,” promised Jake.

With a shovel he carefully took some of the oats from the bin, so that first Elsie’s Doll could be seen, and then the Elephant came into view.
“There you are!” said kind Jake, as he handed the toys back to the children.
“My, wasn’t that a terrible time?” said the Doll to the Elephant that night, when they were left by themselves in a closet.
“I should say so!” agreed the Elephant. “I never want anything like that to happen again! I hope I have no more adventures!”
But he was to have more.

For a time, however, nothing very exciting happened. Archie played with his Elephant and Elsie with her Doll, and their boy and girl friends brought over their toys to have fun with. Often they amused themselves in the big, warm barn, though Archie did not go near the grain bin again.
Sometimes Nip, the big dog, would go to the barn to play with the children, and once, though not meaning to, the Elephant gave the dog a fright. It happened like this.
Archie had set his elephant down on the barn floor, near a big box. Nip, the dog, coming suddenly around the corner of the box, did not know the Elephant was there until a draft of wind swayed the Elephant’s trunk, making it wiggle to and fro.
“Oh, my! A snake! A snake!” cried Nip, who was afraid of the crawling creatures. “It’s a big snake!”
“Nonsense! I’m not a snake,” said the Elephant, who could speak, since Elsie and Archie were in another part of the barn.
“What was it that looked like a snake?” howled Nip.
“It was my trunk. The wind blew it,” said the Elephant.
“Hum!” said Nip, who, now that he took a second look, saw that there was really no snake, and nothing to frighten him. “Hum! I think you did that on purpose, just to scare me!”
“No, really I didn’t!” said the Elephant.
“Yes, you did, too!” barked Nip. “And, just for that, I’m going to play a trick on you!”
“Please don’t!” begged the Elephant.
“Yes, I will!” growled Nip, who was a little angry, and not as kind as he might have been. “I’m going to carry you off!” he barked.
Then, before the Elephant could do anything to save himself, Nip, the big dog, caught the soft Stuffed Elephant up by his back and carried him into a dark and distant part of the barn.

Once upon a time there lived a child whose name was Ava. She was sweet and loving and had everything in the world to make her happy,—but she had a little blind sister, and Ava could not be perfectly happy as long as her sister’s eyes were closed so that she could not see the beautiful world, nor enjoy the bright sunshine. Little Ava kept wondering if there was not something that she could do which would open her little sister’s eyes.
At last, one day, she heard of an old, old woman, nobody knew how old, who had lived for hundreds of years in a dark cave, not many miles away. This peculiar, old woman knew a secret enchantment, by means of which the blind could receive their sight. The child, Ava, asked her parents’ permission to make a journey to the cave, in order that she might try to persuade the old woman to tell her this secret. “Then,” she exclaimed, joyfully, “my dear sister need no longer sit in darkness.” Her parents gave a somewhat unwilling consent, as they had heard many strange and unsettling stories about the old woman. At last, however, one fine spring morning, Ava started on her journey. She had a long distance to walk, but the happy thoughts in her heart made the time pass quickly, and the soft, cool breeze seemed to be whispering a song to her all the way.

When she came to the mouth of the cave, it looked so dark that she almost feared entering it, but the thought of her little sister gave her courage, and she walked in. At first she could see nothing, for all the sunshine was shut out by the frowning rocks that guarded the entrance. Soon, however, she could see the old woman sitting on a stone chair, spinning a pile of flax into a fine, fine thread. She looked nearly bent over double with age, and her face wore a look of worry and care, which made her appear still older.

Ava came close to her side, and thought, she is so old that she must be hard of hearing. The old woman did not turn her head, nor stop her spinning. Ava waited a moment, and then took fresh courage, and said, “I have come to ask you if you will tell me how I can cure my blind sister?” The strange creature turned and stared at her as if she were very much surprised; she then spoke in a deep, hollow voice, so hollow that it sounded as if she had not spoken for a very long time. “Oh,” she said with a snicker, “I can tell you well enough, but you’ll not do it. People who can see, trouble themselves very little about those who are blind!” This last was said with a sigh, and then she scowled at Ava until the child’s heart began to beat very fast.
But the thought of her little blind sister made her brave again, and she cried out, “Oh please tell me. I will do anything to help my dear sister!” The old woman looked long and earnestly at her this time. She then stooped down and searched in the heap of the fine-spun thread which lay at her side until she found the end of it. This she held out to the child, saying, “Take this and carry it all around the world, and when you have done that, come to me and I will show you how your blind sister may be cured.” Little Ava thanked her and eagerly seized the tiny thread, wrapping it carefully around her hand so that she might not lose it, turned and hastened out of the close, damp cave.

She had not traveled far before she looked back to be sure the thread had not broken, it was so thin. Imagine her surprise to see that instead of its being a gray thread of spun flax, it was a thread of golden light, that glittered and shone in the sunlight, as if it were made of the most precious stuff on earth. She felt sure that it must be a magic thread, and that it somehow would help her to cure her blind sister. So she kept going on, glad and happy.
Soon, however, she approached a dark, dense forest. No ray of sunlight seemed ever to have fallen on the trunks of its trees. In the distance she thought she could hear the growl of bears and the roar of lions. Her heart almost stopped beating. “Oh, I can never go through that gloomy forest,” she said to herself, and her eyes filled with tears. She turned to retrace her steps, when the soft breeze which still accompanied her whispered, “Look at the thread you have been carrying! Look at the golden thread!” She looked back, and the bright, tiny line of light seemed to be actually smiling at her, as it stretched across the soft grass covered ground, far into the distance, and, strange to say, each tiny blade of grass which it had touched, had blossomed into a flower. So, as the little girl looked back, she saw a flowery path with a glittering line of golden light running through it. “How beautiful!” she exclaimed, “I did not notice the flowers as I came along, but the enchanted thread will make the next traveler see them.”

This thought filled her with such joy that she pushed forward into the woods. Sometimes she knocked her head against a tree which stood in her way; sometimes she almost felt she was lost, but every now and then she would look back and the sight of the tiny thread of golden light always renewed her courage. Once in a while she felt quite sure that she could see the nose of some wild beast poking out in front of her, but when she came nearer it proved to be the joint in a tree trunk, or some strange fungus which had grown on a low branch. Then she would laugh at herself and go on. One of the wonderful things about the mysterious little thread which she carried in her hand was that it seemed to open a path behind it, so that one could easily follow in her foot-steps without stumbling over fallen trees, or bumping against living ones. Every now and then a gray squirrel would frisk by her in a friendly fashion, as if to remind her that she was not alone, even in the twilight of the dark woods. After a while she came to the part of the forest where the trees were less dense, and soon she was out in the glad sunshine again.

But now a new difficulty faced her. As far as she could see stretched a low, swampy marsh of wet land. The mud and slime did not look very inviting, but the thought of her little blind sister came to her again, and she bravely plunged into the mire. The dirty, dripping mud clung to her dress and made her feet so heavy that she grew tired lifting them out of it. Sometimes she seemed to be stuck fast, and it was only with a great effort that she could pull out, first one foot, and then the other. A lively green frog hopped along beside her, and seemed to say, in his funny, croaking voice, “Never mind the mud, you’ll soon be through it.” When she had at last reached the end of the slippery, sticky marsh, and stood once more on firm ground, she looked back at the tiny thread of golden light which trailed along after her. What do you think had happened? Wherever the mysterious and beautiful thread had touched the mud, the water had dried up, and the earth had become firm and hard, so that any other person who might wish to cross the swampy place could walk on firm ground. This made Ava so happy, that she began to sing softly to herself.

Soon, however, her singing stopped. As the day advanced, the air grew hotter and hotter. The trees had long ago disappeared, and now the grass became parched and dry, until at last she found herself in the middle of a dreary desert. For miles and miles the scorching sand stretched on every side. She could not even find a friendly rock in whose shadow she might rest for a time. The blazing sun hurt her eyes and made her head ache, and the hot sand burned her feet. Still she kept going, cheered by a swarm of yellow butterflies that fluttered just ahead of her. At last the end of the desert was reached, just as the sun disappeared behind a crimson cloud. Dusty and weary, Ava was about to throw herself down on the ground to rest. As she did so, her eyes turned to look once more at the golden thread which had trailed behind her all day on the hot sand. Lo, and behold! What did she see? Tall shade trees had sprung up along the path she had traveled, and each tiny grain of sand that the wonderful thread had touched, was now changed into a diamond, or ruby, or emerald, or some other precious stone. On one side the pathway across the desert shone and glittered, while on the other the graceful trees cast a cool and refreshing shade.

Little Ava stood amazed as she looked at the beautiful trees and the sparkling gems. All feeling of weariness was gone. The air now seemed mild and refreshing, and she thought that she could hear in the distance some birds singing their evening songs. One by one the bright stars came out in the quiet sky above her head, as if to keep guard while she slept through the night.
The next morning she started forward on her long journey around the world. She traveled quite pleasantly for a while, thinking of how cool and shady the desert path would now be for any one who might have to travel it, and of the precious jewels she had left for someone else to gather up. She could not stop for them herself, she was too anxious to press forward and finish her task, in order that her little blind sister might soon see.

After a time she came to some rough rocks tumbled about in great confusion, as if angry giants had thrown them at each other. Soon the path grew steeper and steeper, and the rocks sharper and sharper. Before her she could see nothing but more rocks until they piled themselves into a great mountain, which frowned down upon her, as much as to say, “How dare you attempt to climb to my summit?” The brave child hesitated. Just then two strong eagles with outspread wings rose from their nest of sticks on the side of a steep cliff nearby, and soared majestically and slowly upwards. As they passed far above her head they uttered a loud cry which seemed to say, “Be brave and strong and you shall meet us at the mountain-top.”

Sometimes the ragged edges of the rocks tore her dress, and sometimes they caught the tiny golden thread, and tangled it so that she had to turn back and loosen it from their hold. The road was very steep and she was forced to sit down every few minutes and catch her breath. Still she climbed on, keeping the soaring eagles always in sight. As she neared the top, she turned and looked back at the enchanted thread of golden light which she had carried through all the long, strange journey. Another marvelous thing had happened! The rugged path of sharp, broken rocks, had changed into broad and beautiful white marble steps, over which trailed the shining thread of light. She knew that she had made a pathway up this difficult mountain and her heart rejoiced.

She turned again to continue on her journey, when, only a short distance in front of her, she saw the dark cave in which lived the strange old woman who had told her to carry the line of light around the world. She rushed forward, and on entering the cave, she saw the old creature, almost bent double, still spinning the mysterious thread. Ava ran forward and cried out, “I have done all that you have told me to do, now please give sight to my sister?” The old woman sprang to her feet, seized the thread of golden light and exclaimed, “At last! at last! I am freed!”

Then came so strange and wonderful a change that Ava could hardly believe her own eyes. Instead of the ugly, angry-looking old woman, there stood a beautiful princess, with long hair, and tender eyes, her face radiant with joy. Her story was soon told. Hundreds of years ago she had been changed into the bent old woman, and put in the dark cave on the mountain-side, because she, the daughter of the King, had been selfish and idle, thinking only of herself, and her punishment had been that she must remain thus disguised and separated from all companions and friends until she could find someone who would be generous and brave enough to take the long, dangerous journey around the world for the sake of others. Her mother had been a fairy princess and had taught her many things which we have yet to learn. She showed Ava how, by dipping the golden thread into a spring of ordinary water, she could change the water into golden water, which glittered and sparkled like liquid sunshine. Filling a pitcher with this they went quickly together to where the little sister sat in darkness waiting for someone to come and lead her home. The beautiful princess told Ava to dip her hands into the bowl of enchanted water, and then press them upon the closed eyes of her sister. They opened! And the little blind girl could see!

After that the fairy princess came and lived with little Ava and her sister, and taught them how to do many wonderful things.

The prince’s pine is half as tall as the woodchuck that lives under the brown boulder; and the seedling fir in his first season was as tall as the prince’s pine, so for the time they made the most of each other’s company. The woodchuck and the prince’s pine were never to be any taller, but the silver fir was to keep on growing as long as he stood in the earth and drew sap. In his second season, which happened to be a good growing year, the fir was as tall as the woodchuck and began to look about him.

The forest of silver firs grew on a hill-slope up from a water-course as far as the borders of the long-leaved pines. Where the trees stood close together the earth was brown with the litter of a thousand years, and little gray hawks hunted in their green, windy glooms. In the open spaces there were thickets of meadowsweet, fireweed, monkshood, and columbine, with saplings and seedlings in between. When the fir which was as tall as the woodchuck had grown a year or two longer, he made a discovery. All the firs on the hill-slope were crooked! Their trunks bulged out at the base toward the downward pitch of the hill; and it is the proper destiny of fir trees to be straight.

“They should be straight,” said the seedling fir. “I feel it in my fibers that a fir tree should be straight.” He looked up at the fir mother very far above him on her way to the sky, with the sun and the wind in her star-built boughs.
“I shall be straight,” said the seedling fir.
“Ah, do not be too sure of it,” said the fir mother. But for all that the seedling fir was very sure, and when the snow tucked him in for the winter he took a long time to think about it. The snows are wonderfully deep in the canyon of the silver firs. From where they gather in the upper air the fir mother shakes them lightly down, packing so softly and so warm that the seedlings do not mind.

About the time the fir had grown tall enough to be called a sapling he made another discovery. The fir mother also had a crooked trunk. The sapling was greatly shocked; he hardly liked to speak of it to the fir mother. He remembered his old friend the prince’s pine, but he had so outgrown her that there was really no comfort in trying to make himself understood, so he spoke to the woodchuck. The woodchuck was no taller than he used to be, but when he climbed up on the brown boulder above his house he was on a level with the sapling fir, and though he was not much of a talker he was a great thinker and had opinions.

“Really,” said the fir, “I hardly like to speak of it, but you are such an old friend; do you see what a crook the fir mother has in her trunk? We firs you know were intended to be straight.”
“That,” said the woodchuck, “is on account of the snow.”
“But, oh, my friend,” said the sapling, “you must be mistaken. The snow is soft and comfortable and braces one up. I ought to know, for I spend whole winters in it.”
“Gru-r-ru-,” said the woodchuck crossly; “well for you that you do, or I should have eaten you off by now.”

After this the little fir kept his thoughts to himself; he was very much afraid of the woodchuck, and there is nothing a young fir fears so much as being eaten off before it has a chance to bear cones. But in fact the woodchuck spent the winter under the snow himself. He went into his house and shut the door when the first feel of snow was in the air, and did not come out until green things began to grow in the cleared spaces.
Not many winters after that the fir was sufficiently tall to hold the green cross, that all firs bear on their topmost bough, above the snow most of the winter through. Now he began to learn a great many things. The first of these was about the woodchuck.
“Really that fellow is a great braggart,” said the fir; “I cannot think how I came to be afraid of him.”

In those days the sapling saw the deer getting down in the flurry of the first snows to the feeding grounds on the lower hills, saw the mountain sheep nodding their great horns serenely in the shelter of a tall cliff through the wildest storms. In the spring he saw the brown bears shambling up the trails, ripping the bark off of trees to get at the worms and grubs that harbored there; lastly he saw the woodchuck come out of his hole as if nothing had ever happened.
And now as the winters came on, the fir began to feel the weight of the snow. When it was wet and heavy and clung to its branches, the little fir shivered and moaned.

“Droop your boughs,” creaked the fir mother; “droop them as I do, and the snow will fall.”
So the sapling drooped his fan-spread branches until they lay close to the trunk; and the snow wreaths slipped away and piled thickly about his trunk. But when the snow lay deep over all the slope, it packed and slid down toward the ravine and pressed strongly against the sapling fir.
“Oh, I shall be torn from my roots,” he cried; “I shall be broken off.”
“Bend,” said the fir mother, “bend, and you will not break.” So the young fir bent before the snow until he was curved like a bow, but when the spring came and the sap ran in his veins, he straightened his trunk anew and spread his branches in the star-shaped pattern.
“After all,” said the sapling, “it is not such a great matter to keep straight; it only requires effort.”

So he went on drooping and bending to the winter snows, growing strong and straight with the spring, and rejoicing. About this time the fir began to feel the tingling in his upper branches.
“Something is going to happen,” he said; something agreeable in fact, for the tree was fifty years old, and it was time to grow cones. For fifty years a silver fir has nothing to do but to grow branches, thrown out in annual circles, everyone in the shape of a cross. Then it grows cones on the topmost whorl, royal purple and burnished gold, on the ends of the branches like Christmas candles. The sapling fir had only three in his first season of bearing, but he was very proud of them, for now he was no longer a sapling, but a tree.

When one has to devote the whole of a long season to growing cones, one has not much occasion to think of other things. By the time there were five rows of cone-bearing branches spread out broadly from the silver fir, the woodchuck made a remark to the prince’s pine. It was not the same prince’s pine, nor the same woodchuck, but one of his descendants, and his parents had told him the whole story.
“It seems to me,” said the woodchuck, “that the fir tree is not going to be straight after all. He never quite seems to recover from the winter snow.”
“Ah,” said the prince’s pine, “I have always thought it better to have your seeds ripe and put away underground before the snow comes. Then you do not mind it at all.”

The woodchuck was right about the fir; his trunk was beginning to curve toward the downward slope of the hill with the weight of the drifts. And that went on until the curve was quite fixed in the ripened wood, and the fir tree could not have straightened up if he had wished. But to tell the truth, the fir tree did not wish. By the end of another fifty years, when he wagged his high top above the forest gloom, he grew to be quite proud of it.
“There is nothing,” he said to the sapling firs, “like being able to endure hard times with a good appearance. I have seen a great deal of life. There are no such snows now as there used to be. You can see by the curve of my trunk what a weight I have borne.”
But the young firs did not pay any attention to him. They had made up their minds to grow up straight.

Anxious as the Nodding Donkey was to help his friend the Stuffed Elephant, nothing could be done. For the rope had suddenly been pulled up, taking the Elephant with it. And there he swung, dangling to and fro, the coil of rope getting tighter and tighter, squeezing the poor toy.
“Oh, I know all the stuffing will be squeezed out of me! I just know it will!” sighed the Elephant. “Then I’ll look like a balloon with all the air out of it! Oh dear!”
“Can’t you get yourself loose?” asked the Donkey. “I wish I could climb up and help you, but I can’t.”
“And I’d help you, for I am a good climber, only I can’t get off my stick. I’m fastened on tight just now,” chattered Herbert’s Monkey.
“Well, something will have to be done, if I am to be saved!” called the Elephant, of course not speaking loudly enough for the children, in another part of the barn, to hear.

Archie and his friends were still having fun sliding down the slippery hay, and they were making a great deal of noise. But you know how it is yourself. You often get tired of playing one game and want to go on to another.
It was this way with Archie and his friends. They slid and slid and slid on the hay until they had had enough of it. Then Elsie said:
“Let’s go back and get our playthings. I want to see my Dollie.”
Back to where they had left the toys trooped the children, and Archie, who ran ahead, was just in time to see his Stuffed Elephant swaying on the rope that was squeezing him.
“Oh, look! Look at my Elephant!” cried Archie. “He’s stuck in a rope! Oh, Oh, dear!”
“Run and grab him down! Pull him down!” shouted Joe.

Archie ran, but by this time the rope was pulled up still further and the Elephant was so far above the barn floor that even Herbert, who was taller than Archie, could not reach the plaything.
“Oh, stop!” cried Archie. “Stop squeezing my nice Elephant, Rope!”
Archie’s voice was loud and clear. Suddenly the rope which had been winding up, around the big wheel, came to a stop, and a voice called:
“What’s the matter down there? Are any of you children hurt?”
“Oh, that’s Jake!” exclaimed Elsie. “It’s our friend Jake!”
“What’s the trouble there, Archie?” Jake asked. He was somewhere in the loft of the barn.
“It’s my Elephant!” Archie answered, trying to keep from crying. “My nice, Stuffed Elephant. He’s stuck in a rope!”
“In a rope?” exclaimed Jake. “Do you mean this wheel rope that I use to hoist up bags of oats to the bin here? Is that the rope?”

“I don’t know—but it’s some rope!” Archie answered. “Can’t you save my Elephant?”
“Of course I can!” called Jake. “Don’t worry! Your Elephant isn’t alive—squeezing him with a rope won’t hurt him!”
“Yes, it will, too!” insisted Archie. “It can squeeze all the stuffing out of him and make him flat like a pancake.”
“Well, yes, that might happen,” admitted Jake. “But I didn’t know any of your toys were tangled in the hoisting rope, or I would not have pulled it. Wait a minute, now, and I’ll turn the wheel the other way and let your Elephant down to you.”

Slowly the big wheel turned in the other direction, and the end of the rope that was around the Elephant dropped toward the barn floor. The Elephant, also, began slowly to come down.
“Thank goodness!” said the toy to himself. “I could not have stood being squeezed much longer. I’m glad it’s over!”
And it was over a moment later when Archie could reach up, take the loop of rope from around his plaything and set the Elephant down on the barn floor.

“How did it happen?” asked Jake. He came down out of the loft, or place where he stored the bags of oats. The oats were hauled to the lower floor of the barn. There a rope was put around each bag and it was lifted to the upper floor where it was stored in a bin. The lifting rope went around a big wheel, acting like a dumbwaiter in some houses.
Jake had turned the wheel by pulling on a second rope upstairs in the barn, and as the wheel turned it wound up the longer rope. It was the end of this rope that had looped itself about the Elephant.
“How did it happen?” asked Jake again.
“I don’t know,” Archie replied. “I left my Elephant here when I went to slide down the hay. When I came back he was on the rope.”
“Some of you children must have left the Elephant too near the end of the rope,” said Jake. “When I wound it up the Elephant became tangled in a loop, and of course he was lifted up.”
“No! No! We didn’t leave the Elephant near the rope; did we?” asked Archie of his little friends.
“No!” they all answered.
“Well, that’s strange,” said Jake. “That Elephant never got on the rope by himself, I’m sure.”
But that is just what the Elephant did, as we know.
“Anyhow I’m glad he’s all right now,” said Archie, as he looked carefully at his new toy. “None of the stuffing came out.”
But it might have, if the Elephant had been left squeezed much longer by that rope.

Finding that everything was all right and that none of the children was in danger, Jake went back to the oat bin. There was a long chute, or slide, from the upper bin to a box on the first floor of the barn. And the oats came rushing down this slide when a door in the top bin was opened. This door could be opened by pulling a rope near the horse stalls, and sometimes Archie was allowed to pull the rope, open the door of the large grain bin, and let the oats slide down the chute to the smaller bin on the lower floor.
But this day Jake was putting a new supply of oats in the upper bin, and Archie was not allowed to play near it. The little boy and his friends soon began having more fun with their toys, giving the Clown and smaller dolls rides on the back of the Stuffed Elephant.

And this is how the days passed, and the Elephant lived and was happy in Archie’s home. The Elephant did not often think of Mr. Mugg and his daughters Geraldine and Angelina. He liked it much better in Archie’s house than in the store. Of course the toy store was a jolly place, but no boys or girls were permitted to play with the toys. They were there for sale, and could only be played with after being bought and taken home.
So the Elephant was glad he belonged to Archie, who was a boy that took very good care of his playthings. Nearly every day Joe, Richard or Arnold would come over to see Archie, bringing their playthings, and in this way the Elephant met many friends whom he had adventures with.

And at night, when Archie and Elsie were in bed, of course the Elephant, and the other toys in the Dunn house, had their usual fun. They would make believe come to life and talk and play about in the nursery or in the closet—wherever they happened to be left at the close of the day.
It was still winter, though Archie and Elsie wished spring would come so they might play more often outside. And one rainy day, when it was too cold and stormy to be out, Archie and Elsie went to the big, warm barn to have fun. Archie carried his Elephant and Elsie had her Doll.

“Let’s go upstairs to the grain bins,” suggested Elsie, when they had played about in the hay for a time.
“Maybe Jake will let us open the bin door from up there, and we can watch the oats slide down the chute,” said Archie. “I like to watch the oats slide.”
“So do I,” Elsie admitted. The grain bin was so built that the door of the chute could be opened from above or below.
Up to the upper floor of the barn went the two children, with the Elephant and the Doll.
“Are you here, Jake?” called Archie, but there was no answer.
“I guess he’s not around,” said Elsie.
“I guess not,” replied Archie. “But I don’t think he’d care if I let down some oats. I looked in the lower bin and there’s hardly any there. I’m going to let some down the chute.”
“I’ll watch you,” offered Elsie, as she set her Doll on top of a big oat box.

The cover to the box was open. Archie liked this because he could see the smooth oats go down the wooden chute, or slide, like so much water.
“I will let a lot of oats down,” the little boy said to his sister. He placed his Elephant on the edge of the bin, near the Doll. Then Archie pulled on the handle that opened the door. It was hard work, for the oats pressed against the door. Elsie came to help him, and at last the children managed to get it open.
“There they go!” cried Archie, as the oats began to pour down the chute.
“Yes, and there goes your Elephant!” shouted Elsie. As she spoke, the stuffed toy fell into the oat bin, and, a moment later, the poor guy was pulled into the smooth chute, with the running grain, and the oats closed over his head. Lost to the sight of the children, the Stuffed Elephant was taking a dangerous slide.

This story is about a cat named Lucy who loves to read more than anything else. Her father is worried about her and wants her to get outside and play and make friends but Lucy prefers to stay inside because she is not the same as all the other cats. Lucy hides in her room until her father says she needs to go with him the next day to the cream shop. Lucy gets up and goes but she’s not very happy about it.

Hearing the shouts of the children as they hurried back into the room where they had been playing, Archie’s mother came to see what the matter was.
“Oh, Mother!” exclaimed Archie. “Look! The Clown is riding on my Elephant’s back! Isn’t he funny?”
“He looks very odd!” said Mrs. Dunn. “Who put him up there? Did you lift Sidney’s Calico Clown to your Stuffed Elephant’s back, Archie?”
“Oh, no, Mother!” Archie answered. “It wasn’t me.”
“It wasn’t me,” said Elsie.
“And I didn’t, either,” said the other children in turn.
“Well,” said Mrs. Dunn, looking from one to the other, “of course the Clown couldn’t have gotten up on the Elephant’s back by himself, and of course the Elephant couldn’t have lifted him there with his trunk. Though I know a live clown could jump on a live elephant’s back, and a live elephant could lift a live clown up in his trunk. But these are only toys. They must be moved about.”
“Well, I didn’t put the Clown there,” said Archie again.
“Nor I!” echoed the other children.

And while this talk was going on the Elephant, the Clown, and the other toys were very much worried that their part in the fun would be found out. Of course we know how the Clown got on the Elephant’s back, but Mrs. Dunn did not, nor did the children. They didn’t know that the toys had the power to make believe come to life when no one was watching them.
“If they had only stayed out of the room a little longer, I would have had a chance to slip down off of the Elephant’s back, and all would be well,” thought the Calico Clown. “But, coming in so quickly, they caught me! I hope they never find out about us having fun when they are out of the room, or they will never leave us toys alone.”

“How do you s’pose that Clown got on my Elephant?” asked Archie of his mother, a little later.
“I think some of you children must have put him there, and forgotten about it,” said Mrs. Dunn.
“No! No!” the children cried.
“Well, then Nip must have been playing with the Clown and just dropped him on the Elephant’s back,” said Mrs. Dunn. Nip was Archie’s dog, a great big fellow, but very kind and good, and especially fond of children. He was called Nip because he used to playfully nip, or pretend to bite, cats. He never really bit them, though.
“But Nip isn’t here to take the Clown up in his mouth and put him on my Elephant,” Archie said.
“Oh, I guess your dog ran in here while you were out in the other room, eating the cake and drinking the milk,” Mrs. Dunn said. “Then Nip ran out again, after dropping the Clown. Anyhow, we don’t need to worry about it. Go on with your fun.”

This the children did. And having seen the Clown on the Elephant, Dorothy wanted to have her Sawdust Doll ride in the same way. So the Clown was lifted off and the Doll was lifted on.
“Oh, I’m having my wish! I’m having my wish!” joyfully thought the Sawdust Doll to herself, as she was put on the Elephant’s back, and Archie pulled the big, stuffed animal around the room.
The Elephant, too, was glad to give his friend the Doll a ride on his back as he had carried the Rolling Mouse and the other toys, though of course he could not speak and tell her so, for there were children in the room. The Doll, too, would have been glad to thank Mr. Elephant, but it was not allowed.

So all the Stuffed Elephant could do was to swing his cloth trunk to and fro, as Archie pulled him over the smooth floor, and all the Sawdust Doll could do was to wave her arms a little.
The children thought it was such fun to give the smaller toys rides on the back of the big, Stuffed Elephant that they shouted and laughed with glee, making a great deal of noise. And there was more noise when Richard, who owned the White Rocking Horse, came over with his friend Herbert, who had a toy Monkey on a Stick.

“Oh, my dear children! You are making so much noise!” called Mrs. Dunn, entering the front room. “Don’t you want to go out in our big barn and play?”
“Isn’t it cold out in the barn?” asked Mirabell, as she looked from the window and saw the big snowflakes falling. “I wouldn’t want my Lamb to catch a cold.”
“Oh, It isn’t cold in our barn,” Archie answered. “It has steam heat, ’cause my father doesn’t want the horses to catch a cold. And he doesn’t want the water in our car to freeze, either, so he has steam heat in our barn.”
“And it’s warm and cozy,” added Elsie. “Oh, out there we can have a lot of fun!”
“Let’s go out there then,” said Joe. “My Donkey likes it in barns, I guess.”
“And so will my Elephant!” called Archie.

A little later the children were running over the snow to the big barn on Mr. Dunn’s country estate. The gardener had shoveled a path through the snow from the house to the barn; so the children would not get their feet wet. Each child carried some toy, and Archie had all he could do to clasp the big elephant in his arms. For Archie was a small boy and the Elephant was one of the largest toys.
Once, on the way from the house to the barn, Archie, carrying the Elephant, stumbled and nearly fell.
“Oh!” cried the little boy, as he slipped along the snowy path. “Oh!”
The Elephant wanted to cry “Oh!” also, but he dared not. He felt shivery and frightened, though, as he saw the banks of snow on either side of him.
“I don’t want to be thrown into another drift, head first,” he thought to himself.
But Archie did not fall, and the Elephant did not get a second bath in the snow, for which he was very glad.

Into the warm barn trooped the children with their toys, some old and some new. Jake, the man who looked after the horses, giving them oats from a big bin, and hay from the loft, opened the doors for the children, and laughed to see how happy they were.
“We’re going to play here and have a lot of fun, Jake!” called Archie. “See my big Elephant! I just got him!”
“He is a fine fellow,” Jake agreed. “Shall I put him in a stall as I do the horses?”
“No, we are going to keep him here to play with,” said Archie. “And I think I’ll get a little hay to make believe feed him.”
“Well, be careful,” warned Jake. “Don’t fall off the haymow.”
The haymow was a big place in the barn where the dried grass (which is what hay is, you know) was stored away. While the other children were having fun with their toys, Archie climbed to the mow to get some hay for his Elephant.
Now dried hay is slippery, as you know if you have ever tried to climb up a pile of it in a barn. And no sooner was Archie at the top of the mow than down he slid, on the hill of hay.
“Oh, I’m falling!” he cried, and his sister and the other children came running to see what would happen.

Archie slid down the haymow toward the floor of the barn. And it seemed as if he would get a hard bump. But, as it happened, a lot of the hay slid along with the little boy, and it was under him when he struck the barn floor. So he fell on the hay, which was like a cushion, and Archie wasn’t hurt in the least. In fact he rather liked it.
“Oh, this is fun!” he cried. “I’m going to slide down the haymow some more!”
Again he climbed to the top, and down he slid, sitting upright as though on a chair. Again he slipped over the edge of the mow and fell on the pile of hay on the barn floor.
“Hurray!” shouted Joe, whose leg was no longer hurt and could play like other boys. “I’m going to try that too!”

He did, as did the other boys and girls, and soon they had forgotten their toys for the time being, in the newer fun of sliding down the hay. So the Elephant, the Donkey, and the different make-believe animals were left to themselves in a distant part of the barn.
“This is our chance,” said the Donkey to the Elephant. “Let’s walk around. My legs are stiff, especially the one that was broken and which Mr. Mugg mended.”
“Yes, a little walk will do us good,” agreed the Elephant. “I am a bit stiff myself, and I want to swing my trunk.”
So the Donkey and Elephant, making believe come to life, walked about the barn floor, while the children were farther off, sliding down the haymow.

There were many strange things in the barn—at least strange to the Elephant and Donkey. There were garden tools of all sorts, rakes, hoes, shovels and picks. There were strange pieces of machinery for cutting hay, planting corn and potatoes, and the like.
In one corner was a big wheel, with a rope around it, and for a moment the Elephant thought his friend the Spinning Wheel had come out to the barn to play. But a second look showed that this wheel was larger, stronger and different in every way.
“I wonder what this wheel and rope are for?” said the Elephant to the Nodding Donkey.
“I don’t know, I’m sure,” brayed the nodding toy.
Just then the wheel turned slowly, and the long, dangling rope swayed to and fro.
“I wonder what this is for!” went on the Elephant. Like most animals he was curious about something he did not understand, just as your cat or dog will try to find out what causes a strange noise.
“Why don’t you reach up with your trunk and feel it?” asked the Donkey. “I have heard you say your trunk was almost like a hand to you.”
“It is,” the Elephant answered. “I will feel the rope and wheel and see what it is like.”

As the children were in another part of the barn, having fun in the haymow, and as there were no prying eyes to watch, the Elephant could do as he pleased. He raised his trunk and stretched it toward the dangling rope.
And then, all of a sudden, something happened. The rope turned and twisted like a snake, a loop of it wound around the Elephant’s trunk, and a moment later he felt himself being lifted off the barn floor in the rope’s coils. Through the air, like the pendulum of a big clock, he swayed, and as the rope pulled tighter and tighter the poor Elephant cried:
“Oh, my dear friend Nodding Donkey! I am in a terrible state! The rope is so tight! Oh, what shall I do?”

Charlotte’s Guinea Pig is a story about Perceval, the Guinea pig. Perceval decides he’s bored and lonely so he is going to go and look for his owner. He gets out of his cage and makes his way out to find Charlotte but meets lots of interesting people on the way, what an adventure!

Since there were no real people up in the attic—no boys or girls or grown ups—to spy around, the toys and the other things in the dusty top of the house could do as they pleased. The toys could pretend to come to life, and even such a thing as a Spinning Wheel could whirl about and speak.
So when the Spinning Wheel had invited whoever wished to get on and have a Merry-Go-Round ride, and the harsh voice had called: “Make way! Here I come!“ The Stuffed Elephant hardly knew what was going to happen.

Then, all at once, a big brown Rat—a real, live rat and not a toy—ran from a hole in the corner, and, with a squeal of delight, jumped up on the twirling Spinning Wheel.
“Here I go on the Merry-Go-Round! I ride this way every night!” squeaked the Rat to the Elephant and the other toys which Mr. Dunn had hidden in the attic until it was time to give them out.
“Do you, indeed?” asked the Elephant. “You must have lots of fun.”
“I do,” answered the Brown Rat. “But who are you?” and he stood up among the spokes of the Spinning Wheel and looked over toward the moonlight patch on the floor where the new toy stood.

“I am a Stuffed Elephant,” was the answer. “And I have just had the most dreadful adventure! I was pitched out of the car into a snowbank.”
“Oh, I don’t like the snow!” squeaked the Rat. “It’s too cold. But I am glad to see you, Mr. Elephant. Don’t you want a ride on this Merry-Go-Round?”
“Thank you, I’m afraid I’m too big,” answered the Elephant. “And I never before saw a Merry-Go-Round that spun this way, like a wheel. In Mr. Mugg’s store, where I came from, there was a toy Merry-Go-Round, but it spun like a top.”

“I’m not a regular Merry-Go-Round,” said the Spinning Wheel. “I just pretend I’m one up here in the attic. Time was when I used to spin yarn for the grandmother of Mr. Dunn. But now all yarn is spun in factories by machinery, and spinning wheels are out of fashion. So I am up here in the dust, and it makes the time pass more quickly to pretend I am a Merry-Go-Round.”
“Yes, and we Rats and Mice have a good time!” cried the brown chap, as he wound his tail among the spokes of the wheel, to hold on tightly as he spun around and around.

“I believe I’d like a ride, too,” said a Tin Soldier, which was another toy Mr. Dunn had brought home.
“All right! Climb up!” called out the Rat.
So the Tin Soldier got up on the Spinning Wheel and rode with the Rat. The Elephant wanted to have this fun, but he was too large to get on the wheel.
“Besides,” he said, “something might happen to my trunk.” He was very proud of his trunk and his tusks, was the Stuffed Elephant.

Several days passed, during which the toys had to remain hidden in the attic waiting. They did not mind it, however, as they were left to themselves and could have fun.
At last, however, the day came, and the Stuffed Elephant and the other toys were carried down to the living room and placed by the sofa.

When morning came Archie Dunn came racing downstairs, in his little pajamas, crying:
“Morning! Morning! Do you think there might be any presents for me?”
“Go and look,” replied his mother.
When Archie saw all his toys, but especially the Stuffed Elephant, the little boy shouted and clapped his hands for joy and cried:
“Oh, what a lovely day! Oh, I have always wanted a Stuffed Elephant, and now I have it! Oh, what a fine, big Elephant you are!”
He threw his arms around the stuffed creature’s neck and hugged him so hard that the cotton stuffing almost oozed out of the Elephant’s ears.
“I hope he doesn’t squeeze me any harder,” thought the Elephant, though he dared not so much as give a trumpet sound, and as for saying anything or waving his trunk—that was not to be thought of!
For Archie was there, and his sister Elsie, and Mr. and Mrs. Dunn—a room full of people—and of course the Elephant had to remain quiet.

“Look at my new Dollie!” called Elsie to Archie, and it is a good thing the little boy had something else to look at, or he might have kept on squeezing the Elephant until he was out of shape.
“Yes, your Dollie is nice, but I like my Elephant better,” said Archie.
“Elephants are for boys and’ Dollies’ are for girls; aren’t they, Daddy?” asked Elsie.
“I guess that’s right, if you think so,” replied Mr. Dunn. “But get dressed now, children, and have breakfast. Then you may play with your toys. Don’t forget later your friends will be coming over.”
Archie and Elsie were so excited that they did not want to stop to dress, or even eat. But they managed to get some clothes on, eat a little, and then they started again to play with the many gifts they had received.

About ten o’clock Elsie, looking out of the window across the snow-covered yard, gave a squeal of delight and cried:
“Oh, here comes Mirabell, and she has her Lamb on Wheels! Oh, now we can have fun, and I can show her my new Doll!”
“Is anybody else coming?” asked Archie. “I want to show somebody my Stuffed Elephant.”
Elsie looked again, before running to the door to welcome her friend.
“Yes,” went on Archie’s sister, “I see Joe, and he has his Nodding Donkey!”
“That’s good!” laughed Archie.
Into the house came Mirabell, who carried a Lamb on Wheels. “Look at my dolly,” Elsie said. “Let’s go play.”

“Hi Archie, I got a steam engine, only I couldn’t bring it over,” said Joe, who had hurt his leg before but was feeling better now. “So I just brought my old Nodding Donkey,” he added. “He was in the hospital once, like I was, and Mr. Mugg mended his broken leg.”

At the mention of the name “Mr. Mugg” the Stuffed Elephant began to listen more carefully. If he had dared he would have flapped his big ears, but that was not allowed.
“I wonder,” thought the Elephant, “if he means the same Mr. Mugg of the toy store where I came from? I wish the children would go out of the room for a minute so I could speak to the Nodding Donkey and the Lamb on Wheels.”
But the children were having too much fun to leave the room. Mirabell with her Lamb and Joe with his Donkey looked at the presents that Elsie and Archie had gotten. Then there came a ring at the door bell, and in came a boy named Sidney, with a Calico Clown, and a girl named Dorothy with a Sawdust Doll.

The Stuffed Elephant was getting excited. He had heard these other toys spoken of by his friends in Mr. Mugg’s store, and wanted to talk to them. But while the children were in the room he dared not say a word.

At last, however, Mrs. Dunn invited the little callers out to the dining room to have some milk and cake, and out they rushed, leaving the toys in the middle of the floor.
“Ah, at last we are alone!” said the Elephant. “Please tell me, Mr. Nodding Donkey,” he said, “were you ever in Mr. Mugg’s store?”
“I came from there,” was the answer.
“So did I!” joyfully exclaimed the Elephant.
“I don’t remember seeing you there,” the Nodding Donkey said, swaying his head up and down.
“I was one of the very newest toys,” went on the Elephant. “I suppose you were there last year, or the year before.”
“Yes,” said the Donkey, “it was some time ago, and I have had many adventures. Tell me, did you ever have a broken leg?”
“Mercy, no!” exclaimed the Elephant.
“Well, I did. And Mr. Mugg mended it for me,” went on the Donkey, proudly. “This Sawdust Doll here,” he went on, “has also had many adventures. Tell him about them, Sawdust Doll.”
“Oh, it would take too long,” replied Dorothy’s plaything.
“Let’s have some fun, now that the children are out of the room.”
“All right,” agreed the Elephant. “This is like it used to be in Mr. Mugg’s store after closing time. What shall we do?”

“I know what I should like to do,” said the Calico Clown, as he looked at the big stuffed toy.
“What?” asked the Nodding Donkey.
“I should like to go for a ride on the Elephant’s back,” went the Clown. “All my life I have wanted a ride on an elephant’s back, and I have never yet had the chance.”
“You shall have it now,” replied the kind Elephant. “I’ll come over and get you. Can you climb up? I’m pretty tall, you see.”
“I’ll stand on top of this toy trolley car,” said the Clown.
One of Archie’s presents was a toy trolley car, and by jumping up on this the Clown managed to reach the Elephant’s back.
“Now hold on tightly, and you won’t fall,” said the Elephant. “If I had thought, I could have lifted you up in my trunk, as I did the Rolling Mouse. But I’ll lift you down again. Sit tight now.”

So the Clown sat tight, and the Elephant walked around the room with him, giving the fine fellow a grand ride. The Sawdust Doll was just making up her mind that she would be brave enough to get on the Elephant’s back, when, all at once, the Nodding Donkey cried:
“Quick! Quiet everyone! The children are coming back!”
“Oh, let me get off your back!” whispered the Clown to the Elephant. “They must never see me up here. It isn’t allowed!”
But he was too late! Before he could slide off the Stuffed Elephant, Archie, Elsie and the other children came running into the room!
“Oh!” they cried, as they saw the Calico Clown on the back of the Stuffed Elephant.

In this part Red wakes up refreshed and ready to start over anew at school. She tries to be positive towards everything, even sitting beside Charlie and his runny nose. When she hears an announcement about a Solving mystery club starting after school, she thinks maybe today will be an okay day after all.

Once upon a time there was a man who was made of snow. He had sticks for his arms, and coal for his eyes; his nose was made of an icicle, and his mouth was a bit of bent twig, which turned up at the ends, so he looked as if he were smiling.
“He’s the finest snowman we’ve ever seen,” said the children who made him; and they joined hands and danced around him till their mother called them in to supper.
“Good-bye,” they called to him as they climbed the fence that divided the field from their yards. “Good-bye. We will bring you a hat to-morrow.”

There were a half dozen of the children, and the youngest of them was a little boy who had never helped to make a snowman before. He thought of the snowman all the time he was eating his supper, and even after he had gone to bed that night. He knew just how the snowman looked with his smiling mouth and stick arms.
“I wish we had taken him a hat tonight,” he thought, as his eyelids dropped down like two little curtains over his eyes.

“Achoo! achoo! I wish that you had,” said something outside the window; and—do you believe it?—it was the snowman sneezing as hard as he could!
“This is what comes from standing out in the cold bareheaded,” he said. “I shall sneeze my head right off—I know I shall. Achoo! achoo! Achoo!”

“Dear me!” said the little boy. “I will get you a hat but it will have to be my sailor hat, for I wear my new hat to church and to parties, and my everyday hat will not fit you, I am afraid,—we made your head so large.”

“The sailor hat will do nicely,” said the snowman, “if I may have it at once. As it is, I am catching a very bad cold. Achoo! archoo! achoo!”
When the little boy heard this, he jumped out of bed and ran to the cupboard and got the sailor hat from the top shelf and gave it to the snowman.

“How do I look in it?” the snowman asked as soon as he had put it on.
“Very nice,” answered the moon, who had been watching all the while; “but you will have to make haste if you want to go anywhere before daylight.”
“Don’t you hear what the moon is saying?” said the snowman to the little boy. “What are you waiting for?”
“Am I going somewhere?” asked the child.
“Of course,” answered the snowman. “Why shouldn’t you go?”
The little boy could not think of an answer to this; and the next thing he knew he was out of the window with the snowman.
“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Why,” said the snowman hurrying away into the street, “I have never thought of that, but since you speak of it I think we had better go to the Winter King’s palace, and ask him if he cannot do something to keep the sun from shining tomorrow.”
“Oh!” said the little boy, for his mother had promised that he might go to his grandmother’s if the day was fine. He had no time to say anything about this, however, for just then the snowman cried out:—
“I have dropped one of my eyes, and I cannot go on without it.”
“Dear me, dear me!” said the little boy. “How will we ever find it?”
But while he was talking, a little dog that he knew very well came by. His name was Fido, and he could find anything that was lost. He had found the little ball when it rolled under the house, and his owner’s overshoes when everyone else couldn’t; and when he heard of the lost eye he started back at once to look for it.

“Don’t worry,” said the little boy, “Fido will find it;” and sure enough, in the twinkle of a star he was back with the coal in his mouth! The little boy put it in its place as quickly as he could, for the snowman seemed to be in a hurry.
“Didn’t you see that we were at a baker’s shop?” he said. “I know I must have been too near the oven, too, for one of my ears is almost melted off.”
“Why, you haven’t any ears!” said the little boy. “We did not know how to make them.”
“No ears?” cried the snowman. “Then how do I hear what you say? Besides, here we are at the palace, and you must be quiet.”

The little boy had thought he was passing the schoolhouse where his big brothers and sisters went to school, but when he went inside he saw that he was wrong, and the snowman was right, for in the place where the teacher’s desk should have been, was a throne; and on the throne sat the Winter King with icicles in his beard.

As soon as he saw the snowman and the little boy, he began to talk very fast:—
“What has this little boy been doing? Why isn’t he in bed? Come here, Jack Frost, and tickle his toes.”
“Oh! no, no,” cried the snowman. “He has done nothing wrong. He is one of my best friends, and I have brought him here with me to ask you not to let the sun shine tomorrow. I don’t want to melt yet.”
“Ah! hum! ha!” said the king. “I don’t know about that. You will have to melt sometime, won’t you? It happens to all snowmen.”

“Of course,” said the snowman; “but I’d like to last as long as I can.” It made the little boy very sad to hear him talk in this way. He thought then that he would rather not go to his grandmother’s the next day but stay and see the snowman.
“We are very fond of him,” he said to the Winter king. “He is the finest snowman we’ve ever seen, and he looks just as if he were smiling.”
“So he does,” said the Winter king, looking at the snowman again; “and since you ask it I’ll tell you what I will do. I cannot keep the sun from shining, but I will ask the North Wind to freeze the snowman, and perhaps he will last longer.”

When the snowman heard this he began to dance, and as the little boy had hold of one of his stick arms he had to dance too. Together they danced out of the Winter King’s palace, down the streets, into the field, where they found the North Wind waiting for them.

The first thing he did was to blow the hat from the snowman’s head.
“Achoo! achoo!” sneezed the snowman. “I know I shall catch a cold.”
And “achoo!” sneezed the little boy; and he sneezed so loud that he woke himself up, for—do you believe it?—he had been asleep and dreaming all the time!
One part of his dream did come true, though, for when he looked out of the window, the next morning, there stood the snowman in the field frozen hard.

Banging, puffing, and grinding noises sounded all about the Stuffed Elephant. Around him swirled the white flakes of snow, but he could hardly see them, for part of his head, part of his trunk, and one eye were stuck in the snowdrift.
Mr. Dunn’s car had lurched to one side as Archie’s father tried to send it through a big, white drift. And the noise was made by the motor, or engine, of the car, working its best to force the car ahead. The glass window of the automobile had broken as it tipped to one side, a piece of ice flying through.
And it was through the broken window that the Stuffed Elephant had been tossed, right out into a snowdrift!
“Oh, but it’s so cold! So cold!” said the Elephant, shivering.
Of course it was cold at the workshop, and there was more snow and ice than near Archie’s home. But there the Elephant had been inside the warm shop, just as he had been kept in the warm toy store, and, until a few minutes ago, in the warm car.

“Well, I guess I’ll have to back up and go around another way,” said Mr. Dunn, after a while. “I can’t make my car go through that snowdrift. No use in trying! I’ll upset if I do! What, one of the windows is broken, too! I’m sorry about that, but I can go on with a broken window, which I couldn’t do if I had a broken wheel. And I guess the toys won’t catch a cold. Yes, I must back up and go home by another road.”
Starting the car slowly, Mr. Dunn backed it out of the drift. The front wheels and the radiator, where the water is, were covered with masses of white flakes, but aside from the broken window no damage had been done.

“I’d better hurry home, too,” said Mr. Dunn, talking to himself, a way some jolly men have. “It’s snowing worse, and I don’t want to be kept out here all night. I want to get back with the presents. Archie will surely like that Stuffed Elephant.”
And then, never thinking that the Elephant had been tossed out of the broken window into a bank of snow, Mr. Dunn started his car off on another road, leaving the poor Elephant stuck in the drift.
“Oh, this is dreadful! Terrible!” thought the Elephant. “I am so cold! I want to have adventures, but none like this! What shall I do?”

If the Elephant had only been allowed to come to life and call out when Mr. Dunn was around all would have been well. For, though Archie’s father might have been surprised at hearing a toy speak, he never would have gone away and left it in the snow.
But the toy Elephant did not dare call out, though, now that no one could see him, he pretended to come to life and began to struggle to get out of the snow. It was getting dark, and growing colder, and even a toy Elephant does not like to be left all night in a snowdrift.

“Oh, if only I can pull my trunk out and get the snow from my left eye, maybe I can see which path Mr. Dunn took and follow him home,” thought the Elephant. “I don’t want to stay here alone! It is dark, and no human eyes can see me moving. I must get out!”
He struggled and wiggled, but he seemed to be sinking deeper into the snow instead of getting out. Down, down, down into the white flakes sank the poor Stuffed Elephant, farther and farther, down—down—down——

Knowing nothing of having lost the fine new Elephant out of his car, Mr. Dunn went along an easier road, where there were not so many drifts. He was driving past a garage when a man outside called:
“Hey, mister! Your car door is open!”
“I guess you mean the window is broken, don’t you?” asked Archie’s father. “I know about that, thank you. I ran into a drift.”
“No, your door is wide open, and is swinging to and fro,” the garage man went on. “It may bang against something and break off. Wait a minute and I’ll close it for you.”
Mr. Dunn had slowed his car as the man called to him, and now he brought it to a stop.
“So the door is open, is it?” Mr. Dunn asked. “Well, that’s too bad. I didn’t know about that. It must have come open after the glass was broken. And if the door is open some of the things may have fallen out. I’d better get out and take a look.”

And no sooner had Mr. Dunn looked within the car than he cried:
“The Elephant is gone!”
“Elephant!” exclaimed the garage man. “Elephant?”
“Surely! An Elephant I was taking home to my boy Archie,” went on Mr. Dunn. “I had the Elephant in the car and——”
“Oh, my!” cried the garage man, backing away, and nearly falling into a snowdrift himself. “Do you mean to tell me you had an elephant in that car?”
“Oh, I see what you’re thinking of! You mean a real elephant, and I’m speaking of a Stuffed Elephant that I bought in the toy store. It’s a toy Elephant that is lost,” Mr. Dunn explained.
“Oh, that’s different!” laughed the man. “I was wondering how a real elephant could get inside your car—unless he was a baby one.”
“No, this was a toy one,” said Mr. Dunn. “And I think I know where he must have slipped out—back at the big drift where I broke the glass of the door, trying to smash my way through. I’ll go back there and see if I can find Archie’s present.”

Back through the storm drove Mr. Dunn. The snow was coming down thicker and faster, and the wind was piling it into more drifts. It was dark, too, but the headlights on the car made the road bright enough, especially on account of the white snow, for Mr. Dunn to see his way.
Soon he was back again at the same drift which had made him turn around and take another road.
“Now to find that Elephant,” said Mr. Dunn.
All this time the Stuffed Elephant had been trying to wiggle out of the snowdrift. But, not being used to such work, he was not having very good luck. The snow was soft, and the more he wiggled the deeper in he sank.

“Oh, dear!” sighed the poor Elephant. “What am I going to do? The snowflakes are getting in my trunk! And they tickle me and make me want to sneeze. It’s no fun to be in a snowdrift. I used to like to look at them through the window in the workshop, but they’re prettier to look at than to be in.
“If only a lot of the Nodding Donkeys and four or five of the White Rocking Horses were here now, they could pull me out of this drift,” went the Elephant. “But they aren’t here, and I’ll have to help myself. I wonder if I gave a trumpet or two through my trunk whether that would do any good?”
He was just about to try it when, all at once, he heard a noise.
“That sounds like a car,” thought the Elephant. “I don’t dare move or trumpet if any real people are around. I’ll have to stay quiet and then—oh, then I’ll sink deeper into the snow!”

Just then a man’s voice said:
“It was right here I ran into the drift. The Elephant must be here somewheres.”
Dazzling lights shone in the Elephant’s one eye that was not in the drift. He saw a big car come to a stop just on the other side of the snowdrift. And Mr. Dunn jumped out.
“Oh, now I’ll be alright, I guess!” joyfully thought the poor Elephant.

Mr. Dunn stalked through the snow, until he was close to the drift. The headlights on the car made it almost as bright as if the moon had shone.
“Ah, there he is!” cried Archie’s father.
A moment later he caught hold of the Elephant and pulled him from the drift.
“Here’s Archie’s Elephant!” exclaimed Mr. Dunn. “Not hurt a bit! Only some snow on him, but that will brush off. I’m glad that man at the garage saw my open door, or I’d never have known I had lost the Elephant. Now for home!”
A moment later the Elephant was put back into the car with the other toys.
“I’ll cover them with a blanket to keep the snow from blowing in on them through the broken window,” said Mr. Dunn to himself. The Elephant was glad for this, for he felt very cold.

Then Mr. Dunn started the auto, and it was so warm and cozy under the blanket that the Elephant almost fell asleep. He wanted to talk to the other toys, and tell them what had happened, but he did not dare do this with Mr. Dunn on the front seat.
At last the car turned into the drive of a nice country place. Mr. Dunn tooted the horn, a door of the house opened, letting out a stream of light, and a boy’s voice cried:
“You’re late, Daddy!”
“Yes, I ran into a snowdrift. But now listen to me, Archie! You go inside and keep out of the way until I bring in some things.”
“Oh, Daddy! What are you going to bring in?” cried a small boy.
“Never mind now. They aren’t for you to see—just yet. Besides, they are covered with snow, for some came in through the broken window, and I don’t want you to catch a cold. Go hide yourself, Archie, until I call you to come.”
Archie laughed and went into another room, away from the front hall, and then Mr. Dunn carried in all the bundles, including the Stuffed Elephant, which was not closely wrapped in paper, as were some of the others.
“Oh! For Archie!” whispered Mrs. Dunn.
“Sh!” cautioned her husband. “He might hear! I’ll take the things up to the attic to stay there until it’s time to give them to Archie.”

So the Elephant was carried up to the attic. It was a strange, old, dusty place, and when the Elephant had been put on the floor, with some other toys, Mr. Dunn went downstairs and closed the door.
At first the Elephant did not know where he was. But he soon saw the moonlight streaming in through a window, and he noticed the other toys around him.
“Hello, there! Who are you?” asked a creaking voice, and near the Elephant a big wheel of wood began slowly turning. “Anybody want a ride?” asked the Wheel. “I’m a spinner, I am, and I’m making believe I’m a Merry-Go-Round! Anyone want a ride?”
“Dear me! What a strange place an attic is,” thought the Stuffed Elephant. “It isn’t as nice as the toy shop, but still maybe I can have some fun. I wonder if I could ride on that wheel? I’m afraid I’m too big. But I could try. I may never have another chance, and——”
But before the Elephant could ask the Spinning Wheel how to get on, all at once there was a banging noise in one corner of the attic, and a voice cried:
“Make way! Stand aside! Here I come!”
“My! I wonder who this is. Not a Lion I hope,” thought the Elephant.

“Catch me! Save me! Catch me before I fall off the shelf and break to pieces!” squeaked the Rolling Mouse.
“Don’t be afraid! I’m right here!” trumpeted the Stuffed Elephant.
On his sturdy legs, big and round and stuffed with cotton, the Elephant stepped to the edge of the shelf. As quickly as the waving Cat could blink her eyes, the Elephant reached across with the tip of his trunk and caught the Rolling Mouse just as she was going to slip over the edge of the shelf.
Holding her very gently, so as not to squeeze the breath out of the Mouse, the Elephant lifted the tiny creature up in the air, keeping her there until her spring ran down. Then, in a spirit of fun, he reached around and set the Mouse down on his broad back.
“There you are!” laughed the Stuffed Elephant in his hearty voice. “There you are, Miss Mouse!”
“Yes, but where am I? Oh, so high up as I am! Oh, where am I?” squeaked the little mouse.
“You’re up on my back,” laughed the jolly Elephant toy. “Don’t be afraid. Stay there and I’ll give you a ride to where you came from. Which shelf do you belong on?”

“Oh, put me down! Oh, I’m so afraid I’ll fall off!” cried the tiny mouse. “It is almost as high up here, on your back, as it would be to fall to the floor from the shelf. Do please put me down, kind Mr. Elephant!”
“Don’t be silly, Miss Mouse!” brayed the Nodding Donkey. “The Elephant is good and strong, and he is also careful. He will not let you fall.”
“Are you sure?” asked the little Mouse, trembling.
“Of course I will not let you fall!” chuckled the Elephant. “Just stay quietly on my back, and I’ll take you where you came from.”
“But maybe her wheels will go around again and make her roll off,” remarked the Sawdust Doll.

“No, the spring unwound as I slid across the shelf,” said the Rolling Mouse. “I’m all right now. Mr. Mugg wound me up to-day to show me to a little boy. But the boy wanted a pair of skates, and not a mouse like me. So Mr. Mugg put me down on the shelf without letting my spring unwind. He stuck me up against a Tin Soldier, and the Soldier kept me from rolling around. But just now the Soldier came out to look at the new Stuffed Elephant and that left nothing to hold me back, and away I rolled.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” said the Tin Soldier, touching his red cap in a salute to Miss Mouse.
“It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean to do it,” said the Mouse toy, with a smile that made her whiskers wiggle. “But I do wish you’d put me down, Mr. Elephant. I am nervous up on your back, broad and big as it is.”
“All right, Miss Rolling Mouse, I’ll lift you down,” trumpeted the Elephant. “And here you are at your own place on the shelf.”

The big toy, stuffed as he was with cotton, reached back with his trunk, gently picked up the mouse in it, and set her down where she had started to roll from. As she had said, the wheels no longer whizzed around, as the spring which made them move had all uncoiled. It had “run down,” as it is called.
“There you are!” went on the Elephant, after he had gently put down the Mouse toy. “Any time you are afraid of falling off the shelf, just call for me and I’ll save you with my trunk.”
“You are very kind,” said the Mouse. “And so big and strong!”
“Isn’t he big, though!” giggled the Sawdust Doll. “I wonder if he is strong enough to give me a ride on his back?”
“Of course he is!” brayed the Nodding Donkey.

“Do you want a ride on my back, Miss Sawdust Doll?” asked the good-natured Elephant. “All right! Up you go!”
With a swing of his trunk he set the Doll on his back as he had done with the Mouse. Then the Stuffed Elephant carefully walked around among the other toys, taking care not to step on any of them.
“I’m glad the Elephant has come to stay with us,” whispered another little Doll. “I’d love to ride on his back, but I don’t like to ask him.”
“I’ll ask for you if you’re too shy to do it,” said the Calico Clown, and he did.
“Why, of course I’ll take you for a ride, too, Little Doll,” chuckled the Elephant. “I’ll give you all a ride in turns—that is all but the very largest toys. They might make my seams come open and the cotton stuffing puff out.”

For the Elephant was made of gray cloth, you know, and he was sewn together, his tusks of wood being stuck in on either side of his trunk.
“I thought Elephants were always afraid of mice,” said the Little Doll, when she was having her ride.
“Pooh! Me? Afraid of a little mouse!” laughed the big Elephant. “I guess not! What made you think that?”
“It’s in some of the story books,” went on the tiny Little Doll. “The story says real, live elephants are afraid of mice because they fear the tiny creatures will crawl up their nose holes in their trunks.”
“That may be all right for real, live elephants,” laughed the big, stuffed toy. “But I am only make-believe, you know, like the rest of you toys. The Rolling Mouse couldn’t get up my nose.”

“And if I could I wouldn’t, because you have been so kind to me,” squeaked the little mouse toy. “Next time I ride on your back I shall not be so afraid.”
“Would you like to ride now, Miss Mouse?” asked the Elephant, as he set down with his trunk a Fuzzy Duck who had just been given a ride around the shelf.
“Oh, no, thank you; not now,” answered the Mouse. “And I think it will soon be time for us to stop our make-believe fun. It will be morning in a little while, and you know we can’t talk or laugh or do anything in daylight, when Mr. Mugg or his daughters or any customers are in the store.”

“I hope the Elephant will have time to tell us a little of what has happened in the workshop since we came away,” said a Rocking Horse, who had been in the toy store a long time.
“Yes, do tell us!” begged the other playthings.
“I will,” said the Elephant.

So the Elephant, swaying on his four big legs, in the same way that real elephants do, told the latest news from the workshop, where he had recently come with the box of other toys.
“Is Papa Sam as jolly as ever?” asked the Tin Horse.
“Just as jolly!” replied the Elephant. “More so, if anything. His whiskers are a little longer, and his cheeks are a little redder, but that is all. I heard him tell some of his workmen, as they packed me in the box, that he hoped I’d like it in this toy shop.”
“You’re sure to like it,” said the Nodding Donkey. “A brother of mine used to be in this store, and he was given to a boy who took very good care of him.”
“And a sister of yours is owned by a little girl named Dorothy,” a Cloth Rabbit said to the Sawdust Doll. “She has lovely fun, your sister has.”
“You’ll very likely go to some boy. It seems to me you are too big a toy for a little girl,” said the Calico Clown to the Stuffed Elephant.
“I don’t think so, but what will happen then?” the Elephant asked.

But just then Mr. Mugg came in to open the shop for the day, and the toys had to stop talking and pretend to be stiff and unable to move. They always had to be this way when any one looked at them.
“Well,” said Mr. Mugg, as he and his daughters began dusting the toys, ready for the day’s business, “Time to open soon, and we shall be losing some of our toys.”
“You mean people will come in to buy them,” smiled Geraldine.
“Yes,” her father answered.
“Well, I hope this lovely, big Stuffed Elephant goes to someone who will take good care of him,” remarked Angelina, as she moved the big toy farther front on the shelf. “Oh, my!” she exclaimed. “His back is all dusty!”
“Dusty!” cried Geraldine. “Did you let him fall on the floor?”
“Indeed I did not! He hasn’t been off this shelf or moved since he was taken out of the box last night.”
“Then I wonder how this dust got on his back.”
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” answered Angelina. “But I’ll take it off with a brush.” And this she did.
Of course you know how the dust got on the Elephant’s back. It came from the toys who rode him along the shelf. And, though neither of the Mugg sisters knew it, the Elephant had moved from his place on the shelf. He had walked all about it.

People began to come into the store to look about and see what they could find.
Among those who passed by the shelf on which the Stuffed Elephant stood, was a jolly-looking man, wearing a big heavy coat, for the day was cold and it was snowing outside.
“Oh!” exclaimed the man, as he saw the Stuffed Elephant. “This is just what my son Archie wants—an Elephant! I’ll get this for him, as he told me he wanted a Stuffed Elephant more than anything else.”
“This Elephant is just in from the workshop,” said Angelina Mugg, as she stepped up to wait on the man.
“Is he, indeed?”
“Yes, he was taken out of the box only last night. He is well made and strong, and he has heaps and heaps of cotton stuffing inside him. Even if he fell over on a little baby, this big Elephant would do no harm, as he is so soft.”
“He is, indeed,” said the man, feeling the toy. “I suppose he doesn’t bite?” he added, looking at Miss Angelina and smiling.
“Oh, of course he doesn’t bite!” laughed Miss Mugg. “Shall I have him sent to your house so your son Archie can have him?”
“Thank you, but I think I will take the Elephant with me,” said Mr. Dunn. “I have my car outside, and the Elephant will not catch a cold.”
“I’m glad of that,” said Miss Angelina. Very often she used to make believe the toys were real, and alive, and could catch a cold, and become sick. Of course she did not know that the toys really could move about after dark, when no one saw them.
“Yes, I’ll take the Elephant with me,” went on Mr. Dunn. That boy of mine just loves animal toys!”

A little later the Stuffed Elephant was standing in among some other packages in the back of the car. On the front seat Mr. Dunn was guiding the car through the storm, for it was snowing hard.
“My! This reminds me of the workshop” thought the Elephant, as he looked out of the windows of the car and saw white flakes swirling about. “The ground is covered, too!”
It had been snowing some time before Mr. Dunn went into the toy store, and now he was having hard work to make his car plow through the drifts on the way home.
“They took me away in such a hurry I had no time to say good-bye to any of my toy friends,” thought the Elephant, as he snuggled down in the blanket in the rear of the car. For elephants need to be kept warm, you know—that is, real ones, and this Stuffed Elephant made believe he was real.
“But of course I shouldn’t have dared say anything with people around,” thought the toy. “I hope I see some of them again, for it wasn’t very polite to go away as I did without saying goodbye.”

All at once, as the car was rolling along quite fast, it came to a sudden stop, with a bump and a jerk.
“Hello! We’re stuck!” cried the man. “I must see if I can break through this snowdrift.”
He backed the car and started ahead again, with the motor going full speed.
Bang! The car struck the snowdrift. There was a crash of glass.
“Oh, dear!” whispered the Elephant to himself, for he went toppling, legs over head, out through a broken window of the car. Into a deep snowdrift stuck the poor Stuffed Elephant.
“Oh, this is terrible!” sighed the toy. “Oh, I am so cold!”

The Transfer Student Part 3 is when Red meets the two strangers who have come to talk to her about her blunder at school. They say they’re from the AID but Red is not convinced. They remind Red of her agreement and how important this program is. Red goes to get room upset and thinks she’ll do a bit of exploring on her own.

In one of the chimneys of the big house several families of Chimney Swifts had built their homes. They had come north in April and flown straight to this particular place. It was the family home of this branch of the Swifts, and every year since great-grandfather Swift discovered it, some of his children and grandchildren had come back there to build. They were quite airy, and thought a great deal about appearances. “Swifts are sure to be judged by the chimney in which they live,” they said, “and there is no use in choosing a poor one when there are good ones to be found.”
Nobody would have dared remind these Chimney Swifts that their great-great-great-great-grandparents lived in hollow trees, if indeed any of their friends knew it. They themselves never spoke of the Swifts who still do so, and since they had always lived in a land of chimneys, they did not dream of the times when there were none to be found.

You can just imagine what a happy, busy place this chimney was in the springtime, when last year’s nests were being torn down and new ones were being built. The older Swifts were there and those who were to keep house for the first time. Then, of course, the younger ones had married and brought new wives there, and they had to be introduced and shown all over the chimney.
Some wanted to build nearer the top than others, and the older ones were always advising the younger ones. It was so hard for a Swift mother to remember that her married son was old enough to decide things for himself; and many such mothers fluttered around the sons’ nests, telling them how to place each twig, and giving the new wives advice as to how to bring up the babies who would soon come to live with them.

This story is about a young couple who built the lowest nest of all. They were dressed alike in sleek, sooty, brown feathers, which were of a lighter shade on their throats. Their necks and heads were very broad, their bills short but able to open very wide; their wings were longer than their tails, and the quills of their tail feathers stuck out stiff and bare far beyond the soft, feathery part. The Swifts are all very proud of these bare quills. “There are not many birds,” they say, “who can show their quills in that fashion.”
These quills are very useful, too, for after a Swift has broken off a tiny twig for its nest, they have to cling to the side of the chimney and fix it into place, and they could not do this without supporting themselves with these tail quills. It is hard work building nests, and you can see that it would be. They have to cling with both feet, support themselves with their tails, put each tiny twig in place with their bills, and glue it there with sticky saliva from their mouths or else with tree-gum.

The young husband who was building his first home low down in the chimney was a sturdy and rather wilful fellow, who was very sure what he wanted, and just as sure that he was going to get it. When he said, “I shall do this,” or, “I am going to have that,” other people had learned to keep still. They sometimes had a smiling look around the bill, but they said nothing. His wife was a sweet and sensible Swift who never made a fuss about anything, or bragged of what she meant to do. Still, other Swifts who watched them said that she had her way quite as often as he had his.
It was really she who had chosen to build well down in the chimney. Her husband had preferred to be near the top, and she had agreed to that, but spoke of what would happen if one of their children should fall out of the nest.
“There is no need for one falling out,” said Mr. Swift. “Tell them to lie still and not push around. Then they will not fall out.”
Mrs. Swift fixed one of the feathers on the underside of her left wing, and then said: “And you do not think it would disturb you to have our neighbors passing all the time.”
“Yes, I do,” he replied. “I have thought so from the first, and I am thinking that it might be good to build lower for that reason. Then we could be passing the others instead.”

He flew down and pecked at the bricks in a few places to make sure that he could fasten a nest securely. Then he came back to his wife. “I have decided to build the lowest nest of all,” he said, “but you understand it is not on account of the children. There is no sense in their moving around in the nest.”
“I understand,” said Mrs. Swift, and he flew away for twigs while she stayed behind to visit with her mother-in-law.
The mother-in-law’s eyes twinkled. “I believe my son said that his children were not to move around in the nest,” she said with a laugh. “I wonder how he is going to stop them from doing so.”
“Tell them, I suppose,” answered young Mrs. Swift, smilingly. “Did he push around at all when he was a baby?”
“He?” replied the older Swift. “He was the most restless child I ever hatched. He will know more about bringing up children after he has raised a brood or two. Don’t worry, my dear. It will come out all right.” She flew off and the young wife went for twigs also, and thought how happy she ought to be in having such a mother-in-law.

When the lowest nest was built and the four long pure white eggs were laid in it, Mr. and Mrs. Swift were a very proud young couple. The nest was so thin that one could see the eggs through it quite plainly, but it was exceedingly round and firm. It was not a soft nest, and it had no real lining, although Mrs. Swift had laid in one especially perfect grass blade “to give it style.”
That grass blade may be seen to this day by any one who cares to look at the nest as it lies in a cabinet in the house. It was the only nest in the chimney which had anything but twigs in it, and some people wondered at Mrs. Swift’s taste. One stout elderly mother Swift said “she supposed it was all right, but that she had never done such a thing and her children had turned out alright.” However, young Mrs. Swift smiled in her pretty way and did not talk back.

When they were planning for the four children whom they expected, Mrs. Swift spoke of how patient they would have to be with them, but Mr. Swift said: “They must be brought up to mind! If I tell a child once to do a thing, that is enough. You will see how I bring them up.” Then he ruffled up his feathers, puffed out his throat, and looked very important.
They did most of their visiting in the beautiful night-time, for it is a custom among their people to fly and hunt and visit in the dark, and rest by day. Their busiest time is always just before the sun comes up, and so it happened that the Little Boy who slept in the room below did not often hear the rumbling noise in the chimney as they flew in and out. When they were awake he slept quietly in his snug little bed, and as he was awakening, and stretching, and getting his dimples ready for the day, the Swifts were going to sleep after a busy night.

When the baby Swifts broke their shells and were seen for the first time by their loving father and mother, Mr. Swift was surprised to find how small they were. Mrs. Swift murmured sweet words to them and worked as hard as her husband to find them food. There were now so many mouths to be fed that they flew by day as well as by night, and often the Little Boy in the room below thought he heard distant thunder when it was only the Swifts coming down the chimney with food for their babies. All sorts of tiny winged creatures were brought to them to eat, for Swifts catch all their food as they fly, and that means that they can feed upon only such creatures as also fly.

When they were stretching up to reach the food, Mrs. Swift would say to the children: “Now learn to move carefully, for if you should get over the edge of the nest you will tumble down.”
When he was feeding them Mr. Swift would say: “You may open your bills, but not one of you must move beyond that twig. Do you understand?”
Three of them obeyed without asking questions, but the oldest brother was always trying to see just how far he could go without tumbling, and he would ask his father.
“You don’t care if I put one wing out, do you?” he would ask.
“Not one wing!” his father would answer.
“Why?” the son would ask. “I wouldn’t tumble just because I put one wing out.”
“It’s not listening,” his father would say, “to see how far you can go without tumbling. I did not tell you only to keep from falling out. I told you to keep inside that twig.”
Then the son would pout his bill and act very sulking, getting close to the twig which he had been told not to pass. When he thought his father was not looking, he would even wriggle a little beyond it. Mrs. Swift was worried, but what could she do? She noticed that her husband did not talk so much as he used to about making a child mind the very first time he had spoken.

One night when the Swifts had fed their children faithfully, this son was unusually naughty. It may be that he had eaten more than his share or that he had picked for the biggest insect every time that lunch was brought. It may be, too, that he was naughty simply because he wanted to be. His father had just told him to be more careful, and he made a face (yes, he did) and flopped aside to show what he could do without falling.

Then he felt a tiny twig on the edge of the nest break beneath him, and he went tumbling, bumping, and scraping down into the fireplace below. He could not fly up, for his wings were not strong enough to carry him up such a narrow space, and his parents could not get him. He heard his brother and sisters crying and his mother saying that she had always expected that to happen.

“Horrible old twig!” he said. “Don’t see why it had to break! Should think they might build their nest stronger. I don’t care! I was sick of being told not to wriggle, anyway!”

Then he fluttered and sprawled through a crack beside the screen of the grate until he was out in the room. The Little Boy lay asleep in the bed, and that frightened the young Swift. When they tried to scare each other the bird children had always pretended that a Boy was after them. He crawled behind a picture which leaned against the wall, and stayed there and thought about his dear, dear home up in the chimney.
The Little Boy stirred and awakened and called out: “Mother! Mother! There is somefing making a scratching noise in my room. I fink it is a Bear.”

The young Swift sat very still while the Lady came in and hunted for the Bear. She never came near his hiding-place, and laughed at the Little Boy for thinking of Bears. She told him that the only Bears around their town were two-legged ones, and when he asked her what that meant she laughed again.

He peeped out from behind the picture and saw the Little Boy dress himself. He heard him say: “I can’t poss’bly get vese shoes on, but I’ll try and try and try.” He thought how much nicer it was to be a Swift and have all his clothes grow on, and to go barefoot all the year.

He heard the Lady say: “Why, you precious Boy! You did get your shoes on, after all.” Then he saw them go off to breakfast, racing to see who would win.
After they were gone, he fluttered out to the window, and there the Lady found him, and the Little Boy danced around and wanted to touch him, but didn’t quite dare. The Lady said: “I think this must have been your Bear,” and the Little Boy said: “My teeny-weeny little bitty Bear wiv feavers on.” He heard the Little Boy ask, too, why the bird had so many pins sticking out of his tail, and this made him angry. He did not understand what pins were, but he felt that anybody ought to know about tail-quills.
He didn’t know much about Boys, for this was the first one he had ever seen, and he wondered what those shiny white things were in his mouth. He had never seen teeth and he could not understand. He wondered how the Boy got along without a bill. This Little Boy did not seem so very terrible. He even acted a bit afraid of the Swift.

Next the young Swift felt himself lifted gently in the Lady’s hand and laid in a box with soft white stuff in it and two small holes cut in the cover. He was carried from room to room in the house and shown to the other people. Once he heard a strange voice say, “Meouw!” and then the Little Boy stamped his foot and said: “Go way, Teddy Silvertip. You can’t have my little bird, you hungry Cat.”
After this the young Swift was more scared than before, and would have given every feather he had to be safely back in the nest in the chimney. He was hungry, too, and he wanted to see his father and his dear mother. He beat his wings against the sides of the box and cried for his mother. “Oh,” he said, “if I were only back in the nest I wouldn’t move. I wouldn’t move a bit.” Then the Cat meowed again and he kept still from fright.
At last he was taken into the open air and placed in the top of a short evergreen, where the Cat could not reach him. Here he clung, weak and lonely and scared, blinking his half-blinded eyes in a light brighter than he had yet seen. All the rest of that day he stayed there, while his father and mother and their other children were sleeping in the home nest. He expected never to see them again, but he did want to tell them how sorry he was.

After the sun had set and the moon was shining, he saw his father darting to and fro above him. “Father!” he cried. “Father, I am so sorry that I moved past the twig. I will listen more carefully next time.”
His father heard and flew down to tuck a fat and juicy May Beetle into his mouth. “You poor child!” he said. “Eat that and don’t try to talk. You will not do such things when you are older. I will get you some more food.”

When he returned Mrs. Swift was with him, and they petted and fed the young Swift all night, never scolding him at all, because, as they said, he had been punished quite enough and was sorry. And that was true. His grandmother came also with a bit of food. She told him that they would feed him every night and that he should hide in the branches each day until his feathers were grown.

“In three days more,” she said, “you will be ready to fly, and you look more like your father all the time. In only three days more,” she said.”

You can imagine how anxious the young Swift was during those three days, and how small he tried to be when Silvertip was around. “Surely,” he thought, “the sun and moon were never before so slow in marking off the time.”
When at last he was ready for flight, Silvertip was under the snowball bush nearby. The young Swift sprang into the air. “Good-by, my Cat friend,” he said. “You look hungry, but you have lost your best chance at me. I will be a better listener now and tell all the others to watch out for you.”

“I suppose you are Mr. Matthew Cuthbert of Green Gables?” she said in a peculiarly clear, sweet voice. “I’m very glad to see you. I was beginning to be afraid you weren’t coming for me and I was imagining all the things that might have happened to prevent you. I had made up my mind that if you didn’t come for me tonight I’d go down the track to that big wild cherry-tree at the bend, and climb up into it to stay all night. I wouldn’t be a bit afraid, and it would be lovely to sleep in a wild cherry-tree all white with blooms in the moonshine, don’t you think? Could imagine you were dwelling in marble halls, couldn’t you? And I was quite sure you would come for me in the morning, if you didn’t tonight.”

Matthew had taken the scrawny little hand awkwardly in his; then and there he decided what to do. He could not tell this child with the glowing eyes that there had been a mistake; he would take her home and let Marilla do that. She couldn’t be left at Bright River anyhow, no matter what mistake had been made, so all questions and explanations might as well be deferred until he was safely back at Green Gables.
“I’m sorry I was late,” he said shyly. “Come along. The horse is over in the yard. Give me your bag.”
“Oh, I can carry it,” the child responded cheerfully. “It isn’t heavy. I’ve got all my worldly goods in it, but it isn’t heavy. And if it isn’t carried in just a certain way the handle pulls out—so I’d better keep it because I know the exact knack of it. It’s an extremely old carpet-bag. Oh, I’m very glad you’ve come, even if it would have been nice to sleep in a wild cherry-tree. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us, don’t we? Mrs. Spencer said it was eight miles. I’m glad because I love driving. Oh, it seems so wonderful that I’m going to live with you and belong to you. I’ve never belonged to anybody—not really. …..

With this Matthew’s companion stopped talking, partly because she was out of breath and partly because they had reached the buggy. Not another word did she say until they had left the village and were driving down a steep little hill, the road part of which had been cut so deeply into the soft soil that the banks, fringed with blooming wild cherry-trees and slim white branches, were several feet above their heads.
The child put out her hand and broke off a branch of wild plum that brushed against the side of the buggy.
“Isn’t that beautiful? What did that tree, leaning out from the bank, all white and lacy, make you think of?” she asked.
“Well now, I dunno,” said Matthew.
“Why, a bride, of course—a bride all in white with a lovely misty veil. I’ve never seen one, but I can imagine what she would look like. I don’t ever expect to be a bride myself. I’m so homely nobody will ever want to marry me. But I do hope that someday I shall have a white dress. That is my highest ideal of earthly bliss. I just love pretty clothes. And I’ve never had a pretty dress in my life that I can remember—but of course it’s all the more to look forward to, isn’t it? And then I can imagine that I’m dressed gorgeously.
I wasn’t a bit sick coming over on the boat. Neither was Mrs. Spencer, although she generally is. She said she hadn’t had time to get sick, watching to see that I didn’t fall overboard. She said she never saw the beat of me for prowling about. But if it kept her from getting seasick it’s a mercy I did prowl, isn’t it? And I wanted to see everything, everything that was on that boat, because I didn’t know whether I’d ever have another opportunity. Oh, there are a lot more cherry-trees all in bloom! This Island is the bloomiest place. I just love it already, and I’m so glad I’m going to live here. I’ve always heard that Prince Edward Island was the prettiest place in the world, and I used to imagine I was living here, but I never really expected I would. It’s delightful when your imaginations come true, isn’t it? But those red roads are so funny. When we got into the train at Charlottetown and the red roads began to flash past I asked Mrs. Spencer what made them red and she said she didn’t know and for pity’s sake not to ask her any more questions. She said I must have asked her a thousand already. I suppose I had, too, but how are you going to find out about things if you don’t ask questions? And what does make the roads red?”
“Well now, I dunno,” said Matthew.
“Well, that is one of the things to find out sometime. Isn’t it splendid to think of all the things there are to find out about? It just makes me feel glad to be alive—it’s such an interesting world. It wouldn’t be half so interesting if we knew all about everything, would it? There’d be no scope for imagination then, would there? But am I talking too much? People always tell me I do. Would you rather I didn’t talk? If you say so I’ll stop. I can stop when I make up my mind to it, although it’s difficult.”
Matthew, much to his own surprise, was enjoying himself. Like most quiet folks he liked talkative people when they were willing to do the talking themselves and did not expect him to keep up his end of it. But he had never expected to enjoy the company of a little girl. Women were bad enough in all conscience, but little girls were worse. He didn’t like the way they had of sneaking past him timidly, with side-wise glances, as if they expected him to gobble them up at a mouthful if they ventured to say a word. This was the Avonlea type of well-bred little girl. But this freckled girl was very different, and although he found it rather difficult for his slower intelligence to keep up with her brisk mental processes he thought that he “kind of liked her chatter.” So he said as shyly as usual:
“Oh, you can talk as much as you like. I don’t mind.”
“Oh, I’m so glad. I know you and I are going to get along together fine. It’s such a relief to talk when one wants to and not be told that children should be seen and not heard. I’ve had that said to me a million times if I had once. And people laugh at me because I use big words. But if you have big ideas you have to use big words to express them, haven’t you?”
“Well now, that seems reasonable,” said Matthew.

“Dreams don’t often come true, do they? Wouldn’t it be nice if they did? But just now I feel pretty nearly perfectly happy. I can’t feel exactly perfectly happy because—well, what color would you call this?”
She twitched one of her long glossy braids over her thin shoulder and held it up before Matthew’s eyes. Matthew was not used to deciding on the tints of ladies’ tresses, but in this case there couldn’t be much doubt.
“It’s red, ain’t it?” he said.
The girl let the braid drop back with a sigh that seemed to come from her toes and to exhale forth all the sorrows of the ages.
“Yes, it’s red,” she said sadly. “Now you can see why I can’t be perfectly happy. Nobody could who had red hair. I don’t mind the other things so much—the freckles and the green eyes and my skinniness. I can imagine them away. I can imagine that I have a beautiful rose-leaf complexion and lovely starry violet eyes. But I cannot imagine that red hair away.

Oh, Mr. Cuthbert! Oh, Mr. Cuthbert!! Oh, Mr. Cuthbert!!!”
They had rounded a curve in the road and found themselves in the “Avenue.”
The “Avenue,” so called by the Newbridge people, was a stretch of road four or five hundred yards long, completely arched over with huge, wide-spreading apple-trees, planted years ago by an eccentric old farmer. Overhead was one long canopy of snowy fragrant bloom. Below the boughs the air was full of a purple twilight and far ahead a glimpse of painted sunset sky shone like a great rose window at the end of a cathedral aisle.
Its beauty seemed to strike the child. She leaned back in the buggy, her thin hands clasped before her, her face lifted rapturously to the white splendor above. Even when they had passed out and were driving down the long slope to Newbridge she never moved or spoke. Still with rapt face she gazed afar into the sunset west, with eyes that saw visions trooping splendidly across that glowing background. Through Newbridge, a bustling little village where dogs barked at them and small boys hooted and curious faces peered from the windows, they drove, still in silence. When three more miles had dropped away behind them the child had not spoken. She could keep silence, it was evident, as energetically as she could talk.

“I guess you’re feeling pretty tired and hungry,” Matthew ventured at last, accounting for her long visitation of quietness with the only reason he could think of. “But we haven’t very far to go now—only another mile.”
She came out of her reverie with a deep sigh and looked at him with the dreamy gaze of a soul that had been wandering afar, star-led.
“Oh, Mr. Cuthbert,” she whispered, “that place we came through—that white place—what was it?”
“Well now, you must mean the Avenue,” said Matthew after a few moments’ profound reflection. “It is a kind of pretty place.”
“Pretty? Oh, pretty doesn’t seem the right word to use. Nor beautiful, either. They don’t go far enough. Oh, it was wonderful—wonderful. It’s the first thing I ever saw that couldn’t be improved upon by imagination. It just satisfied me here”—she put one hand on her chest—

When they had driven up the further hill and around a corner Matthew said:
“We’re pretty near home now. That’s Green Gables over—”
“Oh, don’t tell me,” she interrupted breathlessly, catching at his partially raised arm and shutting her eyes that she might not see his gesture. “Let me guess. I’m sure I’ll guess right.”
She opened her eyes and looked about her. They were on the crest of a hill. The sun had set some time since, but the landscape was still clear in the mellow afterlight. To the west a dark church spire rose up against a marigold sky. Below was a little valley and beyond a long, gently-rising slope with snug farmsteads scattered along it. From one to another the child’s eyes darted, eager and wistful. At last they lingered on one away to the left, far back from the road, dimly white with blossoming trees in the twilight of the surrounding woods. Over it, in the stainless southwest sky, a great crystal-white star was shining like a lamp of guidance and promise.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” she said, pointing.
Matthew slapped the reins on the sorrel’s back delightedly.
“Well now, you’ve guessed it! But I reckon Mrs. Spencer described it so’s you could tell.”
“No, she didn’t—really she didn’t. All she said might just as well have been about most of those other places. I hadn’t any real idea what it looked like. But just as soon as I saw it I felt it was home. Oh, it seems as if I must be in a dream. Do you know, my arm must be black and blue from the elbow up, for I’ve pinched myself so many times to-day. Every little while a horrible sickening feeling would come over me and I’d be so afraid it was all a dream. Then I’d pinch myself to see if it was real—until suddenly I remembered that even supposing it was only a dream I’d better go on dreaming as long as I could; so I stopped pinching. But it is real and we’re nearly home.”

“Oh, how large he is!”
“Isn’t he? And such wonderfully strong legs!”
“See his trunk, too! Isn’t it cute! And he is well stuffed! This is really one of the best toys that ever came into our shop, Geraldine; don’t you think so?”
“Yes, Angelina. I must call father to come and look at him. He will make a lovely present for some boy or girl—I mean this Stuffed Elephant will make a lovely present, not our father!” said Miss Angelina Mugg as she smiled at her sister across the big packing box of toys they were opening in their father’s store.
“Oh, no! Of course we wouldn’t want father to be given away as a toy!” laughed Geraldine. “But this Stuffed Elephant—oh, I just love him!”

Miss Geraldine Mugg caught up the rather large toy animal and hugged it tightly in her arms.
“Be careful!” called her sister. “You might break him!”
“Oh, he’s just a Stuffed Elephant!” laughed Geraldine. “I mean he hasn’t any works inside him to wind up. He’s just full of cotton! But I am beginning to like him more than I care for some of the toys that do wind up. I almost wish I were small again, so I could have this Elephant for myself!”
“He is nice,” admitted Angelina.

“Well, I’m glad they like me,” thought the Stuffed Elephant to himself, for just now he was not allowed to speak out loud or move around, as the Make Believe toys could do at certain times. But these times were when no eyes of boys, girls, men or women were looking.
It was mainly at night, after the store was closed for the day, that the toys had their fun—talking to one another, moving about, doing tricks, and the like of that. Now all that the Stuffed Elephant could do was to stand on his four sturdy legs, with his tail on one end, and his trunk, almost like a second tail, at the other end of his body.
He had two white tusks sticking out on either side of his trunk, and at first you might have thought these tusks were toothpicks. But they were not. An elephant’s tusks are really teeth, grown extra long so he can dig up the roots of trees with the plants on which he feeds.
But a Stuffed Elephant doesn’t dig with his tusks, of course. He never has to eat, being already stuffed, you know. And the Elephant in this story was well stuffed with cotton.

“I am sure this Elephant is going to be one of our very nicest toys,” went on Miss Geraldine Mugg, as she lifted more playthings from the big box that had come from the workshop.
“Yes, I wish we had more like him,” added Miss Angelina.
The two girls helped their father, Mr. Horatio Mugg, in his toy store. It was a delightful place for children, and many boys and girls would have been glad to stay all day in the “Mugg Toy Shop,” as the big sign out front named the place.

“Well, here are some more of those Waving Cats,” went on Miss Geraldine, as she lifted some white cats from the box.
“Oh, aren’t they darling!” exclaimed her sister. “Do you remember the first one we had?”
“Indeed I do! It was bought for a little girl named Jennie. Only she told me, only the other day, that her Waving Cat had had so many adventures!”
“The dear child! The children, I believe, really think their toys are alive, and can move about!”

“Of course we can, only you don’t know it, and you never see us!” whispered the Stuffed Elephant to himself.
And then he winked one eye at a Waving Cat—an eye that neither Angelina nor Geraldine saw blinking. Gracious! how surprised the two girls would have been to see a Stuffed Elephant winking one eye at a Waving Cat.
But stranger things than that are going to happen, I promise you!

“Be careful, Geraldine! Be careful!” suddenly cried Angelina, as her sister arose from stooping over the box, and started toward the shelves with an armful of toys.
“What’s the matter?”
“Why, you nearly stepped on the Stuffed Elephant!”
“Oh, I’m glad that it didn’t really happen! We have only one toy like him, and it would never do to have him crushed out of shape before he is sold. I forgot that we left him standing on the floor. Gracious, but he is a big fellow!” she exclaimed.
“I’ll lift him up on the shelf,” Angelina said.
She picked up the Stuffed Elephant. Really he was one of the largest toys that had ever come from the workshop. And he was a very finely made toy, only the best cotton and cloth had been used.

“Does he squeak?” asked Geraldine, as she saw her sister set him on a broad shelf.
“Squeak? Goodness, of course not! What made you think that?”
“Well, some of the toy animals have a squeaker inside of them, and make a noise when you press it. I was thinking perhaps the elephant had a squeaker.”
“No. If he had anything he would have a sort of trumpet in him,” said Angelina. “Real elephants make a trumpeting noise through their trunks, but of course a stuffed one can’t!”
“Oh, ho! You just wait until it gets dark and this toy shop is closed!” whispered the Stuffed Elephant to himself. “Then I’ll show you whether I can trumpet or not. Though I forgot. I can’t show you nor let you hear, it isn’t allowed. But after the store is closed we’ll have some fun!”

Toy after toy was taken from the big packing box. There were Sawdust Dolls, Candy Rabbits, Tin Soldiers, Plush Bears and a Monkey.
As the toys were taken out of the box they were placed on the shelves in Mr. Mugg’s store. This was in a back room, for the toys had yet to be sorted and looked over, to make sure each one was all right, before they were put in the front part of the store to be sold.
Mr. Mugg had a large fine store. And, having a large store, Mr. Mugg bought larger things, such as the Stuffed Elephant.
Finally all the new toys were taken from the box and placed around on the shelves. While Angelina and Geraldine had been doing this, their father was in the front part of the store, waiting on customers. After a bit, when it grew dark outside, and the lights were lit inside the store, Mr. Mugg locked the front door and came back into the back room.

“I think we have worked enough for to-day,” the toy man told his daughters. “We will wait until tomorrow before looking over the new things and marking prices on them. I am tired and want to go to bed.”
“Good!” thought the Stuffed Elephant. “That is, I’m not glad Mr. Mugg is tired,” he went on, in his thoughts; “but I am glad he is going to bed so I can move about and talk to some of my toy friends. It’s been no fun to be shut up in that box ever since I came from the workshop.”

A little while later the store was in darkness, except for a small light burning near the back.
“Hello, everybody!” suddenly called the Stuffed Elephant, waving his trunk around in the air. “How are you all?”
“Who is that speaking?” asked a Nodding Donkey, a toy whose head kept moving all the while, as if it was fastened on a pivot.
“A new chap—a Stuffed Elephant,” answered a Jumping Jack, who wore a blue and yellow cap.
“A Stuffed Elephant! Let me see him! I never heard of such a creature!” brayed the Nodding Donkey, and he slid along the shelf to get a better look.

For it was the mystic hour when the Make Believe toys could pretend to be alive—when they could move about and talk.
“Here I am, right over here!” trumpeted the Stuffed Elephant, and if Miss Geraldine and Miss Angelina, or even Mr. Mugg, could have heard him they would have been very much surprised.
“Oh, you have two tails!” cried the Nodding Donkey.
“No, only one,” said the Stuffed Elephant. “The other is my trunk. It really is a long nose, but it is called a trunk.”
“Is there anything inside it?” asked a Calico Clown.
“Nothing but air—I breathe through my trunk,” the Stuffed Elephant answered. “But I, myself, am filled with the very best cotton, lots and lots of it! Have you cotton inside you?” he asked the Donkey.
“No, I’m wood clear through,” was the reply. “But as long as you are a new toy, let me welcome you among us. We are glad to see you. What is the latest news from the workshop?”

“Well, let me see. So many things happen there that I hardly know where to start to tell you about them,” replied the Stuffed Elephant. “In the first place——”
“I’m stuffed, too!” suddenly interrupted a high, squeaky voice. “Only I’m stuffed with sawdust. Here over here, I am here!”
“Yes, Miss Sawdust Doll, we see you,” brayed the Nodding Donkey. “But please don’t interrupt the Stuffed Elephant. He is going to tell us about the workshop, and I want to hear, as it has been some time since I came from the workshop.”
“Well, I can tell you as well as that Stuffed Elephant can,” went on the squeaky Sawdust Doll. “I came from the workshop in the same box with him.”
“You’re not the first Sawdust Doll, though. She was bought by a little girl named Dorothy, I’ve heard said,” remarked a rubber dog.
“Yes, that’s right,” said the Nodding Donkey. “And her brother Richard had a White Rocking Horse. But as long as the Stuffed Elephant kindly offered first to tell us the latest news from the workshop, I think it would be only polite to let him finish.”
“Oh, of course—yes!” squeaked the new Sawdust Doll.

“Well,” began the creature with the trunk and tusks, “I think I will tell you——”
But just then there was a whirring noise at the end of the shelf, and a little voice cried:
“Oh, save me, somebody! Please save me! I’m wound up too tight, and my wheels are running away with me! I’ll run to the edge of the shelf and fall off! Save me, somebody, please!”
A Rolling Mouse, that could run across the room on wheels when wound up, dashed along the toy shelf. As she had said, she was in danger of falling off. Straight toward the Stuffed Elephant ran the Rolling Mouse, squeaking in fright.
“I’ll save you! I’ll save you!” trumpeted the big toy. “Don’t be afraid, Miss Mouse! I’ll save you!”
He uncoiled his long nose of a trunk, stretched it out, and reached toward the Rolling Mouse.

It was a clear, sunshiny day, and out on the great, wide, open sea there sparkled thousands and thousands of water-drops. One of these was a merry little fellow who danced on the silver backs of the fishes as they plunged up and down in the waves, and, no matter how high he sprung, always came down again plump into his mother’s lap.

His mother, you know, was the Ocean, and she looked very beautiful that summer day in her dark blue dress and white ruffles.
After a while the happy water-drop tired of his play, and looking up to the clear sky above him thought he would like to have a sail on one of the white floating clouds; so, giving a jump from the Ocean’s arms, he begged the Sun to catch him up and let him go on a journey to see the earth.

The Sun said “Yes,” and took many other drops, too, so that Aqua might not be lonesome on the way. Aqua did not know this, however, for they all had been changed into fine mist or vapor. Do you know what vapor is? If you breathe into the air, when it is cold enough, you will see it coming out of your mouth like steam, and you may also see very hot steam coming from the nose of a kettle of boiling water. When it is quite near to the earth, where we can see it, we call it “fog.” The water-drops had been changed into vapor because in their own shape they were too heavy for the sunbeams to carry.

Higher and higher they sailed, so fast that they grew quite dizzy; why, in an hour they had gone over a hundred miles! and how grand it was, to be looking down on the world below, and sailing faster than fish can swim or birds can fly!

But after a while it grew nearly time for the Sun to go to bed; he became very red in the face, and began to sink lower and lower, until suddenly he went clear out of sight!

Poor little Aqua could not help being frightened, for every minute it grew darker and colder. At last he thought he would try to get back to the earth again, so he slipped away, and as he fell lower and lower he grew heavier, until he was a little round, bright drop again, and landed on a rosebush. A lovely velvet bud opened its leaves, and in he slipped among the crimson cushions, to sleep until morning. Then the leaves opened, and rolling over in his bed he called out, “Please, dear Sun, take me with you again.” So the sunbeams caught him up a second time, and they flew through the air till the noon-time, when it grew warmer and warmer, and there was no red rose to hide him, not even a blade of grass to shade his tired head; but just as he was crying out, “Please, dear Sun, let me go back to the dear mother Ocean,” the wind took pity on him, and came with its cool breath and fanned him, and all his brothers, into a heavy gray cloud, after which he blew them apart and told them to join hands and hurry away to the earth. Hurriedly down they went, rolling over each other pell-mell, till with a patter and clatter and spatter they touched the ground, and all the people cried, “It’s raining.”

Some of the drops fell on a mountain side, Aqua among them, and down the rocky cliff he ran, leading the way for his brothers. Soon, together they plunged into a mountain brook, which came foaming and dashing along, leaping over rocks and rushing down the hillside, till in the valley below they heard the strangest clattering noise.

On the bank stood a flour-mill, and at the door a man whose hat and clothes were gray with dust. Inside the mill were two great stones, which kept whizzing round and round, faster than a boy’s top could spin, worked by the big wheel outside; and these stones ground the wheat into flour and the corn into golden meal.

But what giant do you suppose it was who could turn and swing that tremendous wheel, together with those heavy stones? No giant at all. No one but our tiny little water-drops themselves, who sprang on it by hundreds and thousands, and whirled it over and over.

The brook emptied into a quiet pond where ducks and geese were swimming. Such a still, beautiful place it was, with the fuzzy, brown cat-tails lifting their heads above the water, and the yellow cow lilies, with their leaves like green platters, floating on the top. On the edge lived the fat green bullfrogs, and in the water were spotted trout, silver shiners, cunning minnows, and other fish.

Aqua liked this place so much that he stayed a good while, sailing up and down, taking the ducks’ backs for ships and the frogs for horses; but after a time he tired of the dull life, and he and his brothers floated out over a waterfall and under a bridge for a long, long distance, until they saw another brook tumbling down a hillside.

“Come, let’s join hands!” cried Aqua; and so they all dashed on together till they came to a broad river which opened its arms to them.
With the help of Aqua and his brothers the beautiful river was able to float heavy ships, though not so long ago it was only a little stream, through which a child could wade or over which he could step. Here a vessel loaded with lumber was carried just as easily as if it had been a paper boat; there a steamer, piled with boxes and barrels, and crowded with people, passed by, it’s great wheel crashing through the water and leaving a long trail, as of foamy soapsuds, behind it. On and ever on the river went, seeking the ocean, and whether it hurried round a corner or glided smoothly on its way to the sea, there was always something new and strange to be seen—busy cities, quiet little towns, buzzing sawmills, stone bridges, and harbors full of all sorts of vessels, large and small, with flags of all colors floating from the masts and sailors of all countries working on the decks. But Aqua did not stay long in any place, for as the river grew wider and wider, and nearer and nearer its end, he could almost see the mother Ocean into whose arms he was joyfully running. She reached out to gather all her children, the water-drops, into her heart, and closer than all the others nestled our little Aqua.

His travels were over, his pleasures and dangers past; and he was folded again to the dear mother heart, the safest, sweetest place in all the whole wide world. In warm, still summer evenings, if you will take a walk on the sea-beach, you will hear the gentle rippling swash of the waves; and some very wise people think it must be the gurgling voices of Aqua and his brother water-drops telling each other about their wonderful journey round the world.

It was Christmas Eve, and Little Girl had just hung up her stocking by the fireplace—right where it would be all ready for Santa when he slipped down the chimney. She knew he was coming, because—well, because it was Christmas Eve, and because he always had come to leave gifts for her on all the other Christmas Eves that she could remember, and because she had seen his pictures everywhere downtown that afternoon when she was out with Mother.

Still, she wasn’t satisfied. ‘Way down in her heart she was a little uncertain—you see, when you have never really and truly seen a person with your own, very own eyes, it’s hard to feel as if you exactly believed in them—even though that person always has left beautiful gifts for you every time he has come.

“Oh, he’ll come,” said Little Girl; “I just know he will be here before morning, but somehow I wish—”

“Well, what do you wish?” said a Tiny Voice close by her—so close that Little Girl fairly jumped when she heard it.
“Why, I wish I could SEE Santa myself. I’d just like to go and see his house and his workshop, and ride in his sleigh, and meet Mrs. Claus—it would be such fun, and then I’d KNOW for sure.”

“Why don’t you go, then?” said Tiny Voice. “It’s easy enough. Just try on these Shoes, and take this Light in your hand, and you’ll find your way all right.”

So Little Girl looked down on the hearth, and there were two cunning little Shoes side by side, and a little Spark of a Light close to them—just as if they were all made out of one of the glowing coals of the wood-fire. Such cunning Shoes as they were—Little Girl could hardly wait to pull off her slippers and try them on. They looked as if they were too small, but they weren’t—they fit exactly right, and just as Little Girl had put them both on and had taken the Light in her hand, along came a little Breath of Wind, and away she went up the chimney, along with ever so many other little Sparks, past the Soot Fairies, and out into the Open Air, where Jack Frost and the Star Beams were all busy at work making the world look pretty for Christmas.

Away went Little Girl—Two Shoes, Bright Light, and all—higher and higher, until she looked like a wee bit of a star up in the sky. It was the funniest thing, but she seemed to know the way perfectly, and didn’t have to stop to make inquiries anywhere. You see it was a straight road all the way, and when one doesn’t have to think about turning to the right or the left, it makes things very much easier.

Pretty soon Little Girl noticed that there was a bright light all around her—oh, a very bright light—and right away something down in her heart began to make her feel very happy indeed. She didn’t know that the Christmas spirits and little Christmas fairies were all around her and even right inside her, because she couldn’t see a single one of them, even though her eyes were very bright and could usually see a great deal.

But that was just it, and Little Girl felt as if she wanted to laugh and sing and be glad. It made her remember the little Boy who lived next door who was not feeling well, and she said to herself that she would carry to him one of her picture-books in the morning, so that they could have something to be happy together about.

Then, when the bright light all around her had grown very, very much brighter, Little Girl saw a path right in front of her, all straight and trim, leading up a hill to a big, big house with ever and ever so many windows in it. When she had gone just a bit nearer, she saw candles in every window, red and green and yellow ones, and every one burning brightly, so Little Girl knew right away that these were Christmas candles to light her on her journey, and make the way clear for her, and something told her that this was Santa’s house, and that pretty soon she would perhaps see Santa himself.

Just as she neared the steps and before she could possibly have had time to ring the bell, the door opened—opened by itself as wide as could be—and there stood—not Santa himself—don’t think it—but a funny Little Man with slender little legs and a roly-poly stomach which shook every now and then when he laughed. You would have known right away, just as Little Girl knew, that he was a very happy little man, and you would have guessed right away, too, that the reason he was so roly-poly was because he laughed and chuckled and smiled all the time.

Quick as a wink, he pulled off his little peaked red cap, smiled the broadest kind of a smile, and said, “Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas! Come in! Come in!”

So in went Little Girl, holding tight to the Little Man’s hand, and when she was really inside there was the jolliest, reddest fire all glowing and snapping, and there were Little Man and all his brothers and sisters, who said their names were “Merry Christmas,” and “Good Cheer,” and ever so many other jolly-sounding things, and there were such a lot of them that Little Girl just knew she never could count them, no matter how long she tried.

All around her were bundles and boxes and piles of toys and games,and clothes and fruit, and Little Girl knew that these were all ready and waiting to be loaded into Santa’s big sleigh for his reindeer to whirl them away over cloud tops and snow drifts to the little people down below who had left their stockings all ready for him.

Pretty soon all the little Good Cheer Brothers began to hustle and bustle and carry out the bundles as fast as they could to the steps where Little Girl could hear the jingling bells and the stamping of hooves. So Little Girl picked up some bundles and skipped along too, for she wanted to help a bit herself—it’s no fun whatever at Christmas unless you can help, you know—and there in the yard stood the BIGGEST sleigh that Little Girl had ever seen, and the reindeer were all stamping and prancing and jingling the bells on their harnesses, because they were so eager to be on their way to the Earth once more.

She could hardly wait for Santa to come, and just as she had begun to wonder where he was, the door opened again and out came a whole forest of Christmas trees, at least it looked just as if a whole forest had started out for a walk somewhere, but a second glance showed Little Girl that there were thousands of Christmas sprites, and that each one carried a tree or a big Christmas wreath on their back. Behind them all, she could hear someone laughing loudly, and talking in a big, jovial voice that sounded as if he were good friends with the whole world.

And straightway she knew that Santa himself was coming. Little Girl’s heart went pit-a-pat for a minute while she wondered if Santa would notice her, but she didn’t have to wonder long, for he spied her at once and said:
“Bless my soul! Who’s this? And where did you come from?”

Little Girl thought perhaps she might be afraid to answer him, but she wasn’t one bit afraid. You see he had such a kind little twinkle in his eyes that she felt happy right away as she replied, “Oh, I’m Little Girl, and I wanted so much to see Santa that I just came, and here I am!”

“Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho!” laughed Santa, “and here you are! Wanted to see Santa, did you, and so you came! Now that’s very nice, and it’s too bad I’m in such a hurry, for we should like nothing better than to show you about and give you a real good time. But you see it is quarter of twelve now, and I must be on my way at once, else I’ll never reach that first chimney-top by midnight. I’d call Mrs. Claus and ask her to get you some supper, but she is busy finishing dolls’ clothes which must be done before morning, and I guess we’d better not bother her. Is there anything that you would like, Little Girl?” and good old Santa put his big warm hand on Little Girl’s curls and she felt its warmth and kindness clear down to her very heart. You see that even though Santa was in such a great hurry, he wasn’t too busy to stop and make someone happy for a minute, even if it was someone no bigger than Little Girl.

So she smiled back into Santa’s face and said: “Oh, Santa, if I could ONLY ride down to Earth with you behind those splendid reindeer! I’d love to go; won’t you PLEASE take me? I’m so small that I won’t take up much room on the seat, and I will keep very still and not bother one bit!”

Then Santa laughed, SUCH a laugh, big and loud and rollicking, and he said, “Wants a ride, does she? Well, well, shall we take her, Little Elves? Shall we take her, Little Fairies? Shall we take her, Good Reindeer?”

And all the Little Elves hopped and skipped and brought Little Girl a sprig of holly; and all the Little Fairies bowed and smiled and brought her a bit of mistletoe; and all the Good Reindeer jingled their bells loudly, which meant, “Oh, yes! let’s take her! She’s a small Little Girl! Let her ride!” And before Little Girl could even think, she found herself all tucked up in the big fur robes beside Santa, and away they went, right out into the air, over the clouds, through the Milky Way, and right under the very handle on the Big Dipper, on, on, toward the Earthland, whose lights Little Girl began to see twinkling away down below her.

Soon she felt the runners scrape upon something, and she knew they must be on someone’s roof, and that Santa would slip down someone’s chimney in a minute. How she wanted to go, too! You see if you had never been down a chimney and seen Santa fill up the stockings, you would want to go quite as much as Little Girl did, now, wouldn’t you? So, just as Little Girl was wishing as hard as ever she could wish, she heard a Tiny Voice say, “Hold tight to his arm! Hold tight to his arm!” So she held Santa’s arm tight and close, and he shouldered his pack, never thinking that it was heavier than usual, and with a bound and a slide, there they were, Santa, Little Girl, pack and all, right in the middle of a room where there was a fireplace and stockings all hung up for Santa to fill.

Just then Santa noticed Little Girl. He had forgotten all about her for a minute, and he was very much surprised to find that she had come, too. “Bless my soul!” he said, “where did you come from, Little Girl? And how in the world can we both get back up that chimney again? It’s easy enough to slide down, but it’s quite another matter to climb up again!” and Santa looked worried. But Little Girl was beginning to feel very tired by this time, for she had had a very exciting evening, so she said, “Oh, never mind me, Santa. I’ve had such a good time, and I’d just as soon stay here a while as not. I believe I’ll curl up on this hearth-rug a few minutes and have a little nap, for it looks as warm and cozy as our own hearth-rug at home, and—why, it is our own hearth and it’s my own nursery, for there is Teddy Bear in his chair where I leave him every night, and there’s Bunny Cat curled up on his cushion in the corner.”

And Little Girl turned to thank Santa and say goodbye to him, but either he had gone very quickly, or else she had fallen asleep very quickly—she never could tell which—for the next thing she knew, Daddy was holding her in his arms and was saying, “What is my Little Girl doing here? She must go to bed, for it’s Christmas Eve, and Santa won’t come if he thinks there are any little folks about.”

But Little Girl knew better than that, and when she began to tell him all about it, and how the Christmas fairies had welcomed her, and how Santa had given her such a fine ride, Daddy laughed and laughed, and said, “You’ve been dreaming, Little Girl, you’ve been dreaming.”
But Little Girl knew better than that, too, for there on the hearth was the little Black Coal, which had given her Two Shoes and Bright Light, and tight in her hand she held a holly berry which one of the Christmas Sprites had placed there. More than all that, there she was on the hearth-rug herself, just as Santa had left her, and that was the best proof of all.

This story is about a little boy getting ready to give his list to Santa. He has made quite a long list and while he is practicing telling Santa with his Dad, his father asks him “What have you done to deserve these things?” The little boy spends some time thinking about the question his father has asked and later in the day has an answer.

Am I Ready for Christmas was written by Rayna Flowers. Please visit her website and consider purchasing a book.

A long time ago, Queen Winter sat upon her iceberg throne, in the land of ice and snow, and waving her staff, a huge icicle, asked for all the Snow Fairies and Frost Fairies to draw nearer, as she wished to see them.

“Please tell me, Snow Fairies,” said Queen Winter, “what have you been up to lately; have you made anybody happy by the work you have been doing?”

Queen Winter always thought it important that we all try to make people happy by the things we do.

“Oh, yes,” they all said at once with joy, “we had a great time last night putting white clothes on the trees, white blankets over the grasses, white caps on all the fence posts, and making things look so unique that when the children came out in the morning they just shouted and laughed, and soon threw so much snow over each other that they were dressed in white, and looked just like us Snow Fairies too. They wanted to make castles, forts, snow animals, and other things with the snow as we had done. Sleds were brought out and when the sleigh bells began their music it seemed that everybody was made happy by our efforts.”

“Well done,” said Queen Winter, “I won’t keep you from your work then, as the work you do is so important.”

In a twinkling the Snow Fairies were up in a purple cloud-boat throwing a shower of snowflake kisses down to Queen Winter to thank her for giving them important things to do.

“Now, Frost Fairies,” said Queen Winter, turning to a glittering band who wore some of her own colorful jewels, “what have you been up to lately? Have you made anyone happy?”

“We have made pictures upon the windows and hung your jewels upon the trees for the people to look at, and covered the ponds so people can skate,” said Jack Frost, the leader.

“That is good,” said Queen Winter. “You and the Snow Fairies seem to be making people so happy, but pretty soon our work will be done, and the change of seasons will hide our efforts again; they will hide the snowballs, and melt the skating ponds so that the ice may float downstream. Now I would like to make something that will keep long after we are gone away. Queen Summer is asleep but her harvest of hay and grain is in the barns. Queen Autumn is gone but her harvest of apples and potatoes are in the market; now I want to leave something lasting for people, too.”

“But the sunbeams are away most of the time now,” said Jack Frost. “Can anything grow without them?”

“My harvest will grow best without them,” said Queen Winter, “and I’ll just hang up a thick cloud curtain and ask them to play upon the other side while my harvest grows. Mr. North Wind will help, and if all you Frost Fairies try your best my harvest will soon be ready.”

North Wind soon came with bags of cold air which he scattered around the land, while the Frost Fairies carried it into every little place, wondering all the while what the result would be. But after two days’ of effort they found out; for horses were hitched to sleds and people started for the lakes and rivers, saying, “The ice has frozen so thick that it is time to fill the ice-houses.”

Saws and poles were carried along, and soon huge blocks of ice were finding places upon the sleds ready for the ride to some ice-house where they would be packed so securely in sawdust that Queen Winter’s harvest would keep through the very hottest weather.

“Now people can have ice to keep their food fresh all year long,” said a Frost Fairy. “And don’t forget ice cream, ice cream in summer, fall and winter.”

For many seasons the Golden-rods had reigned over the meadow, and no one thought of choosing a king from any other family, for they were strong and loved to rule.
But one autumn something happened which caused a great excitement among the flowers. It was proposed to have a queen, and such a thing had never been heard of before. It began among the Asters; for some of them grew outside the wall beside the road, and saw and heard what went on in the great world. These sturdy plants told the news to their relations inside; and so the Asters were unusually wise and energetic flowers, from the little white stars in the grass to the tall sprays tossing their purple plumes above the mossy wall.

“Things are moving in the great world, and it is time we made a change in our little one,” said one of the roadside Asters, after a long talk with a wandering wind. “Matters are not going well in the meadow; for the Golden-rods rule, and they care only for money and power, as their name shows. Now, we are descended from the stars, and are both wise and good, and our tribe is even larger than the Golden-rod tribe; so it is but fair that we should take our turn at governing. It will soon be time to choose, and I propose our stately cousin, Violet Aster, for queen this year. Whoever agrees with me, say Aye.”

Quite a shout went up from all the Asters; and the late Clovers and Buttercups joined in it, for they were honest, sensible flowers, and liked fair play. To their great delight the Pitcher-plant, or said “Aye” most decidedly, and that impressed all the other plants; for this fine family came over in the Mayflower, and was much honored everywhere.

But the proud Cardinals by the brook blushed at the idea of a queen; the Fringed Gentians shut their blue eyes so that they might not see the bold Asters. The Golden-rods laughed and were much amused at the suggestion to put them off the throne where they had ruled so long.
“Let those Asters try it,” they said. “No one will vote for that silly Violet, and things will go on as they always have done; so, dear friends, don’t be troubled, but help us elect our handsome cousin who was born in the palace this year.”

In the middle of the meadow stood a beautiful maple, and at its foot lay a large rock overgrown by a wild grapevine. All kinds of flowers sprang up here; and this autumn a tall spray of Golden-rod and a lovely violet Aster grew almost side by side, with only a screen of ferns between them. This was called the palace; and seeing their cousin there made the Asters feel that their turn had come, and many of the other flowers agreed with them that a change of rulers ought to be made, for the good of the kingdom.

So when the day came to choose, there was great excitement as the wind went about collecting the votes. The Golden-rods, Cardinals, and Gentians voted for the Prince, as they called the handsome fellow by the rock. All the Asters, Buttercups, Clovers, and Pitcher-plants voted for Violet; and to the surprise of the meadow the Maple dropped a leaf, and the Rock gave a bit of lichen for her also. They seldom took part in the affairs of the flower people,—the tree living so high above them, busy with its own music, and the rock being so old that it seemed lost in meditation most of the time; but they liked the idea of a queen and both believed in gentle Violet.

Their votes won the day, and with loud rejoicing by her friends she was proclaimed queen of the meadow and welcomed to her throne.
“We will never go to Court or notice her in any way,” cried the haughty Cardinals, red with anger.
“Nor we! Dreadful creature! Let us turn our backs and be grateful that the brook flows between us,” added the Gentians, shaking their fringes as if the mere idea saddened them.

Others hid their faces among the vine leaves, feeling that the palace was no longer a fit home for delicate, high-born flowers like themself. All the Golden-rods raged at this dreadful disappointment, and said many untrue and disrespectful things of Violet. The Prince tossed his yellow head behind the screen, and laughed as if he did not mind, saying carelessly:
“Let her try; she never can do it, and will soon be glad to give up and let me take my proper place.”

So the meadow was divided: one half turned its back on the new queen; the other half loved, admired, and believed in her; and all waited to see how the experiment would succeed. The wise Asters helped her with advice; the Pitcher-plant refreshed her with the history of the area, the honest Clovers sweetened life with their sincere friendship, and the cheerful Buttercups brightened her days with kind words and deeds. But her best help came from the rock and the tree,—for when she needed strength she leaned her delicate head against the rough side of the rock, and courage seemed to come to her from the wise old stone that had borne the storms of a hundred years; when her heart was heavy with care or wounded by unkindness, she looked up to the beautiful tree, always full of soft music, always pointing upward, and was comforted by these glimpses of a world above her.

The first thing she did was to send the snakes away from the field as they were always sneaking up on the plants and birds and never listened to anything they were asked to do.
The next task was to stop the red and black ants from constantly fighting; for they were always at war, to the great dismay of more peaceful insects. She told each tribe to keep in its own country, and if any dispute came up, to bring it to her, and she would decide it fairly. This was a hard task; for the ants loved to fight. But she made them friends at last, and everyone was glad.

Another reform was to purify the news that came to the meadow. The wind was telegraph-messenger; but the birds were reporters, and some of them were not very good ones. The larks brought tidings from the clouds, and were always welcome; the thrushes from the wood, and all loved to hear their pretty romances; the robins had domestic news, and the lively wrens bits of gossip and witty jokes to relate. But the magpies made such mischief with their naughty news, and the crows criticized and condemned every one who did not do just as they did; so the magpies were forbidden to go gossiping about the meadow, and the gloomy black crows were ordered off the fence where they liked to sit cawing dismally for hours at a time.

Everyone felt safe and comfortable when this was done, except the Cardinals, who liked to hear their splendid dresses and fine feasts talked about, and the Golden-rods, who were so used to living in public that they missed the excitement.
A hospital for sick and homeless creatures was opened under the big burdock leaves; and there several belated butterflies were tucked up in their silken hammocks to sleep till spring, a sad lady-bug, found comfort in her loneliness, and many crippled ants sat talking over their battles, like old soldiers, in the sunshine.

It took a long time to do all this, and it was a hard task, for the rich and powerful flowers gave no help. But the Asters worked bravely, so did the Clovers and Buttercups and the Pitcher-plant kept open house with the old-fashioned hospitality one so seldom sees nowadays.
Everything seemed to prosper, and the meadow grew more beautiful day by day. Safe from their enemies, birds came to build in all the trees and bushes, singing their gratitude so sweetly that there was always music in the air. Sunshine and shower seemed to love to freshen the thirsty flowers and keep the grass green, till every plant grew strong and fair, and passers-by stopped to look, saying with a smile:—
“What a pretty little spot this is!”
The wind carried tidings of these things to other colonies, and brought back messages of praise and good-will from other rulers, glad to know the experiment worked so well.

This made a deep impression on the Golden-rods and their friends, for they could not deny that Violet had succeeded better than any one dared to hope; and the proud flowers began to see that they would have to give in, own they were wrong, and become loyal subjects of this wise and gentle queen.
“We shall have to go to Court if ambassadors keep coming with such gifts and honors to Her Majesty; for they wonder why they don’t see us there, and will tell them we are sulking at home instead of shining as we only can,” said the Cardinals, longing to display their red velvet robes at the feasts which Violet was giving in the palace when kings came to visit her.

“It is hard to see the good old ways changed; but if they must be, we can only gracefully submit,” answered the Gentians, smoothing their delicate blue fringes, eager to be again the belles of the ball.
Clematis astonished every one by suddenly beginning to climb the maple-tree and shake her silvery tassels like a canopy over the Queen’s head.
“I cannot live so near her and not begin to grow. Since I must cling to something, I choose the noblest I can find, and look up, not down, forevermore,” she said; for like many creatures, she was easily guided, and it was well for her that Violet’s example had been a brave one.

Prince Golden-rod had found it impossible to turn his back entirely upon Her Majesty, for he was a gentleman with a really noble heart under his yellow cloak; so he was among the first to see, admire, and love the modest, faithful flower who grew so near him. He could not help hearing her words to those who came to her for advice. He saw the daily acts of charity which no one else discovered; he knew how many trials came to her, and how bravely she bore them.
“She had done more than ever we did to make the kingdom beautiful, safe, and happy, and I’ll be the first to own it, to thank her and offer my allegiance,” he said to himself, and waited for a chance.

One night when the September moon was shining over the meadow, and the air was balmy with the last breath of summer, the Prince ventured to serenade the Queen on his wind-harp. He knew she was awake; for he had peeped through the ferns and seen her looking at the stars with her violet eyes full of dew, as if something troubled her. So he sang his sweetest song, and Her Majesty leaned nearer to hear it; for she longed to be friends with the gallant Prince, because both were born in the palace and grew up together very happily till coronation time came.
As he ended she sighed, wondering how long it would be before he told her what she knew was in his heart.
Golden-rod heard the soft sigh, and forgetting his pride, he pushed away the screen, and whispered, while his face shone and his voice showed how much he felt.
“What troubles you, sweet neighbor? Forget and forgive my unkindness, and let me help you if I can,—I dare not say as Prince Consort, though I love you dearly; but as a friend and faithful subject, for I confess that you are better to rule than I.”

As he spoke the leaves that hid Violet’s golden heart opened wide and let him see how glad she was, as she bent her stately head and answered softly.
“There is room upon the throne for two: share it with me as King, and let us rule together.”
What the Prince answered only the moon knows; but when morning came all the meadow was surprised and rejoiced to see the golden and purple flowers standing side by side, while the maple showered its rosy leaves over them, and the old rock waved his crown of vine-leaves as he said:
“This is as it should be; love and strength going hand in hand, and fairness making the earth glad.”

Summer had been a joyful time in the meadow. It had been a busy time, too, and from morning till night the chirping and humming of the happy people there had mingled with the rustle of the leaves, and the soft “swish, swish,” of the tall grass, as the wind passed over it.

True, there had been a few quarrels, and some unpleasant things to remember, but these little people were wise enough to throw away all the sad memories and keep only the glad ones. And now the summer was over. The leaves of the forest trees were turning from green to scarlet, orange, and brown. The beech and hickory nuts were only waiting for a friendly frost to open their outer shells, and loosen their stems, so that they could fall to the earth.

The wind was cold now, and the meadow people knew that the time had come to get ready for winter. One chilly Caterpillar said to another, “Boo-oo! How cold it is! I must find a place for my cocoon. Suppose we sleep side by side this winter, swinging on the same bush?”

And his friend replied: “We must hurry then, or we shall be too old and stiff to spin good ones.”

The Garter Snake felt sleepy all the time, and declared that in a few days he would doze off until spring.

The Tree Frog had chosen his winter home already, and the Bees were making the most of their time in visiting the last fall flowers, and gathering every bit of honey they could find for their cold-weather stock.

The last eggs had been laid, and the food had been placed beside many of them for the babies that would hatch out in the spring. Nothing was left but to say “Good-by,” and fall asleep. So a message was sent around the meadow for all to come to a farewell party under the elm tree.

Everybody came, and all who could sing did so, and the Crickets and Mosquitoes made music for the rest to dance by.

The Tree Frog led off with a black and yellow Spider, the Garter Snake followed with a Potato Bug, and all the other crawling people joined in the dance on the grass, while over their heads the Butterflies and other light-winged ones fluttered to and fro with airy grace.

The Snail and the old Cricket had meant to look on, and really did so, for a time, from a warm corner by the tree, but the Cricket couldn’t stand it to not join in the fun. First, his eyes gleamed, his feelers waved, and his feet kept time to the music, and, when a frisky young Ant beckoned to him, he gave a great leap and danced with the rest, balancing, jumping, and circling around in a most surprising way.

When it grew dark, the Fireflies’ lights shone like tiny stars, and the dancing went on until all were tired and ready to sing together the last song of the summer, for on the morrow they would go to rest. And this was their song:

The autumn leaves lying
So thick on the ground,
The summer Birds flying
The meadow around,
Say, “Good-by.”

The Seed Babies dropping
Down out of our sight,
The Dragon-flies stopping
A moment in flight,
Say, “Good-by.”

The red Squirrels bearing
Their nuts to the tree,
The wild Rabbits caring
For babies so wee,
Say, “Good-by.”

The sunbeams now showing
Are hazy and pale,
The warm breezes blowing
Have changed to a gale,
So, “Good-by.”

The season for working
Is passing away.
Both playing and shirking
Are ended today,
So, “Good-by.”

The Garter Snake creeping
So softly to rest,
The fuzzy Worms sleeping
Within their warm nest,
Say, “Good-by.”

The Honey Bees crawling
Around the full comb,
The tiny Ants calling
Each one to the home,
Say, “Good-by.”

We’ve ended our singing,
Our dancing, and play,
And Nature’s voice ringing
Now tells us to say
Our “Good-by.”

Lady Elizabeth was really a very nice girl. She was affectionate, generous and very clever. Lady Elizabeth was also pretty, and of course that goes a very long way; but for all that Lady Elizabeth was, she was not happy, for the very simple reason that she was not content.
The fact was that her father, the Earl, had lost a lot of money, and as earls go, he was poor, and the consequence was that Lady Elizabeth had to put up with a great deal that she did not like, and do a great many things that she did not care to do. She grumbled at having to perform the household chores, she grumbled at the servants, and grumbled because she had to go out and do the shopping herself.
From morning till evening she sighed for riches, and even if she woke up in the middle of the night, her thoughts turned to gold; and when thoughts continually turn to gold it is very bad for them, and is sure to make the thinker discontented and unhappy.

Now it was through always having the same longing, morning, noon, and night, that a very strange and terrible thing happened to Lady Elizabeth; one of the most wonderful and awkward things that could happen to anybody.
To begin with, I must tell you that there is in the sea a school of magic fish. Some people say that there were originally in the school ten thousand fish, other people put the number down at only seven thousand five hundred, but that really doesn’t matter much; but what does matter to the story is this, that Lady Elizabeth bought one of these magic fish in the market, and ate it that same night for her supper.

Not that she knew that the fish she had eaten was anything out of the way. In fact, nobody knew this, neither the cook, nor the fishmonger from whom it was purchased, nor anybody else; but eat it Lady Elizabeth did and had to take the consequences.
“Dear me!” she exclaimed, after supper, trying to keep her heavy eyes open, “I feel so sleepy.”
“Better go to bed,” said the Earl.
“I think I will,” replied Lady Elizabeth, with a little yawn, and giving her father a kiss, she went upstairs to her bedroom.
“Oh, dear,” she exclaimed, as she got herself ready for bed, “what an unfortunate girl I am. Imagine an earl’s daughter having no maid to help her to get to bed when she is sleepy. Bah!” and here she stamped her little foot, “I wish everything were gold, then I could sell it.”
Having made this silly remark, she was naughty enough to break the strings of her petticoat, for they had become knotted. Then she jumped into bed, and before her pretty head had touched the white pillow she was fast asleep, beyond even the land of dreams.
She slept soundly all the night through, not waking up till the sun was shining in at her window, in all his golden glory; indeed it was a glorious day, golden, bright, and beautiful!

Lady Elizabeth jumped from her bed with a song on her lips, and her eyes bright with health and beauty. But of a sudden the song ceased, as she cried out in wonder and alarm, and her eyes became fixed with extraordinary astonishment. She had poured water from the jug into the basin, and as soon as she touched it with her pink fingers it had frozen hard. Frozen quite solid, not into ice, but into pure gold. Pure gold, worth hundreds of pounds!
It was the same in the bath, a bath both deep and wide. As soon as her little pink toe touched the water it froze into a large block of yellow gold, worth thousands and thousands of pounds.

She was so bewildered, so excited, so delighted that she could hardly dress herself, but she managed to do so somehow, and then ran downstairs to tell her father the good news. He was a rich man now, and could have servants, and horses and carriages and everything else that he desired!
Lady Elizabeth and her father took pleasure in the gold, and the household came and stared at it in silent wonder. More water was poured into the bath and the same thing happened as before; when touched by Lady Elizabeth’s fair fingers it turned into the precious metal. But wonder must give way to other feelings. She soon began to feel hungry, very hungry in fact, for she had a good appetite and it was long past breakfast-time; she had had nothing to eat since her supper of Magic Fish the night before.

It was a nice breakfast, coffee and rolls, fresh butter and eggs, jams, and other nice things. Lady Elizabeth said her thanks, sat down, poured herself out a cup of coffee and raised it to her rosy lips.
Lady Elizabeth let the cup fall with a crash, breaking it to bits, as she sprang to her feet with a scream, while her father fell off his chair in amazement. He was an elderly earl, and rather nervous, and sudden shocks upset him.
But really it was enough to upset anybody, for as soon as his daughter’s lips touched the coffee it had turned into solid gold. No wonder she dropped the cup, it was so heavy.

She tried a second cup with the same result; then, with trembling fingers, she touched the loaf of bread, when it turned to gold immediately; eggs, jam, butter, even the very crumbs turned into golden nuggets, and as Lady Elizabeth found it impossible to eat gold, she went without any breakfast whatsoever.
Her father was very concerned. Magicians were sent for from all over the country, but they could do nothing but stare with wonder and help themselves to the golden eggs to pay for their traveling expenses.
The same thing happened at lunch, at dinner, tea and supper. Lady Elizabeth was starving. In the evening another remarkable event took place. She happened to touch her pet poodle, and it immediately became a golden dog. Her father, at this, became more nervous than ever, and shrieked whenever his daughter came near him. The servants shunned her, too, fearful of the consequences of touching her. Poor Elizabeth; a more unhappy girl did not go to bed that night! But she had eaten the Magic Fish and wished for gold, and her wish had been fulfilled.

The same thing happened the next day. Crowds of people came from far and near to see the wonder of the age, and while they wondered, Lady Elizabeth was starving.
“Oh,” she cried, “if only I could be like an ordinary girl again. I promise I will never be unsatisfied any more. I will do my best to be cheerful and never, never grumble again.”
As she made this vow there came a peal of thunder, and all of a sudden the golden water, the golden bread, jam, butter, and even the eggs the Magicians had taken for their traveling expenses, turned back into their natural state. And to the joy of Lady Elizabeth, her father, and the people who loved her, she could once more work, eat, and drink again.

From that day to this she was never dissatisfied, and never once longed for the gold which was hers for so short a while.

This story is written by Prince Edward Island based author Marlene Bryenton. Please consider purchasing her book.

Written by Richard Barnum.

Toto, the bustling beaver, ran as fast as he could and took shelter under a big rock that made a place like a little cave on the side of the hill.
“What’s the matter?” asked Don, the dog. “Are you afraid because I told you about the men?”
“Oh, no,” answered Toto. “But didn’t you hear that thumping sound just now?”
“Yes, I heard it,” answered Don. “What was it—somebody beating a carpet?”
“I don’t know what a carpet is,” replied Toto. “We don’t have any at our house. But, whatever it is, it wasn’t that. The noise you heard was one of my beaver friends thumping his tail on the ground.”
“Oh, you mean wagging his tail!” barked Don. “Well, I do that myself when I feel glad. I guess one of your beaver friends must be glad.”
“No, it isn’t that,” went Toto. “Whenever any of the beavers thumps his tail on the ground it means there’s danger around, and all of us who hear it run and hide. You’d better come under this rock with me. Then you’ll be out of danger.”

Once more the thumping sound echoed through the woods.
“Better come under here with me,” advised Toto.
“Well, I guess I will,” barked Don.
No sooner was he under the big rock with Toto than, all of a sudden, there was a loud crash, and a great tree fell almost on the place in the woods where Toto and Don had been standing talking.
“My goodness!” barked Don, speaking as dogs do. “It’s a good thing we were under this rock, Toto, or else that tree would have fallen on us! Did you know it was going to fall?”
“Well, no, not exactly. My brother and I have been practicing gnawing a tree this morning, but ours isn’t cut down yet. My father is going to finish cutting it, and show Sniffy and me how it is done. But he promised not to cut all the way through until I got back. So I don’t believe it was our tree that fell.”
“Is it alright for us to come out now?” asked Don. Though he was older than the beaver boy, he felt that perhaps Toto knew more about the woods—especially when tree-cutting was going on.

Toto sat up on his tail under the big rock and listened with his little ears. He heard the beavers, which were all about, talking among themselves, and he and Don heard some of them say:
“It’s all right now. Cuppy and Slump have cut down the big tree for the dam. It has fallen, and now it is safe for us to come out.”
The dog and the little beaver came out from under the overhanging rock, and Don noticed the pieces of bark Toto had stripped off.
“What are you going to do with them?” asked Don. “Make a basket?”

“A basket? I should say not!” exclaimed Toto. “I’m going to eat some and take the rest to my father and brother. They are farther back in the woods, cutting down a tree. Don’t you like bark?”
“Bark? I should say not!” laughed Don in a barking manner. “I like bones to gnaw, but not bark, though I bark with my mouth. That is a different kind, though. But I suppose it wouldn’t do for all of us to eat the same things. There wouldn’t be enough to go around. But tell me: Do you always hear a thumping sound whenever there is danger in the woods?”
“Yes, that’s one of the ways we beavers have of talking to one another,” answered Toto. “Whenever one of us is cutting a tree down, and he sees that it is about to fall, he thumps on the ground as hard as he can with his tail. You see our tails are broad and flat, and they make quite a thump.”

Don turned and looked at Toto’s tail.
“Yes, it’s quite different from mine,” said the dog. “I sometimes thump my tail on the floor, when my owner gives me something good to eat or pats me on the head. But my tail doesn’t make much noise.”
“Well, a beaver’s tail does,” explained Toto. “So whenever any of us hear the thumping sound we know there is danger, and we run away or hide.”
“I’m glad to know this,” said Don. “When I’m in the woods, from now on, and hear that thumping sound, I’ll look around for danger, and I’ll hide if I can’t get out of the way. Well, I’m glad to have met you,” went Don.
“I must be going,” barked Don. “I want to see if I can find that camp where the men live. These men are no good. They keep coming around the house where I live, and taking our owner’s things. If I see the men I’m going to bark at them and try to drive them away.”

Then he trotted on through the woods, and Toto, after eating a little more bark, gathered some up in his paws, and, walking on his hind legs, brought it to where his father and Sniffy were waiting for him.
“Here’s Toto,” said Sniffy.
“Where have you been?” asked Mr. Beaver.
“Oh, getting some sweet bark,” answered Toto, and he laid down on some clean moss the strips he had pulled off. “I met a dog, too.”
“A dog!” cried Mr. Beaver. “My goodness, I hope he isn’t chasing after you!” and he looked through the trees as if afraid.
“Oh, this was Don, a good dog,” explained Toto. “He’s only looking for some men. He won’t hurt any beavers.”
“Well, if he’s a good dog, all right,” said the beaver daddy.

“Where were you when Cuppy whacked with his tail just before the big tree fell?” asked Sniffy, as he nibbled at some of the tender bark his brother had brought.
“Oh, Don and I hid under a big rock,” answered Toto. “I told him the whacking sound meant danger. He didn’t know it. And it’s a good thing we hid when we did, for the tree would have crushed us if we hadn’t been under the rock. Is our tree ready to finish gnawing down, Daddy?”
“Yes,” answered Mr. Beaver. “You and Sniffy may start now, and cut a little more. I’ll tell you when to stop.”
“But I thought you were going to finish, Dad,” said Sniffy.
“He will, Sniffy, if he said so. But he’s letting us help a little more first so we can learn faster!”

So the beaver boys sat up on their tails again, and gnawed at the big tree—the largest one they had ever helped to cut down. They gnawed and gnawed and gnawed with their orange-colored front teeth, and then Mr. Beaver said:
“That’s enough, boys. I’ll do the rest. But you may whack on the ground with your tails to warn the others out of the way.”
So Toto and Sniffy, much delighted to do this, found a smooth place near a big rock, and then they went:
“Whack! Whack! Whack!”
“Danger! Danger!” cried a lot of the other beavers who were working nearby. “A tree is going to fall! Run, everybody! Danger!”

“See!” exclaimed Toto to his brother. “We can make the old beavers run out of the way just as Cuppy made Don and me run.”
“Yes, you beaver boys are growing up,” said Mr. Beaver, who had waited to see that his two sons gave the danger signal properly. “You are learning very well. Now here goes the tree.”
He gave a few more bites, or gnaws, at the place where the tree was almost cut through, and then Mr. Beaver himself ran out of the way.
“Crash! Bang!” went the big tree down in the forest. It broke down several other smaller trees, and finally was stretched out on the ground near the waters of Winding River.
“We helped do that!” said Toto to Sniffy, when the woods were again silent.
“Yes, you have learned how to cut down big trees,” said their father. “You are no longer playing beavers—you are working beavers. Now we must dig the canal to float the tree nearer the dam, as it is too heavy for us to roll or pull along, and we do not want to cut it.”

I will tell you, a little farther on, how the beavers cut canals to float logs to the places where they want to use them. Just now all I’ll say about them is that it took some time to get the tree Toto and Sniffy had helped cut to the place where it was needed for the dam. The two beaver boys and many others of the wonderful animals were busy for a week or more.

Then, one day, when the tree was in place, Toto asked his mother if he might go off into the woods and look for some more aspen bark, as all that had been stored in the stick house had been eaten.
“Yes, you may go,” said Mrs. Beaver. “But don’t go too far, and don’t stay too long.”
“I won’t,” promised Toto. Then he waddled off through the woods, after having swum across the beaver pond, made by damming the river, and soon he found himself under the green trees.
“I wonder if I’ll meet Don, the nice dog?” thought Toto. “or that little girl who scared me so that day on the ice?”

Toto looked off through the trees, but he saw neither Don nor the girl.
Toto found a place where some aspen bark grew on trees, and he gnawed off and ate as much as he wanted. Then he walked on a little farther and, pretty soon, he saw something in the woods that looked like a big beaver house. It was a heap of branches and limbs of trees, and over the outside were big sheets and strips of rough bark.
“But that can’t be a beaver house,” thought Toto. “It isn’t near water, and no beavers would build a house unless it had water near it. I wonder what it is.”
Toto sat up on his tail and looked at the unusual object. Then all at once he heard rough voices speaking, and he saw some ragged men come out of the pile of bark. One or two of them had tin cans in their hands, and another was holding a pan over a fire that blazed on a flat rock.
“Oh, I know who they are!” said Toto to himself. “These must be the men Don was looking for. This is their camp! I’ve found those bad men. I wish I could find Don to tell him!”

This is a story about a little girl named Lucy who loves to play Minecraft. One night when her mother tells her to get ready for bed Lucy is playing and doesn’t want to put her game away. She loves bedtime but wishes she could keep playing. After she gets ready for bed she decides to check on her chickens one more time just to make sure they are okay. Lucy goes into her world and has a great adventure and meets a new friend.

Early one morning Grandmother Grey got up, opened the windows and doors of the farmhouse, and soon everybody in the place was stirring. The cook hurried breakfast, and no sooner was it over than Grandfather Grey went out to the barn and hitched the two horses to the wagon.

“Get up, Robin and Dobbin!” he said, as he drove through the big gate. “If you knew who was coming back in this wagon you would not be stepping so slowly.”

The old horses picked up their ears when they heard this, and trotted away as fast as they could down the country road until they came to town. Just as they got to the railway station the train came whizzing in.

“All off!” cried the conductor, as the train stopped; and out came a group of children who were, every one of them, Grandfather and Grandmother Grey’s grandchildren.

They had come to spend Thanksgiving Day on the farm.
There was John, who was named for grandfather and looked just like him, and the twins, Teddie and Pat, who looked like nobody but each other; their papa was grandfather’s oldest son. Then there was Louisa, who had a baby sister at home, and then Mary Virginia Martin, who was her mamma’s only child.

“I tell you,” said grandfather, as he helped them into the wagon, “your grandmother will be happy to see you!”
And so she was. She was watching at the window for them when they drove up, and when the children spied her they could scarcely wait for grandfather to stop the wagon before they scrambled out.

“Dear me, dear me!” said grandmother, as they all tried to hug her at the same time, “how you have grown.”
“I am in the first grade,” said John, hugging her with all his might.
“So am I,” cried Louisa.
“We are going to be,” chimed in the twins; and then they all talked at once, till grandmother could not hear herself speak.

Then, after they had told her all about their mammas and papas, and homes, and cats and dogs, they wanted to go and say “how do you do” to everything on the place.

“Take care of yourselves,” called grandmother, “for I don’t want to send any broken bones home to your mothers.”

“I can take care of myself,” said John.
“So can we,” said the rest; and off they ran.

First they went to the kitchen where the cook was getting ready for Thanksgiving dinner; then out to the barnyard, where there were two new red calves, and five little puppies belonging to Juno, the dog, for them to see. Then they climbed the barnyard fence and made haste to the pasture where grandfather kept his woolly sheep. “Baa-a!” said the sheep when they saw the children; but then, they always said that, no matter what happened.

There were cows in this pasture, too, and Mary Virginia was afraid of them, even though she knew that they were the mothers of the calves she had seen in the barnyard.
“Silly Mary Virginia!” said John, and Mary Virginia began to cry.

“Don’t cry,” said Louisa. “Let’s go to the hickory-nut tree.”
This pleased them all, and they hurried off; but on the way they came to the big shed where grandfather kept his plows and reaper and threshing machine and all his garden tools.

The shed had a long, wide roof, and there was a ladder leaning against it. When John saw that, he thought he must go up on the roof; and then, of course, the twins went, too. Then Louisa and Mary Virginia wanted to go, and although John insisted they could not climb, they managed to scramble up the ladder to where the boys were. And there they all sat in a row on the roof.

“Grandmother doesn’t know how well we can take care of ourselves,” said John. “But I am such a big boy that I can do anything. I can ride a bicycle and go on errands——”

“So can I,” said Louisa.
“We can ride on the trolley!” cried the twins.
“Mamma and I go anywhere by ourselves,” said Mary Virginia.

“Moo!” said something down below; and when they looked, there was one of the cows rubbing her head against the ladder.
“Don’t be afraid, Mary Virginia,” said Louisa. “Cows can’t climb ladders.”
“Don’t be afraid, Mary Virginia,” said John. “I will drive her away.”

So he kicked his feet against the shed roof and called, “Go away! go away!” The twins kicked their feet, too, and called, “Go away! go away!” and somebody, I don’t know who, kicked the ladder and it fell down and lay in the dry grass. And the cow walked peacefully on, thinking about her little calf.

“There, now!” exclaimed Louisa, “how shall we ever get down?”
“Oh, that’s nothing,” said John. “All I’ll have to do is stand up on the roof and call grandfather. Just watch me do it.”
So he stood up and called, “Grandfather! Grandfather! Grandfather!” till he was tired; but no grandfather answered.
Then the twins called, “Grandfather! Grandmother!”

“Baa,” said the sheep, as if beginning to think that somebody ought to answer all that calling.

Then they all called together: “Grandfather! Grandfather! Grandfather!” and when nobody heard that, they began to feel frightened and lonely.

“I want to go home to my mother! I wish I hadn’t come!” wailed Mary Virginia.
“It’s Thanksgiving dinner time, too,” said John, “and there’s turkey for dinner, I saw it in the oven.”
“Pie, too,” said Louisa.
“Dear, dear!” said the twins.

And then they all called together once more, but this time with such a weak little cry that not even the sheep heard it.
The sun grew warmer and the shadows straighter as they sat there, and grandmother’s house seemed miles away when John stood up to look at it.

“They’ve eaten dinner by this time, I know,” he said as he sat down again; “and grandfather and grandmother have forgotten all about us.”

But grandfather and grandmother had not forgotten them, for just about then grandmother was saying to grandfather: “You had better see where the children are, for Thanksgiving dinner will soon be ready and I know that they are hungry.”

So grandfather went out to look for them. He did not find them in the kitchen nor the barnyard, so he called, “Johnnie! Johnnie!” and when nobody answered he made haste to the pasture.

The children saw him coming, and long before he had reached the gate they began to call with all their might. This time grandfather answered, “I’m coming!” and I cannot tell you how glad they were.

In another minute he had set the ladder up again and they all came down. Mary Virginia came first because she was the youngest girl, and John came last because he was the biggest boy. Grandfather put his arms around each one as he helped them down, and then carried Mary Virginia home on his back. When they got to the house, dinner was just ready.

The turkey was brown, the potatoes were sweet,
The sauce was so spicy, the biscuits were beat,
The great pumpkin pie was as yellow as gold,
And the apples were red as the roses, I’m told.

It was such a good dinner that I had to tell you about it in rhyme!

And I’m sure you’ll agree,
With the children and me,
That there’s never a visit so pleasant to pay
As a visit to grandma on Thanksgiving Day

Written by Richard Barnum.

You may well believe that Toto and Sniffy did not lose any time diving down under water as soon as they heard their father tell them to do so. Many times before, when they were first learning to swim, they had to dive down quickly like this just after they had poked up their noses to get a breath of air. And always their father or mother had swam with them out of danger.
“What was that whacking noise, Dad?” asked Sniffy, when they were once more safely back in their stick and mud house.
“That was Mr. Cuppy banging his flat tail on the water to let us know there was some danger,” answered Mr. Beaver. “Cuppy, or some of the older beavers, are always on guard at or near the dam. If they hear, see, or smell danger they whack with their tails. And whenever you hear that whacking sound you little fellows must dive into the water and swim away just as fast as you can.”
“Oh, now I remember about Mr. Cuppy whacking with his tail!” exclaimed Toto. “You told us that last summer, didn’t you, Dad?”
“Yes. But the winter has been long, and all that time you have had no chance to hear Mr. Cuppy bang his tail on the water, so I was afraid you had forgotten,” said Mr. Beaver.
“I did forget,” answered Sniffy.
“And I did, too,” said Toto. “But now I’m always going to listen for Mr. Cuppy’s tail.”
“And run and dive into the water as fast as you can when you hear him whacking and banging,” advised Mr. Beaver. “Now we’ll wait a little while and then we’ll swim up again. The danger may have passed.”

Toto and his brother waited with their father for perhaps five minutes in the beaver house. Then, once more, they dove down, out of the front door, and up into the river, a little farther away. Mr. Beaver went ahead, and poked up his nose first to look about. He saw a number of beavers working on the dam, among them Mr. Cuppy.
“Is it all right?” called Mr. Beaver to the old gentleman.
“Yes, come along. We need lots of help to make the dam bigger and stronger,” answered Mr. Cuppy. “Where are your two boys?”
“Right here,” answered their father. “It’s alright! Bob up your heads!” he called.

Up they swam, and soon they were among their friends on the dam, which was made of a number of trees laid crosswise over the narrow part of the river. Sticks had been piled back of the trees, and mud, grass-hummocks, and leaves were piled back of the sticks, so that very little water could run through. Back of the dam the water was quite deep, but in front it was very shallow. The beavers all had their houses back of the dam.
“What was the danger?” asked Mr. Beaver of Mr. Cuppy, as the two animal gentlemen walked along the top of the dam. “Did you see a bear or some other big animal?”
“No,” answered Mr. Cuppy. “The reason I whacked my tail was because I saw five or six men over in the woods where the trees are that we are going to cut down for our dam.”
“Were they hunters?” asked Mr. Beaver.
“No, they didn’t seem to be hunters,” answered Mr. Cuppy. “They were rough-looking men, and not dressed as nicely as most hunters are. These men had old rusty cans in their hands—cans like those we sometimes find in our river. I thought they were coming over to our dam to catch us, but they didn’t. However I gave the danger signal.”

“Yes, it’s best to be on the safe side,” returned Mr. Beaver. “Well, now we are here—my two boys and myself—and we are ready to help gnaw down trees for you. My wife will be here in a little while. She has gone to see if she can find some aspen bark for our dinner.”
“My wife has gone to look for some, too,” said Mr. Cuppy. “Well, now, let’s see! Have Toto and Sniffy ever cut down any trees?”
“No, this will be the first time for them,” said their father.
“Well, take them over to the grove and show them how to work,” advised Mr. Cuppy. “We shall need many trees this spring. How are you, boys? Ready to gnaw with your red teeth?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Toto and Sniffy.
“Come along!” called their father, and into the water they jumped from the top of the dam, to swim to where the trees grew beside the river.

Beavers always swim, if they can, to wherever they want to go. They would much rather swim than walk, as they can swim so much better and faster. So, in a little while, Toto and Sniffy stood with their father beside a tree which, near where the tree trunk went into the ground, was as large around as your head.
“We will cut down this tree,” said Mr. Beaver.
“What! That big tree?” cried Toto. “We can never gnaw that down, Dad! It will take a year!”

“Nonsense!” laughed Mr. Beaver. “We can gnaw down larger trees than this. Before you boys are much older you’ll do it yourselves. But now come on, let’s start. I’ll watch you and tell you when you do things the wrong way. That’s the way to learn.”
“I guess I know how to gnaw a tree down!” boasted Sniffy. “I’ve often watched Mr. Cuppy do it.” This little beaver boy stood up on his hind legs, using his tail as a sort of stool to sit on, and he began cutting through the bark of the tree, using his four, strong orange-colored front teeth to gnaw with.

“Here! Hold on! Wait a minute!” cried Mr. Beaver to his son, while Toto, who was just going to help his brother, wondered what was the matter.
“Isn’t this the tree you want gnawed down, Dad?” asked Sniffy.
“Yes, that’s the one,” his father answered. “But if you start to gnaw on that side first the tree will fall right on top of those others, instead of falling flat on the ground as we want it to. You must begin to gnaw on the other side, Sniffy. Then, as soon as you have nearly cut it through, the tree will fall in this open place.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that,” said Sniffy.
“Nor I,” added his brother.
“Always look to see which way a tree is going to fall,” advised Daddy Beaver, “and be careful you are not under it when it falls. If you do as I tell you then you will always be able to tell just which way a tree will fall to make it easier to get it to the dam.”

Then Mr. Beaver told the boys how to do this—how to start gnawing on the side of the tree so that it would fall away from them.

How they do it I can’t tell you, but it is true that beavers can make a tree fall almost in the exact spot they want it. Of course accidents will happen now and then, and some beavers have been caught under the trees they were gnawing down. But generally they make no mistakes.
“How are we going to get the tree to the dam after we gnaw through the trunk?” asked Toto, as he and Sniffy began cutting through the outer bark with their strong, red teeth. “We can’t carry it there.”
“We could if we could bite it into short pieces, as we bite and gnaw into short pieces the logs we gnaw bark from in our house all winter,” said Sniffy.
“We don’t want this tree cut up into little pieces,” said Daddy Beaver. “It must be in one, long length, to go on top of the dam.”
“We never can drag this tree to the dam after we have gnawed it down!” sighed Toto. “It will be too hard work!”
“You won’t have to do that,” said his father with a laugh. “We will make the water float the tree to the dam for us.”

“But there isn’t any water near here,” said Sniffy.
“No, but we can bring the water right here,” went on Mr. Beaver.
“How?” Toto wanted to know, for he and his brother were young beavers.
“We can dig a canal through the ground, and in that the water will come right up to where we want it,” said Mr. Beaver. “We’ll dig out the dirt right from under the tree, after we have cut it down, and bring the canal to it. The canal will fill with water. The tree, being wood, will float in the water, and a lot of us beavers, getting together, can swim along and push and pull the tree through the canal right to the place where we need it for the dam.”
“Are we going to learn how to dig canals, too?”
“Yes, building dams and canals and cutting down trees are the three main things for a beaver to know,” said his father. “But learn one thing at a time. Just now you are to learn how to cut down this tree. Now gnaw your best—each of you!”

So Toto and Sniffy gnawed, taking turns, and their father helped them when they were tired. Soon a deep, white ridge was cut in the side of the tree.
“The tree is almost ready to fall now,” said Mr. Beaver. “You boys may take a little rest, and I’ll finish the gnawing. But I want you to watch and see how I do it. Then you will learn.”
“May I go over there by the spring of water and get some sweet bark?” asked Toto.
“Yes, I’ll wait for you,” answered his father. “I won’t finish cutting the tree down until you come back.”
“Bring me some bark,” begged Sniffy, as he sat down on his broad, flat tail.
“I will,” promised Toto.
The little beaver boy waddled away, and soon he was near an aspen tree. Beavers like the bark from this tree better than almost any other. Toto was gnawing away, stripping off some bark for his brother, when, all at once, he heard a rustling sound in the bushes, and a big animal sprang out and stood in front of Toto.
“Oh, dear me! It’s a bear!” cried Toto.
“No, I am not a bear,” answered the other animal. “Don’t be afraid of me, little muskrat boy. I won’t hurt you.”
“I’m not a muskrat! I’m a beaver!” said Toto. “But who are you?”
“I am Don,” was the answer. “And I am a dog. Once I was a runaway dog, but I am not a runaway any longer. But what are you doing here, beaver boy?”
“Helping my father cut down a tree for the dam,” Toto answered. “What are you doing, Don?”
“I am looking for a camp,” was the answer, the dog and beaver speaking animal talk, of course. “A dog friend of mine said there was a camp in these woods, and I want to see if I can find them,” went on Don.
“Who is at the camp?” asked Toto.
“Ragged men with tin cans that they cook soup in,” answered Don. “Have you seen any around here?”
“No, but Cuppy, the oldest beaver here, saw some ragged men over in the woods,” began Toto. “Maybe they are—”
But before he could say any more he heard a loud thumping sound, and Toto knew what that meant.
“Look out! There’s danger!” cried Toto.

This is Part two of our story about Red, the transfer student. Red is going to her new school for the first time. She has just moved to this new place and had to isolate so she is starting late. She has just told the class she is from Mars and she knows she has done something wrong but it slipped out. When she gets home there are two strange people in her house and mom says they need to talk.

“Come,” said Mamma Bat, flying toward her home in the cave, “it is time that you children went to bed. The eastern sky is growing bright, and I can see the fleecy clouds blush rosy red as the sun looks at them.”
The little Bats flitted along after her, and Papa Bat came behind them. They had been flying through the starlit forest all night, chasing the many small insects that came out after the sun has gone down, and passing in and out of the tangled branches without ever touching one. Indeed, Mamma Bat would have been embarrassed if children of hers flew against anything in the dark. There might be some excuse for such a mistake in the daytime, for Bats’ eyes do not see well then, but in the night-time! She would have scolded them well, and they would have deserved it, for Bats have the most wonderful way of feeling things before they touch them, and there are no other people in the forest who can do that. There are no other people who can tell by the feeling of the air when something is near, and the Bats had a great laugh with their friend, the Screech Owl, once, when he flew against a tree and fell to the ground.

And now the night was over and their mother had called them to go home. One of the little Bats hung back with a very angry look on his face, and twice his father had to tell him to fly faster. He was thinking how he would like to see the forest in the daytime. He had never seen the sun rise, and he wanted to do that. He had never seen any of the day-birds or the animals that awaken in the morning. He thought it was pretty mean to make poor little Bats go off to bed the minute the stars began to fade. He didn’t believe what his father and mother said, that he wouldn’t have a good time if he did stay up. He had coaxed and coaxed and teased and teased, but it hadn’t made a bit of difference.

Every morning he had to fold his wings and go to sleep in a dark crack in the rock of the cave, hanging, head downward, close to the rest of the family. Their father said that there never was a better place to sleep than in this same crack, and it certainly was easy to catch on with the hooks at the lower ends of their wings when they hung themselves up for the day. But now he just wouldn’t go to bed, so there!
“It is your turn next,” said Mamma Bat to him, when the rest of the children had hung themselves up.
“I’m not going to bed,” the little Bat answered.
“Not going to bed!” said his father. “Are you crazy?”
“No,” said the little Bat, “I’m not.”
“I don’t believe the child is well,” said Mamma Bat. “He never acted like this before. I’m afraid he has overeaten.” And she looked very anxious.

“I am well, and I haven’t eaten too much,” said the little Bat. “I think you might let a fellow have some fun once in a while. I’ve never seen the sun in my life, and there are a whole lot of birds and animals in the forest that I’ve only heard about.”
Papa and Mamma Bat looked at each other without speaking.
“I won’t go to bed!” said the little Bat.
“Very well,” said his father. “I shall not try to make you. Fly away at once and let us go to sleep.”
After he had gone, Mamma Bat said, “I suppose you did right to let him go, but it seems too bad that children have to find out for themselves the trouble that comes from not listening.”

The little Bat flew away feeling very brave. He guessed he knew how to take care of himself, even in daylight. He felt sorry for his brothers who were in the cave, but he made up his mind that he would tell them all about it the next night.
The eastern sky grew brighter and brighter. It hurt his eyes to look at it, and he blinked and turned away. Then the song-birds awakened and began to sing. It was very interesting, but he thought they sang too loudly. The forest at night is a quiet place, and he didn’t see the sense of shouting so, even if the sun were coming up. The night-birds never made such a fuss over the moon, and he guessed the moon was as good as the sun.
Somebody went scampering over the grass, kicking up his heels as he ran. “That must be a Rabbit,” thought the little Bat. “The Screech Owl told me that Rabbits run in that way. I wish I could see him more plainly. I don’t know what is the matter with my eyes.”
Just then a sunbeam came slanting through the forest and fell on his furry coat as he clung to a branch. “Ow!” he cried. “Ow! How warm it is! I don’t like it. The moonbeams do not feel so. I must fly to a shady corner.” He started to fly. Just what was the matter, he never knew. It may have been because he couldn’t see well, it may have been because he was getting very tired, or it may have been because the strangeness of it all was beginning to frighten him; but at all events, he went down, down, down until he found himself pitching and tumbling around in the grass.

A Crow had seen him fall, and cried loudly, “Come! Come! Come!” to his friends. The Rabbits, who were feeding nearby, came scampering along, making great leaps in their haste to see what was the matter. The Goldfinches, the Robins, the Orioles, the Woodpeckers, and many other birds came fluttering up. Even a Blue Jay sat on a branch above the Bat and shrieked, “Jay! Jay! Jay!” to add to the excitement. And last of all, the GroundHog appeared, coming slowly and with dignity, as a person who can remember his grandfather should do.
“What is the cause of all this commotion?” he asked. He might have said, “What is the matter?” and then they would have understood him at once, but he was too haughty for that. He thought he had to use big words once in a while to show that he could. If people didn’t understand them, he was willing to explain what he meant.
“We’ve found such a strange bird, sir,” said the biggest little Rabbit, without waiting to find out what a “commotion” was. “Just see him tumble around!”

“Bird? That is no bird,” said a Woodpecker. “Look at his ears and his nose. He doesn’t even have a bill.”
“Well, he flies,” said the biggest little Rabbit, “because I saw him, so he must be a bird.”
“Humph!” said a Chipmunk. “So does my cousin, the Flying Squirrel, in a way, yet he is no more bird than I am.”
“And this fellow hasn’t a feather to his skin!” cried an Oriole.
“I don’t say that my son is right,” said Papa Rabbit, “but this creature has wings.” And he gave the Bat a poke that made him flutter wildly for a minute.

“Yes, but what kind of wings?” asked the Goldfinch. “A pair of skinny things that grow on to his legs and have hooks on both ends.”
“He must be a very silly fellow, at all events,” said the GroundHog. “He doesn’t talk, or walk, or eat, or even fly well. He must come from a very common family. For my part, I am not interested in people of that kind.” And he walked away with his nose in the air.

Now the other forest people would have liked to watch the Bat longer, but after the GroundHog had gone off in this way, they thought it would show too much curiosity if they stayed. So one after another they went away, and the little Bat was left alone. He fluttered around until he reached the branch where the Blue Jay had been, and there he hung himself up to wait until night.
“Oh dear!” he said, “I wonder how long a day is. I am hot and can’t see and sleepy, and if any more of the forest people come and talk about me, I don’t know what I shall do. They don’t think I’m good-looking because my wings grow to my legs. I only wish I could see what they look like. I believe they are just as homely.”
And then, because he was a very tired little Bat, and angry, as people always are when they have done wrong, he began to blame somebody else for all his trouble.
“If my father and mother had cared very much about me,” he said, “they would never have let me stay up all day. Guess if I were a big Bat and had little Bats of my own, I’d take better care of them!” But that is always the way, and when, long afterward, he was a big Bat with little Bats of his own, he was a much wiser person.

Written by Richard Barnum

Toto, the little beaver boy, was a bright, bustling chap. He was what is called a “bustler”—that is, someone always ready for work or play. But just now, as Toto saw the little girl coming toward the bush where he was hidden, he did not know what to do.
“But I’m going to do something!” thought the beaver boy. “I’m not going to let her catch me! Maybe that’s a trap she tried to get me in—maybe that shiny thing is a trap!”
Toto knew what traps were, for his father and mother had told him about them, and how to keep away from their teeth that caught beavers and muskrats.

Millie came closer and closer. With bright, eager eyes, almost as bright and eager as those of Toto himself, she looked at the bush.
Toto was all ready to run, and he wished, more than ever, that the river was not frozen, since he would not have been a bit afraid if he could have jumped in the flowing stream to swim away.
He was not afraid of any creature in the water, and the fish were friends of his.
Then, all at once, just as Toto was going to start to run and do his best on the slippery ice, he felt himself falling. He had been standing on the edge of the frozen river, where the ice was very thin, and it had given away, letting him down through a hole into the water.
“Oh, now I am all right!” said Toto to himself when he felt the water wetting his thick fur, though it could not wet his skin beneath.

And so he was. He was in water now, where he felt much more at home than on the ice. And as he slipped down, tail first through the hole that had broken, he had a glimpse of the little girl.
The little girl saw Toto, too, and as soon as she had seen him she clapped her red-mittened hands again and cried:
“Oh, it’s a little beaver! He knocked my skate out to me! Oh, don’t go away, little beaver!” cried Millie. “I won’t hurt you!”

But of course Toto did not know that, and he did not know what the little girl was saying. He just wanted to get away from her, and back to his own stick house. So he dove down under the water, his fur being thick and warm so that he was not a bit cold. And away he swam beneath the ice that covered Winding River.
“Oh, he’s gone!” cried Millie, when she saw the beaver disappear. “I wish I could have taken him home! Maybe I’ll see him again! Anyhow, he was nice to shove my skate out to me!”
Millie sat down on the bank and began putting on the skate that had slipped off, causing her to fall. And, though she never guessed it, she was to see Toto again, and the beaver was to see how Millie and her grandmother were made happy.

“Well, Toto, where have you been?” asked his mother, when, some little time later, the beaver boy swam up to the front door of the stick house. “I’ve been looking all over for you!”
“I didn’t mean to stay away so long, Mother,” answered Toto, in beaver talk, of course. “But it was so slippery on the ice that, when I got going, it was hard to stop. I tried to eat some bark, but it was full of thorns, and then I had an adventure.”
“What’s an adventure?” asked Sniffy, who was not quite so bold and daring as was Toto.
“It’s something that happens to you,” Toto answered.
“And what happened to you?” asked Mr. Beaver.
Toto told them about Millie’s skate coming off, though of course he did not call it a skate. He said it was a “trap.”

“You did well to hurry away,” said his father. “It’s lucky for you that you fell through the hole in the ice and could swim. Always, when you are in danger, get in the water if you can. Very few animals can swim as fast as we beavers swim. The water is the place for us, even though we have to go on land to gnaw down the trees for the dams we make.”
“Why do we have to make dams?” asked Sniffy.
“To make the water deep enough for our houses in places where it is otherwise too shallow,” answered Mr. Beaver. “By putting a lot of trees, sticks, clumps of grass, and mud across a stream the water backs up, and gets deep behind the dam, over which it flows, making a waterfall. We need to build our houses behind the dam, so as to have our doors under water. If we didn’t, other animals from the land would come in and get us. But land animals can not get into our houses as long as the front doors are under water, though it is easy for us to dive down and come up inside where the water does not reach. Did anything else happen to you, Toto?” asked his father.
“Well, I swam home under the ice as fast as I could,” answered the little beaver boy.
“Did you see anything of Mr. Cuppy?” asked Mrs. Beaver.
“No, I didn’t,” Toto answered. “Did someone try to catch him in a trap, too?”
“No. But he said he’d send you home if he met you,” replied Mrs. Beaver. “Of course he didn’t meet you. I’ll go out and tell him he needn’t look for you any more, as you are now at home.”

“Yes, and I’m hungry, too,” said Toto. “The bark on the bush under which I hid was full of thorns. I couldn’t eat it.”
“Here is some nice aspen bark,” said Mr. Beaver. “Let me see your teeth, Toto?”
“What for?” The little beaver boy wanted to know.
“To see if they are going to be strong enough to help us gnaw down trees this summer,” went on Mr. Beaver.
Toto opened his mouth. His teeth were strong and white, that is all except the four front, or gnawing teeth. Two of these in his upper jaw and two in his lower jaw were a sort of red, or orange, color. All beavers have orange-colored gnawing teeth, and the rest are white, like yours.
“Humph! Yes, I think you’ll be big enough to help us gnaw down trees this summer,” said Daddy Beaver, as he looked at Toto’s orange teeth, which were almost as sharp and strong as the chisels the carpenter uses to smooth wood with which to build a house.
“Is it very hard to gnaw trees down?” Toto wanted to know.
“It must be easy,” said Sniffy, who was eating some aspen bark in the stick house. “See how easy I can strip this bark off this piece of log.”
“Gnawing bark is much easier than gnawing through the wood of a big, hard tree,” said Mr. Beaver. “You boys will learn that soon enough. But here, Toto, try some of this bark.”
So Toto and Sniffy gnawed the bark, and Toto told his brother more about the little girl he had seen. He thought she had tried to trap him, but we know Millie had done nothing of the sort. Only her skate had come off.

“And what do you think?” the little girl said, after she had reached home and was telling her mother about it that night at supper. “My skate slid right over the ice, under a bush, and a little beaver that was there pushed it out to me.”
“So the beavers are around here, are they?” asked Millie’s father. “I wondered what made a part of Winding River flow so slowly this fall. The beavers must have dammed it up. Well, the beavers are hard-working animals and do little harm. We won’t disturb them.”

The rest of that winter Toto lived in the stick house with the other beavers. He did not go out very often, for there is not much beavers can do until the ice and snow are gone. Toto went out on the frozen river a few times, however, but he did not again see the little girl on skates. And though Millie went out skating, she did not see Toto until later in the season.

Meanwhile the sun climbed higher and higher in the sky. It warmed the earth, the snow and ice melted, the banks of Winding River became green, as the leaves came out on the trees and bushes, and one day Mr. Beaver said:
“Come with me, Toto and Sniffy. You are going to learn how to gnaw down trees.”
“Are we going to help build the dam bigger?” asked Toto.
“Yes, that’s what you are going to do,” his father said.
He dove down in the water, to slip out of the front door, and the two beaver boys followed him. Their noses closed, and they kept their mouths tightly shut while under water. But they had their eyes open to see where to swim. They came out on top of the water not far from their own house. But almost as soon as they had poked up their noses to take long breaths, Toto and Sniffy heard a booming, whacking noise, and their father cried:
“Back! Back, boys! Dive down! There’s danger around here!”

Bear, Penguin, Seal, and Walrus enjoy playing ball near the orca pond. One day, Bear kicks the ball too hard, and it goes over Seal’s head. Seal insists Bear kicked it hard on purpose, yet Bear explains it was an accident. During their quarrel, the ball lands in the orca pond. Orca whale does not like things entering his pond. The friends are disappointed they lost the ball. Bear feels very said and becomes sick. Can they figure out a way to save their friendship?

Visit the The Polar Bear, Chicken Soup, and Friends website.

Mr. Squirrel was disappointed when he peeped his head out of his hollow tree early one morning. Not one nut was to be seen on the ground.

“Jack Frost did not come last night. I see no nuts anywhere. It will take a long time to get all we need from the tree, I fear,” he said to Mrs. Squirrel, who was standing close beside him.

“But Jack Frost will come to our tree,” she said. “He never fails. See, there’s Mrs. Bushytail out early. She seems to be looking around, too. Perhaps Jack Frost has shaken them down for her. Let’s run down and see.”

Away frisked Mr. and Mrs. Squirrel as fast as their legs could take them, to see what Jack Frost had done for their neighbour. But, no, he had not visited Mrs. Bushytails tree. She had looked all over the ground, and there wasn’t a nut in sight. She couldn’t explain it herself.

“Let us wait until to-morrow morning,” said Mrs. Squirrel, “he will be sure to come to-night. Then what fun Bushy and Frisky will have gathering them. They will have to work hard to get enough for our winter store. Boys love nuts, too,” she added with a sigh. “But we will wait.”

Morning came and frosty Jack had been there in earnest, for the nuts lay all over the ground.

“Now to work,” said Father Squirrel. “Come, Bushy and Frisky.”

It was a busy day for Mr. Squirrel’s family. They well knew how many, many nuts are needed for the winter’s store, and Mr. Squirrel kept telling Bushy and Frisky that they would have to work hard, and perhaps until the sun went down that day.

But alas for those little squirrels. “Boys love nuts, too,” Mrs. Squirrel had said over and over again, and when a rustle was heard in the bushes behind the trees, and the sound of boys’ voices came loud and clear, these little workers had to take to their heels, and whisk up the hollow tree. There they stayed trembling with fear. In a few minutes Bushy, a little braver than the rest, ventured to peep out of a small hole. Frisky stood just back of him.
“Boys—three of them—and they all have bags!”

Poor Bushy and Frisky. If there was one thing that these little squirrels loved to do more than another it was to gather nuts—and now their chance was spoiled, for the boys were really there, and would be sure to take every nut they could find.

“They’re working hard,” said Bushy.
“Will they leave any for us?” asked Frisky, not even daring to peep out.

“Sh! Listen, Frisky. I heard one of the boys say that there are some nuts under the other tree. Two of the boys are going there now. It’s Mrs. Bushytails tree. But look, Frisky, they have left two of the bags.”

“Where, Bushy?”

“One of the boys is sitting on one of them. He is cracking nuts, I think.”

“And the other bag, Bushy?”

“The other one is close by our tree,” and before anyone could say a word, Bushy was out of the hole, down the tree, and close to the big bag. Mrs. Squirrel tried to call him back, but it was of no use. Up and down the bag he ran, first to the top and then to the sides. But he could not get in—the bag was tied tight. But Bushy’s teeth were sharp.

“Dear, dear,” said his mother, “here come the boys back, and they will surely see Bushy—dear, dear.”

Bushy caught sight of the boys coming toward the tree for their bags, and with a whisk and a scamper he was up the tree again and into his hole in no time.

“Dear, dear Bushy,” said his mother. “What a fright you gave us all. Just see those boys. There’s no telling what would have happened if they had seen you.”

Mr. Squirrel’s family watched the boys pick up their bags, throw them over their shoulders and go away.

“Why, Tom, look at your bag,” said one of the boys. “It has a hole in it. You must have lost so many nuts along the way.”

“A hole?” asked Tom in surprise, as he lifted the bag from his shoulder. “So it has—and a pretty big one, too. I wonder how it ever came there. It wasn’t there when I started.”

The boys were gone, and Mr. Squirrel’s family ventured out once more.

“It’s of no use, I fear,” began Mrs. Squirrel; “those boys were good workers and—dear me, here are nuts sprinkled all along the road. What does it mean?” asked Mrs. Squirrel.

“It is strange,” said Mr. Squirrel. “I really thought those boys had found them all, but perhaps boys’ eyes are not as sharp as we think.”

Bushy kept on gathering the nuts and smiling to himself. How sly he was. Not one of the family seemed to guess the truth. It was only when he and Frisky were going to bed that night that Frisky dared to whisper, “Bushy, did you put that hole in that bag?”

NUT GATHERERS

Hark! how they chatter
Down the dusk Road,
See them come patter,
Each with his Load.
What have you sought, then,
Happy little Band?
What have you brought, then,
Each in his Hand?
No need to ask it;
No need to tell;
In Bag and in Basket
Your nuts show well!
Nuts from the wild-wood;
Sweet Nuts to eat;
Sweetest in Childhood
When life is sweet.
There they go patter,
Each with his Load;
Hark! how they chatter
Down the dusk Road.

by
Hamish Hendry.

Written by Richard Barnum.

“Toto! Toto! Where are you?”
There was no answer to this call, which Mrs. Beaver, the mother of Toto, sounded as she climbed up on the ice and looked around for her little boy. Mrs. Beaver sat on her broad, flat tail, which really made quite a good seat, and with her sharp eyes she looked up and down Winding River for a sight of Toto. Then she called again, in beaver animal language of course:
“Toto! Toto! Come home this minute! You’ve been out on the ice long enough! And goodness knows we’ve had plenty of ice and snow this winter,” went on Mrs. Beaver, and she kept on looking up and down the frozen river. “I’ll be glad when spring comes so we beavers can gnaw down trees, eat the soft bark, and make dams for our houses,” she added.

But though she called as loudly as she could, and looked sharply up and down the river, which was covered with a sheet of smooth ice, Mrs. Beaver could see nothing of her little boy, Toto.
“What’s the matter?” asked an old gentleman beaver, who had come along just then. “Has Toto run away?”
“I don’t know that I’d call it exactly running away, Mr. Cuppy,” answered Mrs. Beaver. “I said he could go out of the house and play on the ice for a little while, but I told him to come back and get his willow bark lunch. But he hasn’t come, so I walked out to call him.”
“And he doesn’t answer,” said Mr. Cuppy, the old beaver gentleman, with a laugh—of course he laughed animal fashion, and not as you do. “I guess Toto is off playing tag, or something like that, on the ice with the other beaver boys,” added Mr. Cuppy. “I’m going down the river to call on some friends of mine. If I see Toto I’ll tell him you want him.”
“I wish you would,” said Mrs. Beaver. “Please tell him to come straight home.”
“I will,” answered Mr. Cuppy, and then he got up from the ice, where he had sat down on his broad, flat tail to talk to Toto’s mother, and walked slowly down the ice-covered river which ran into Clearwater Lake.

That is, the river ran in summer time. In winter it was frozen over, though of course the water ran under the ice, where boys and girls could not see it. But Toto, Mr. Cuppy, and the other beavers could see it, for they could dive under the ice and swim in the water that flowed beneath it. In fact, they would rather swim in the water, cold as it was, than walk on the ice.
For a beaver can not very well walk on the ice—it is too slippery. Nor can a beaver walk very fast even on dry ground. But, my! how fast they can swim in water. So, though beavers very often come out on the land, or shore, they always run for the water, dive down, and swim away as soon as there is the least sign of danger.
Mrs. Beaver walked back toward the hole in the ice through which she intended to get into her house, where she lived with her husband, Mr. Beaver, Toto, and another little beaver boy named Sniffy.

Mrs. Beaver’s home looked just like a bundle of sticks from the woodpile, laid together criss-cross fashion. In fact, if you had seen it from the outside you would have said it was only a heap of rubbish.
This heap of sticks was built out near the middle of Winding River, which was not a very large stream. And now that the river was frozen, the pile of sticks, which made the beaver house, was heaped up above the frozen ice.
The front door to the beaver home was under water—so far under that it did not freeze—and when Toto or any of the family wanted to come out, they had to dive down, swim under water, and come out on top some distance away. When the river was not frozen they could come out of the water wherever they pleased. But when Jack Frost had made the river a solid, hard sheet of ice, the beavers had to come out of it just where a hole had been made for them. Sometimes they made the hole themselves by blowing their warm breath on the underside of the ice, and sometimes they used an airhole such as you often see when you are skating.

Mrs. Beaver found the hole through the ice, dove down into the water, swam along a short distance until she reached the front door of her house of sticks and frozen mud, and then she went up inside.
The house was nicely lined inside with soft grass, and there were a number of short pieces of sticks scattered about. It was the bark from these sticks that the beavers lived on in winter.

“Did you find Toto?” asked Mr. Beaver, who was taking a little nap in the house.
“No, I didn’t,” answered Mrs. Beaver. “But I met Mr. Cuppy, the old grandfather beaver, you know, and he said if he saw Toto he’d send our little boy home.”
“That is very kind of Mr. Cuppy.” Mr. Beaver stretched himself. “Well, I think I’ll gnaw a little more bark.”
“I want some, too!” called Sniffy, the other little beaver boy.
“Here you are!” said his mother, and she took some of the bark-covered sticks from a pile at one side of the house.
Of course it was dark inside the house, for mud was plastered thickly over the crossed sticks to keep out the cold and snow. But beavers can see well enough in the dark, just as owls can, or cats.
After Mr. Cuppy had watched Mrs. Beaver dive down through the ice and swim away, he walked on down the frozen river. He looked from side to side as he waddled slowly along, hoping to see Toto. But the beaver boy was not in sight.

And now, so that you may no longer wonder what had become of the little beaver boy, I’ll tell you where he was and some of the wonderful adventures that happened to him.
Toto had asked his mother if he might go out on the ice and play, and she had said he might. Toto was about a year old, having been born the previous spring, and he knew that in winter there was not much to eat outside the beaver house. But he had gnawed a number of sticks of poplar, and of willow, with the sweet, juicy bark on, and now he was not hungry. He was tired of being cooped up in the dark house, frozen fast in the river. So Toto had gone out, and had walked along the ice until he was quite a long way from home.
“But I guess I can easily find my way back,” thought Toto to himself. “It’s pretty slippery walking, and I’d a good deal rather swim, but if I walk slowly I won’t slip.”
So he had walked along the ice until he was out of sight of his home, around one of the many curves in Winding River. That was the reason Mrs. Beaver could not see her little boy, and also why Toto could not hear his mother calling to him. He did not really mean to stay out when his mother did not want him to.

“Ah, that looks like something good to eat!” said Toto to himself, as he saw some scraggly bushes growing on the bank of the river. The bushes had no leaves on, of course, for this was March, and winter was still the king of the land. But Toto thought there might be bark on some of the twigs of the bushes, and bark was what the beavers mostly ate in winter. He was not hungry, but Toto, like other boys, was always ready to eat.
Toto walked slowly over the ice, and, standing up on his hind legs and partly sitting on his broad, flat tail, which was almost like the mortar trowel a mason uses, the little beaver boy began to gnaw the bark.
But he had not taken more than a bite or two before he stopped suddenly.
“Ouch!” cried Toto. “Something bit me!”
He looked about—there were no bees or wasps flying, which might have stung him. Still something had pricked him on his tongue. Then he looked more closely at the twig he had been gnawing.
“Oh, ho!” exclaimed Toto. “No wonder! This is a blackberry bush, and the thorns pricked me. I won’t gnaw any more of this bark.”
Toto backed away and started over the ice again, but he had not moved more than a few feet from the thick clump of blackberry bushes, growing on the edge of the river, when, all of a sudden, the little beaver boy heard a strange noise—several noises, in fact.
One was a tinkly sound, a sound Toto remembered to have heard when in summer a farmer was hoeing corn in a field near the river, and his hoe struck on a stone in the dirt. Then came the noise of a thud, as if something heavy had fallen on the ice. And after that sounded the voice of a little girl saying:
“Oh dear! There goes my skate!”
Of course Toto did not understand man, girl, or boy talk. But he knew what it was, for in the summer, as he played around his stick-home in the river, he had often heard the farmer and his hired men talking in the fields not far away. So, though Toto did not know what the little girl said, he knew it was the same sound the farmer and his men had made when they talked to one another. And Toto was afraid of men, and boys and girls, too, though I don’t believe any girl would have tried to hurt or catch the beaver.

But this particular little girl, whose name was Millie Watson, did not even know Toto was near her. She had been skating on the ice when one of her skates suddenly came off, and she fell down.
The tinkly sound the beaver heard was the loose steel skate sliding over the ice and striking a stone near the bush under which Toto was hidden. The thudding sound was that made by Millie when she fell. But she was not hurt.
“Oh, dear!” she said again. “I wonder where my skate slid to. I can’t get along on only one skate, and it’s slow walking on the ice. Where is it?”
She slowly arose to her feet. One skate was still on her foot, but on the other shoe was only a loose strap. Millie, who had skated from her home to take a little pail of soup to her grandmother, who lived farther down the river, was on her way back when she lost her skate.
“I don’t see where it can be,” mused the little girl, looking here and there on the ice. The reason she could not see the skate was because it had slid under the edge of the overhanging berry bush.

“I hope she doesn’t see me!” thought Toto, as he crouched down under the twigs. “I wish it were summer, and there were leaves on this bush. I could hide better then, and the river wouldn’t be frozen, so I could swim away very fast if this girl comes after me. Dear me! I wonder what she is doing here, anyhow.”
Toto did not know much about skating. But as he peered out at the little girl he saw her pushing herself along on one foot, and on that foot was something long, thin and shiny. It sparkled in the sun, just as the blade of the farmer’s hoe sometimes sparkled.
Toto looked on either side of him, and there, close to him, was another shiny thing, just like the one the girl had on one foot. Toto could see the girl moving slowly along, and looking from side to side.
“She must be looking for me!” thought Toto, and his heart began to beat very fast, for his father and mother had told him always to keep away from little boys; and this girl was probably just like a little boy, the beaver thought. He had seen boys along the river bank in summer trying to catch muskrats, and sometimes trying to catch beavers, too. Toto did not want to be caught.

So he crouched lower and lower under the bush, and then, all of a sudden, his feet slipped on the ice and they struck the long, shiny thing that was like the object the girl had on one foot.
Instantly there was another tinkly sound, and the shiny thing slid across the ice, out from under the overhanging bush and straight toward the little girl.
“Oh! Oh!” cried Millie, clapping her mittened hands. “Here is my lost skate! It was under the bush, but I wonder what pushed it out! There must be something there! I’m going to look!”
Toto heard this talk, but did not know what it was. However, he could see the little girl stoop down and pick up the skate he had accidentally knocked over the ice to her. Then he saw Millie come straight toward the bush under which he was hiding!

Written by Phila Butler Bowman.

All the children were glad when the Little Baker came to town and hung the sign above his curious little brown shop,
“Thanksgiving Loaves to Sell.”
Each child ran to tell the news to another child until soon the streets echoed with the sound of many running feet, and the clear November air was full of the sound of happy laughter, as a crowd of little children squeezed as near as they dared to the Little Baker’s shop, while the boldest crept so close that they could feel the heat from the big brick oven, and see the gleaming rows of baker’s pans.

The Little Baker never said a word. He washed his hands at the windmill water spout and dried them, waving them in the crisp air. Then he unfolded a long, spotless table, and setting it up before his shop door, he began to mold the loaves, while the curious children grew nearer and nearer to watch him.
He molded big, long loaves, and tiny, round loaves; wee loaves filled with currants, square loaves with unusual markings on them, fat loaves and flat loaves, and loaves in shapes such as the children had never seen before, and always as he molded he sang a soft tune to these words:
“Buy my loaves of brown and white,
Molded for the child’s delight.
Who forgets another’s need,
Eats unthankful and in greed;
But the child who breaks his bread
With another, Love has fed.”

By and by the children began to whisper to each other.
“I shall buy that very biggest loaf,” said the Biggest Boy. “Mother lets me buy what I wish. I shall eat it alone, which is fair if I pay for it.”
“Oh,” said the Tiniest Little Girl, “that would be greedy. You could never eat such a big loaf alone.”
“If I pay for it, it is mine,” said the Biggest Boy, boastfully, “and one need not share what is his own unless he wishes.”
“Oh,” said the Tiniest Little Girl, but she said it more softly this time, and she drew away from the Biggest Boy, and looked at him with eyes that had grown big and round.

“I have a penny,” she said to the Littlest Boy, “and you and I can have one of those wee loaves together. They have currants in them, so we shall not mind if the loaf is small.”
“No, indeed,” said the Littlest Boy, whose face had grown wistful when the Biggest Boy had talked of the great loaf. “No, indeed, but you shall take the bigger piece.”
Then the Baker Man raked out the bright coals from the great oven into an iron basket, and he put in the loaves, every one, while the children crowded closer with eager faces.
When the last loaf was in, he shut the oven door with a clang so loud and merry that the children broke into a shout of laughter.

Then the Strange Little Baker Man came and stood in his tent door, and he was smiling, and he sang again a merry little tune to these words:
“Clang, clang, my oven floor,
My loaves will bake as oft before,
As you may play where shines the sun
Until each loaf is brown and done.”
Then away ran the children, laughing, and looking at the door of the shop where the Strange Little Baker stood, and where the raked-out coals, bursting at times, cast long, red lights against the brown wall, and as they ran they sang together the Strange Little Baker’s merry song:
“Clang, clang, my oven floor,
The loaves will bake as oft before.”

Then some played hide-and-seek among the sheaves of uncollected corn, and some ran gleefully through the heaped-up leaves of russet and gold for joy to hear them rustling. But some, eager, returned home for pennies to buy a loaf when the Strange Little Baker should call.
“The loaves are ready, white and brown,
For every little child in town,
Come buy Thanksgiving loaves to eat,
But only Love can make them sweet.”
Soon all the air was filled with the sound of the swift running feet, as the children flew like a cloud of leaves blown by the wind in answer to the Strange Little Baker’s call. When they came to his shop they paused, laughing and whispering, as the Little Baker laid out the loaves on the spotless table.
“This is mine,” said the Biggest Boy, and laying down a silver coin he snatched the great loaf, and ran away to break it by himself.
Then came the Impatient Boy, crying: “Give me my loaf. This is mine, and give it to me at once. Do you not see that my coin is silver? Do not keep me waiting.”

The Little Baker never said a word. He did not smile, he did not frown, he did not hurry. He gave the Impatient Boy his loaf and watched him, as he, too, hurried away to eat his loaf alone.
Then came others, crowding, pushing with their money, the strongest and rudest gaining first place, and snatching a loaf for each of them they ran off to eat without a word of thanks, while some very little children looked on wistfully, not able even to gain a place. All this time the Strange Little Baker kept steadily on laying out the beautiful loaves on the spotless table.
A Gentle Lad came, when the crowd grew less, and giving all the pennies he had he bought loaves for all the little ones; so that by and by no one was without a loaf. The Tiniest Little Girl went away hand in hand with the Littlest Boy to share his wee loaf, and both were smiling, and whoever broke one of those smallest loaves found it larger than it had seemed at first.

But now the biggest Boy was beginning to frown.
“This loaf is sour,” he said angrily.
“But is it not your own loaf,” said the Baker, “and did you not choose it yourself, and choose to eat it alone? Do not complain about the loaf since it is your own choosing.”
Then those who had snatched the loaves ungratefully and hurried away, without waiting for a word of thanks, came back.
“We came for good bread,” they cried, “but these loaves are sodden and heavy.”
“See the lad there with all those children. His bread is light. Give us, too, light and sweet bread.”

But the Baker smiled a strange smile. “You chose in haste,” he said, “as those choose who have no thought in sharing. I can not change your loaves. I can not choose for you. Had you, buying, forgotten that mine are Thanksgiving loaves? I shall come again; then you can buy more wisely.”
Then these children went away thoughtfully.

But the very little children and the Gentle Lad sat eating their bread with joyous laughter, and each tiny loaf was broken into many pieces as they shared with each other, and to them the bread was as fine as cake and as sweet as honey.
Then the Strange Little Baker brought cold water and put out the fire. He folded his spotless table, and took down the boards of his little brown shop, packed all into his wagon, and drove away singing a quaint tune. Soft winds rustled the corn, and swept the boughs together with a musical chuckling. And where the brown leaves were piled thickest, making a little mound, sat the Tiniest Little Girl and the Littlest Boy, eating their sweet currant loaf happily together.

Written by Emma Florence Bush.

Once there was a little pumpkin that grew on a vine in a field. All day long the sun shone on him, and the wind blew gently around him. Sometimes the welcome rain fell softly upon him, and as the vine sent her roots deep down into the earth and drew the good sustenance from it, and it flowed through her veins, the little pumpkin drank greedily of the good juice, and grew bigger and bigger, and rounder and rounder, and firmer and firmer.
By and by he grew so big he understood all that the growing things around him were saying, and he listened eagerly.
“I came from the seed of a Jack-o’-lantern,” said this vine to a neighbour, “therefore I must grow all Jack-o’-lanterns.”

“So did I,” said a neighbour, “but no Jack-o’-lanterns for me. It is too hard a life. I am going to grow just plain pumpkins.”

When the little pumpkin heard he was supposed to be a Jack-o’-lantern, he grew very worried, for he could not see that he was in any way different from any ordinary pumpkin, and if Mother Vine expected him to be a Jack-o’-lantern, he did not want to disappoint her.
At last he grew so unhappy over it that the dancing little sunbeams noticed it. “What is the matter, little pumpkin?” they cried. “Why do you not hold up your head and look around as you used to do?”
“Because,” answered the little pumpkin, sadly, “I have to be a Jack-o’-lantern, and I don’t know how. All I know about is how to be a little yellow pumpkin.”

Then the merry little breezes laughed and laughed until they shook the vine so that all the pumpkins had to tighten their hold so as not to be shaken off. “Oh, little pumpkin!” they cried, “why worry about what you will have to do later? Just try with all your might to be a little yellow pumpkin, and believe that if you do the best you can, everything will be alright. We know a secret, a beautiful secret, and someday we will tell it to you.”
“Oh, tell me now!” cried the little pumpkin, but the sunbeams and breezes laughed together, and chuckled,
“Oh no, oh no, oh no!
Just grow and grow and grow,
And someday you will know.”

The little pumpkin felt comforted. “After all,” he thought, “perhaps if I cannot be a Jack-o’-lantern I can be a good pumpkin, and I am so far down on the vine perhaps Mother Vine won’t notice me.” He looked around, and saw that all his brothers and sisters were only little pumpkins, too.
“Oh, dear,” he cried, “are we going to disappoint Mother Vine? Aren’t any of us going to be Jack-o’-lanterns?” Then all his little brothers and sisters laughed, and said, “What do we care about being Jack-o’-lanterns? All we care about is to eat the good juice, and grow and grow.”

At last came the cold weather, and all the little pumpkins were now big ones, and a beautiful golden yellow. The biggest and yellowest of all was the little pumpkin who had tried so hard all summer to grow into a Jack-o’-lantern. He could not believe Mother Vine did not see him now, for he had grown so big that every one who saw him exclaimed about him, and Mother Vine did not seem at all disappointed, she just kept at work carrying the good food that kept her pumpkin children well fed.
At last one frosty morning, a crowd of children came to the field. “The pumpkins are ready,” they cried. “The pumpkins are ready; and we are going to find the biggest and yellowest and nicest to make a Jack-o’-lantern for the party. All the grandmothers and grandfathers and aunts and uncles will see it, and we are going to eat the pies made from it.”
They looked here and there, all over the field, and pushed aside the vines to see better. All at once they saw the little pumpkin. “Oh!” they cried, “What a perfect Jack-o’-lantern! So big and firm and round and yellow! This shall be the Jack-o’-lantern for our party, and it is so large there will be enough pie for everyone.”
Then they picked the pumpkin and carried him to the barn. Father cut a hole in the top around the stem, lifted it off carefully and scooped out the inside, and the children carried it to mother in the kitchen. Then father made eyes and a nose and mouth, and fitted inside a big candle. “Oh, see the beautiful Jack-o’-lantern!” they cried.

The little pumpkin waited in the barn. “At last I am a Jack-o’-lantern,” he said. After a time it grew dark, and father came and carried him into the house, and lit the candle, and put him right in the middle of the table, and all the grandmothers and grandfathers, and aunts and uncles, cried, “Oh, what a beautiful, big, round, yellow Jack-o’-lantern!”
Then the little pumpkin was happy, for he knew Mother Vine would have been proud of him, and he shone—shone—SHONE, until the candle was all burned out.

This is a super spooky halloween story written by Daniel Williamson. Please check out his books on Amazon.

Some friendships are found in the strangest of places. But no matter how different we are, we can be brought together through fate. When the Witchetty Grub discovers the witch casting spells onto the city he senses she simply needs a friend that cares about her and decides to look after her. He washes her face and hair, jumps on her warts, cleans her teeth and sews up her clothes! The witch adopts a new sense of calm and starts to appreciate the value of having a good friend in her life which stops her casting spells down onto the city. Isn’t it remarkable what a new friend can do? Just one thing! Watch out for the cat!!!

Written by Kam Draper

In Boobie’s Scary Hallowen Boobie is worried about everything that could possibly happen on Halloween. She thinks about witches, werewolves, and mangy black cats. Boobie watches her sisters raking the leaves and notices a black cat getting closer and closer to them. She warns them but the black cat has disappeared. When the girls go inside they eat cookies and get ready to go trick-or-treating but Boobie is still worried. What should she be? Can she really go out trick-or-treating?

Please consider purchasing Boobie’s Scary Halloween on Amazon.