Part 2

The Fairy looked rather grave, and said:

“Yes, my little Princess, I could make you change places, but I am not going to do so. I quite see that your life is not so pleasant as it might be, but I happen to know that little girl very well, and I am afraid that you would be no happier if you were in her place.”

“Why?” asked the Princess.

“Well,” said the Fairy, “for one thing, she hardly ever gets enough to eat, and even the little she does have, is nothing like the dainty food that is given you every day. In the winter the wind blows right through her poor thin clothes; she has no bed, but has to lie on the bare floor with a few old shawls and rags to cover her, and it is very cold and damp, as there are holes in the roof through which the rain comes. Her only toys are those that she picked up in the gutter. I could tell you more things about her, but I mustn’t stop any longer, as I have to go and amuse a child who has hurt its back and has to lie still all day. Good-bye!”

And then the Fairy spread her wings and flew away over the roofs and chimney-pots.

Though at first the Princess was disappointed that the Fairy would not let her change places with the poor child whom she had envied so much, she was very interested in what she had heard. As she grew older she found out more about the poor folk who lived in that country, and when she became Queen she did many things to help them. She never painted or powdered her face, so that her own children could kiss her whenever they liked. They only wore crowns on state occasions, and the clothes in which they played, were ones which would not spoil easily. They had a garden where they could dig and romp without being scolded; and when they in turn grew up, they brought up their children in the same way.

And perhaps that is why, now-a-days, the children of Kings and Queens look just like ordinary boys and girls, and not like the ones in picture-books.

HE WOULD THRIVE

He that would thrive Must rise at five; He that hath thriven May lie till seven; And he that by the plough would thrive, Himself must either hold or drive.

PATIENT NEDDY

[Illustration]

When Bob and Tommy went to the sea-side last year they had a very happy time.

Perhaps the thing that they enjoyed most of all was a ride on Neddy’s back. Dear old Neddy—he was most patient. He would carry Bob and Tommy together all along the sands and think himself well paid if a carrot was given him at the end of the journey.

One day Bob and Tommy had a fright. They were playing on a little island when the tide was coming in. Soon there was water all around them.

When their big sister, who was reading a book on the sea-shore, saw what had happened, she gave a loud cry of alarm.

At this moment up came Neddy’s master, holding the donkey by the bridle.

“I think I can help you, Miss,” said the man, quick to see what was wrong. “I’ll lead Neddy through the water, and he’ll soon bring the young masters safe to shore.”

And true enough he did.

Dear good Neddy! He was given that day a splendid feast of carrots, and I think he deserved them, do not you?

Father has promised that he will buy Bob and Tommy a donkey for their very own, and they are more pleased than ever.

JACK’S CASTLE

Some children were building castles on the sands. Amongst the number was a little boy called Jack, and his voice could almost always be heard above the rest.

“Oh, look!” he cried, “look, Mabel, you are doing it badly! Why, it’s all crooked; you’ll have to begin again,” and leaving poor Mabel, whose face clouded with disappointment, he turned to a boy called Cedric.

“My word, Ceddie,” he said, “you don’t know how to build castles! why, yours looks like a church with a spire—you ought to make a round tower. And just look at stupid Ella! She’s hardly begun yet, and doesn’t know a bit how to do it.” And all this time Jack’s castle was getting bigger and bigger, and though he thought he was doing it very cleverly, really it was not like a castle at all. He was so busy finding fault with his playmates that he had no time to think how to do his own work properly. At last the other children grew so tired of his grumbling that they took no more notice of him, and he had to play alone until his nurse took him in to dinner. As soon as he had gone they all ran to look at his castle.

“Why, it isn’t any more right than ours,” they cried, and in two minutes they knocked it all down.

When Jack came out to play in the afternoon he cried because his castle had been spoiled.

PUT OUT OF ACTION

[Illustration]

My name is Captain Wooden-head; Of nothing I’m afraid; To many a gallant fight I’ve led The Nursery Brigade. One day amidst the din and strife (My post was always there) I nearly lost my precious life— A ball whizzed through the air!

It put me out of action quite, And—hero though I be— No longer do I wish to fight, A peaceful life for me!

A Visit to Rose Cottage

[Illustration]

“Children,” said Mother, one morning, “I want you to take a basket of eggs to Mrs. Brown at Rose Cottage, with my love.”

Tom and Effie were quite willing, for they were very fond of Mrs. Brown. The walk there was lovely—the skies were blue and the birds were singing their sweetest songs.

At last they reached the garden gate. “Oh,” cried little Effie, who was carrying the basket of eggs, “just look, Tom! There’s a Billy goat in the garden! Let us go and make friends with him.”

“So we will,” said Tom.

They had a goat at home and so were not in the least afraid.

But Billy looked very fierce as the children drew near, as much as to say, “Who are you?”

Then he made a sudden rush at them. Effie in her fright, nearly flew towards the gate, dropping her eggs on the way. Poor Tom, however, did not escape so easily. The goat butted him into the air and soon the poor little fellow lay sprawling on the ground.

Mrs. Brown, hearing their cries, quickly came to their help, and soothed away their fears.

“How dare you be so rude, naughty Billy?” she said to the goat.

And Billy looked quite ashamed of himself, as well he might.

Since that day, he has learnt better manners, and now he is very pleased to see the little pair when they come to pay a visit to Rose Cottage.

[Illustration: The Story of the Three Bears]

Once upon a time there were three bears. They lived in a cottage by the wood.

First you saw a little green gate opening on to a garden path with a box-border on either side. Behind the box-border were all sorts of sweet flowers—pinks, gilly-flowers, and pansies, boy’s-love, rosemary, and sweet lavender. Behind the flowers grew gooseberry and currant-bushes, and behind the currant bushes cabbages, carrots and onions for dinner.

The straight path led to the cottage door all covered with roses and honeysuckle. Such pink roses and such sweet honeysuckle, just the sort the bees love best, for bears like honey, and the bee-hives were behind.

The door stood open to let in the air and the sunshine, and because doors were made, in those days, to let people in, and not keep them out.

[Illustration]

Inside was the nicest, cleanest kitchen you ever saw, with a table in the middle, as white as soap and scrubbing could make it. Against the wall stood a tall dresser covered with bright pewter plates, hanging cups and jugs, and all things such as bears might use. A pepper-pot, you may be sure, and a tureen with string and odd things in it.

The three chairs just suited, for there was a great, huge arm-chair for Mr. Bear, who was big and heavy; a middling-sized chair for Mrs. Bear, who was middling-sized; and a small, wee chair for little Master Bear, who was small and wee.

The fireplace, with its open chimney (it had a green frill on a string under the mantle-shelf) was the cosiest in all the land, as Mr. Bear very well knew when he smoked his pipe there on a winter night.

In one corner of the kitchen was a door that opened on to the stairs, and up the stairs they went to bed every night. The bedroom had three beds in it that any one might like to see. A great, huge one for Mr. Bear, a middling-sized one for Mrs. Bear, and a small, wee one for little Master Bear. All was sweet and airy, and the window looked out into the garden, and the roses looked in at the window, and the wind whispered in the trees outside.

[Illustration]

Now it happened one summer morning that Mrs. Bear got up earlier than usual to make the porridge for breakfast, and it happened, too, that when she put it out to cool in three willow-pattern bowls on the table (a great, huge bowl for Mr. Bear, who was so big; a middling-sized bowl for Mrs. Bear, who was middling-sized; and a small, wee bowl for little Master Bear, who was small and wee) that she went to the foot of the stairs, and called aloud to Mr. Bear: “Make haste down, and we will go for a walk in the wood while the porridge is cooling.”

“Very well, my dear,” said Mr. Bear, in his great rough voice; and then down he came, with little Master Bear scrambling down behind him.

Now when great, huge Mr. Bear came down the stairs, you can be sure that he caused every board in the cottage to creak, and the thud of each tread was so very heavy that all the cups on the dresser shook. That tells you how huge and big he was.

Mrs. Bear heard him coming and took her bonnet from its peg, and when the strings were tied beneath her chin, and Mr. Bear had taken his thorn stick from the corner, and little Master Bear had found his butterfly net, they all set off in the wood for a walk, clicking the gate behind them.

Such a lovely June morning for an early walk. The birds sang, the breeze fluttered Mrs. Bear’s skirts and Master Bear’s butterfly net, and the dew was on the grass and hung all shimmering in the cobwebs.

As to the wood, it was cool and shady, and the three bears were soon out of sight.

[Illustration]

Then there came to the gate a little girl named Silverhair. She was hot and tired, and said to herself: “Here is a sweet cottage; perhaps the good woman who lives here will give me some milk and a rest. I’ll knock at the door and see.”

So up the straight path she walked, with the box-border on either side.

“Rat-a-tat,” she knocked.

But nobody said “come in.”

“Rat-a-tat-a-tat” once more, but nobody said “come in.”

[Illustration]

Then again louder than before, but all was still. So, being very hungry, and not so shy as she ought to have been before such a sweet, open door, in she peeped, and then in she went, and the very next minute she was tasting Mr. Bear’s porridge. But it was too hot, and she let the spoon fall with a clatter on the table. Then she tried Mrs. Bear’s porridge, but that was too cold, and then she went to little Master Bear’s porridge, and that was so nice, neither too hot nor too cold, that she ate it all up till she could see the blue pattern at the bottom of the bowl quite plain.

That was sad, for it was not her porridge! Little Silverhair was quite naughty now!

[Illustration]

After her breakfast she felt how tired she was, so she sat down in Mr. Bear’s arm-chair, but that was too hard. Then she sat down in Mrs. Bear’s chair, but that was too soft; she thought it quite stuffy for so warm a morning, and she was now hard to please, for Mrs. Bear’s chair was covered with pretty white chintz with rose-buds on it, and what more could she want?

But she was very naughty now! She sat down quite roughly in little Master Bear’s chair, and sat the bottom out, and was not dismayed! No, up she jumped, and looked about till she saw the door in the corner. Then she tripped upstairs, and threw herself down on Mr. Bear’s bed. But that was too hard. Then on Mrs. Bear’s bed, but that was too soft. And last of all she tried little Master Bear’s little wee bed, and that was neither too hard nor too soft, but just right.

[Illustration]

In two minutes she was fast asleep, with the breeze from the window blowing on her soft silver hair.

Now between conversation and butterflies the three Bears had let the time pass, till suddenly Mrs. Bear saw by the shadows of the trees on the grass that the porridge must be cool.

“We must turn, and walk faster home,” she said.

“Very well, my dear,” said Mr. Bear in his great, huge voice. But the birds in the wood did not flutter, for they knew quite well what a kind heart he had, and how he kept crumbs on his window-sill.

When they got to the gate that they had clicked behind them, it was open, and Mr. Bear hurried on to see who had come. He hurried on till, when Mrs. Bear and the little one came in, he was standing before his porridge bowl with a sad face, and his spectacles pushed on his forehead.

“Someone has been at my porridge,” he said, very loud indeed.

[Illustration]

Poor Mrs. Bear! She looked at her own bowl, threw up her hands, and said in her middling-sized way, “Oh, deary me, someone has been at my porridge!”

Then little Master Bear tossed his butterfly net into the corner and ran to the table, but though he tipped up his bowl till the pattern was plain to see on the bottom, not so much as one drop of milk could he get from out of it, and he cried in his shrill little voice, “Someone has been at my porridge, and has eaten it all up!”

Then there was great uneasiness in the mind of Mr. Bear, and he turned to his chair and saw how it was pulled from the wall in a very unusual way. “Someone has been sitting in my chair,” he said.

Mrs. Bear turned to hers, and saw that the cushions were all in disorder. “Oh, deary me!” she said, “someone has been sitting in my chair.”

[Illustration]

Then Master Bear, leaving his empty bowl, hustled up to see; and now it was “Oh, deary me,” and no mistake, for when he saw his little chair all broken and spoiled he cried out at the top of his wee voice, “Someone has been sitting in my chair, and has sat the bottom out!”

No time was to be lost in such sad straits, and Mr. Bear had his foot on the stairs before Mrs. Bear had so much as decided how the little chair could be mended. She felt sorely puzzled, but, picking up her gown in front, she followed Mr. Bear up the stairs, while little Master Bear clambered, heavy-hearted, up behind her, holding on very tight to the back breadth of her skirt, for who could tell what would happen next!

[Illustration]

Once in the room, they all went to the big bedstead that had been made so strong for Mr. Bear by the village carpenter, who knew how to please his customers.

When they saw the clothes so tumbled, it was no wonder that Mr. Bear should thunder out, “Someone has been sleeping on my bed!”

Poor Mrs. Bear! she turned round to look at her own white bed, with its pretty dimity curtains, and she called out in her middling-sized way, “Oh, deary, deary, deary me, someone has been sleeping on my bed!” Her feelings and the counterpane were sadly ruffled.

Master Bear then left go of her gown, and crept away to his own little corner.

[Illustration]

And what did he find? Fast asleep, with her hand tucked under her cheek, and her hair all tossed about on the pillow, lay little Silverhair, dreaming of porridge and broken chairs. How pleased the wee Bear was! He piped out in his small, wee voice, “Someone has been sleeping on my bed, and here she is fast asleep!”

But the last word sounded so loud in Silverhair’s ear, that it woke her with a start, and before the three Bears could tell what to do next, she had jumped out of bed and then out through the window, brushing the dew off the roses as she went; and those three Bears never, never, never saw her any more.

[Illustration]

BABY BLUE EYES

One night when the moon was big and round, Baby Blue-eyes was lost. Dear, oh, dear, there was a terrible upset in Babyland!

Said Chubby-face, the Infant Queen, “I’m not going to rest till Blue-eyes is found.”

And starting forth with Rosy-cheeks, her little maid-of-honor, she began her search.

At last—oh, what joy filled her heart!—she found little Blue-eyes fast asleep near a toad-stool!

“We won’t waken her, she is sleeping so sweetly,” she said.

And so the pair of them, (Chubby-face perching herself on the roof of the toad-stool,) kept guard till Blue-eyes awoke with a smile.

[Illustration]

SWINGING

Watch us go, —John and I— Down so low, Up so high! All the Summer weather, While the birds are singing, John and I are swinging, —John and I together!

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

This is the house that Jack built, A bird house for the lawn. It’s finished now—all but the paint— Jack’s worked since early dawn.

THE ADVENTURES OF KITTY

Told by Herself—and Quite True

My name is Kitty. If you ask, “Who gave you that name?” I am sure I could not tell you.

I hardly know where I was born, but they told me that I first saw the light in a wood-shed. I never remember my father, but I have very happy memories of my kind, gentle, gracious, good mother. Her name was Fluffy. There were four of us altogether—I mean four kitten-babies—and I was the youngest—at least, so I was told.

I was only about three weeks old when a great sorrow came into my life. One morning a big, burly, but ever so kind gentleman came to the wood-shed and said something about his pretty daughter, who had recently “gone to housekeeping,” and that, being alone all day, she would dearly love to have a bright little kitten for company. And I was chosen, so off I had to go.

I was taken gently by the neck and lifted into what looked like an egg-basket, and in a few minutes I was brought to a sweet little home. I fell in love with my new mistress at first sight, and as for my new master, he treated me ever so kindly, and I learned to love him very sincerely.

I had never tasted milk—in fact, I didn’t know what it was, whether it was blue, grey, white, brown, or red.

Soon after my arrival my new mistress (who bore the sweet name of Lily) brought me some white liquid in a saucer. I wondered what it was. As she watched and waited, I did the same. At last she took my wee little head in her long, thin, white hand and dipped it in the white liquid. I thought it was rude. My mouth, nose, and lips being covered with the white stuff, I quickly licked it off. What else could I do?

[Illustration]

When I tasted the fluid I found out how nice it was, and began to lap it up at a great rate. Then it was I found out it was milk she had given me. I got quite fond of it, and had a regular supply night and morning. And I always said “Thank you, ma’am,” by giving a gentle purr.

Then at dinner-time my young master, Mr. Fred, gave me some choice, dainty bits off his plate, which I greatly enjoyed.

When I arrived at this pretty cottage, I was so small, I looked just like a bundle of grey worsted; but day by day I was getting bigger, fatter, and nicer-looking—I was indeed. Don’t think I’m vain—I’m not; but when a sweet young mistress says “Pretty Kitty” twenty-seven times every day, what can I think but that I am a fascinating, good-looking little puss?

[Illustration]

Soon after my home-coming, another big sorrow came into my kitten life. My dear young mistress was taken seriously ill, and had to go to bed—and stay there. The doctor was called, and came nearly every day. I was nearly broken-hearted, and every chance I got I rushed upstairs, so as to tell, in my simple, loving way, how sorry I was for all the trouble that had come to my dearest earthly friend. I sprang on to the bed, walked over the counterpane, and reached the white pillow on which lay the head of my sweet young mistress. I purred very gently, rubbed my nose against her cheek, and said, in the best possible way (to a kitten), “How sorry I am! Do make haste and get well again; I do miss you so!”

Once or twice I’m afraid I woke her out of a sweet sleep, but how should I know she was asleep? Nobody told me. So I was seized by my neck, and put out of the room a good many times. But every time the kind nurse opened the door, I rushed in again, sprang on the bed, and said, “I’m so sorry,” ever so many times. And sometimes, in the dark night, or early hours of the morning, I would creep up to the bedroom door, and cry as loudly as I could.

At last a crisis came, and to me it was a big crisis—my third trouble, and I was only six weeks old! I was to be sent away, because I was so troublesome. I thought it was very, very hard, and I cried about it for three and three-quarter minutes, and thirteen long seconds after that. Wherever was I to be sent?

One evening a tall, kindly-looking gentleman came to our house, and my young master said to him, “Father, can you take charge of Kitty for a few days, until Lily gets better?”

“All right, my boy,” was the cheery reply. I liked his voice and manner. My fears were soon set at rest, for I felt sure he would make my short visit as cosy and comfortable as he possibly could. A few minutes later he took me up by my neck, laid me gently on his arm, and took me out into the dark and stormy night. But I wasn’t afraid, not one little bit, for all the way my new master kept saying, “Poor little Kitty.” But it was the way he said it that made such an impression on me.