Part 15

Toward the door went Tommy slowly, Seized the knob as if to turn it. Did not turn it; but, returning, Back he came unto his mother. "Mother," said he, very slowly, "Mother, I don't feel so badly; Maybe I'll get through my lessons. Anyway, I think I'll risk it. Have you seen my books, dear mother-- My Geography and Speller, History and Definitions,-- Since I brought them home on Friday?" No. His mother had not seen them. Then began a search by Tommy. Long he searched, almost despairing, While the clock was striking loudly. And at length when Tommy found them-- Found his books beneath the sofa-- He'd forgotten all his Weakness, Pains and aches were quite forgotten. At full speed he hastened schoolward. But in vain, for he was tardy, All because of that strange Weakness He had felt on Monday morning.

Would you know the name that's given, How they call that curious feeling? 'Tis the dreaded "Idon'twantto"-- Never fatal, but quite common To the tribe of Very-lazy. Would you know the charm that cures it-- Cures the Weakness "Idon'twantto"? It is known as "Butyou'vegotto," And no boy should be without it.

Now you know the curious legend Of the paleface little Tommy, Of his Weakness and its curing By the great charm "Butyou'vegotto." Think of it on Monday mornings-- It will save you lots of trouble.

St. Saturday

BY HENRY JOHNSTONE

Oh, Friday night's the queen of nights, because it ushers in The Feast of good St. Saturday, when studying is a sin, When studying is a sin, boys, and we may go to play Not only in the afternoon, but all the livelong day.

St. Saturday--so legends say--lived in the ages when The use of leisure still was known and current among men; Full seldom and full slow he toiled, and even as he wrought He'd sit him down and rest awhile, immersed in pious thought.

He loved to fold his good old arms, to cross his good old knees, And in a famous elbow-chair for hours he'd take his ease; He had a word for old and young, and when the village boys Came out to play, he'd smile on them and never mind the noise.

So when his time came, honest man, the neighbors all declared That one of keener intellect could better have been spared, By young and old his loss was mourned in cottage and in hall, For if he'd done them little good, he'd done no harm at all.

In time they made a saint of him, and issued a decree-- Since he had loved his ease so well, and been so glad to see The children frolic round him and to smile upon their play-- That school boys for his sake should have a weekly holiday.

They gave his name unto the day, that as the years roll by His memory might still be green; and that's the reason why We speak his name with gratitude, and oftener by far Than that of any other saint in all the calendar.

Then, lads and lassies, great and small, give ear to what I say-- Refrain from work on Saturdays as strictly as you may; So shall the saint your patron be and prosper all you do-- And when examinations come he'll see you safely through.

#NUMBER RHYMES#

1, 2, 3, 4, 5

One Two Three Four Five I caught a hare alive.

Six Seven Eight Nine Ten I let it go again.

OVER IN THE MEADOW

BY OLIVE A. WADSWORTH

Over in the meadow, In the sand, in the sun, Lived an old mother toad And her little toadie one. "Wink!" said the mother; "I wink," said the one: So she winked and she blinked In the sand, in the sun.

Over in the meadow, Where the stream runs blue, Lived an old mother fish And her little fishes two. "Swim!" said the mother; "We swim," said the two: So they swam and they leaped Where the stream runs blue.

Over in the meadow, In a hole in a tree, Lived a mother bluebird And her little birdies three. "Sing!" said the mother; "We sing," said the three: So they sang and were glad In the hole in the tree.

Over in the meadow, In the reeds on the shore, Lived a mother muskrat And her little ratties four. "Dive!" said the mother; "We dive," said the four: So they dived and they burrowed In the reeds on the shore.

Over in the meadow, In a snug beehive, Lived a mother honeybee And her little honeys five. "Buzz!" said the mother; "We buzz," said the five: So they buzzed and they hummed In the snug beehive.

Over in the meadow, In a nest built of sticks, Lived a black mother crow And her little crows six. "Caw!" said the mother; "We caw," said the six: So they cawed and they cawed In their nest built of sticks.

Over in the meadow, Where the grass is so even, Lived a gray mother cricket And her little crickets seven. "Chirp!" said the mother; "We chirp," said the seven: So they chirped cheery notes In the grass soft and even.

Over in the meadow, By the old mossy gate, Lived a brown mother lizard And her little lizards eight. "Bask!" said the mother; "We bask!" said the eight: So they basked in the sun By the old mossy gate.

Over in the meadow, Where the clear pools shine, Lived a green mother frog And her little froggies nine. "Croak!" said the mother; "We croak," said the nine: So they croaked and they splashed Where the clear pools shine.

Over in the meadow, In a sly little den, Lived a gray mother spider And her little spiders ten. "Spin!" said the mother; "We spin," said the ten: So they spun lace webs In their sly little den.

Over in the meadow, In the soft summer even, Lived a mother firefly And her little flies eleven. "Shine!" said the mother; "We shine," said the eleven: So they shone like stars In the soft summer even.

Over in the meadow, Where the men dig and delve, Lived a wise mother ant And her little anties twelve. "Toil!" said the mother; "We toil," said the twelve: So they toiled and were wise Where the men dig and delve.

COUNTING APPLE-SEEDS

One, I love, Two, I love, Three, I love, I say, Four, I love with all my heart, And five, I cast away; Six, he loves, Seven, she loves, Eight, they both love; Nine, he comes, Ten, he tarries, Eleven, he courts, Twelve, he marries; Thirteen, wishes, Fourteen, kisses, All the rest little witches.

TWINS

BY LUCY FITCH PERKINS

Here's a baby! Here's another! A sister and her infant brother. Which is which 'tis hard to tell, But "mother" knows them very well.

THE RHYME OF TEN LITTLE RABBITS

BY KATE N. MYTINGER

1 little rabbit, =one= went out in the field to run.

2 little rabbits, =two= Said they didn't know what to do.

3 little rabbits, =three= Said: "Let us climb a tree."

4 little rabbits, =four= Said: "Let's swing on the old barn door."

5 little rabbits, =five= Said: "We're glad just to be alive."

6 little rabbits, =six= Said: "We like to pick up sticks."

7 little rabbits, =seven= Said: "We wish we were eleven."

8 little rabbits, =eight= Said: "Come let us run through the gate."

9 little rabbits, =nine= Said: "Then let us form in line."

10 little rabbits, =ten= all got in line--and then--wasn't it fun to see them run?

IN JULY.

BY A. S. WEBBER.

10 Ten little fire crackers Standing in a line, One thought he'd light a match Then-- There were nine.

9 Nine little fire crackers Walking very straight, One caught an engine spark Then-- There were eight.

8 Eight little fire crackers Trying to spell "LEAVEN," One went too near the gas, Then-- There were seven.

7 Seven little fire crackers Cutting up tricks, One played with lighted punk Then-- There were six.

6 Six little fire crackers Glad they are alive, One went to have a smoke Then There were five.

5 Five little fire crackers Wishing there were more, One went to find a friend Then There were four.

4 Four little fire crackers Merry as could be, One played upon the hearth Then There were three.

3 Three little fire crackers Puzzled what to do, One started the kitchen fire Then There were two.

2 Two little fire crackers Looking for some fun, One met a little boy Then There was one.

1 One little fire cracker Sat him down to cry, 'Tis such a risky thing To live In July.

The Wish of Priscilla Penelope Powers

Priscilla Penelope Powers one day Took tea at a neighbor's just over the way. Two pieces of pie they urged her to take, And seven whole slices of chocolate cake! "Oh, dear," sighed Priscilla Penelope Powers, "I wish I was your little girl 'stead of ours!"

_Mrs. John T Van Sant._

Winklelman Von Winkel

Winkelman Von Winkel is the wisest man alive, He Knows that one and one make two, and two and three make five; He knows that water runs down hill, that the sun sets in the west, And that for winter weather wear, one's winter clothes are best; In fact, he does not mingle much with common folk around, Because his learning is so great--his wisdom so profound.

_Clara Odell Lyon._

TEN LITTLE COOKIES

Ten little cookies, brown and crisp and fine-- Grandma gave Baby one; then there were nine.

Nine little cookies on a china plate-- Betty took a small one; then there were eight.

Eight little cookies, nice and round and even-- The butcher boy ate one; then there were seven.

Seven little cookies, much liked by chicks-- The old hen ate one, then there were six.

Six little cookies, when grandma went to drive-- Betty had another one; then there were five.

Five little cookies, placed too near the door-- The little doggie ate one; then there were four.

Four little cookies, brown as brown could be-- Grandma took one for herself, then there were three.

Three little cookies--when grandpa said, "I too, Would like a very little one", then there were two.

Two little cookies--fast did Betty run To give one to her mamma; then there was one.

One little cooky--and now our story is done, Baby Jane ate the last, then there was none.

OUR BABY

One head with curly hair, Two arms so fat and bare, Two hands and one wee nose, Two feet with ten pink toes, Skin soft and smooth as silk, When clean, 'tis white as milk.

LONG TIME AGO

BY ELIZABETH PRENTISS

Once there was a little Kitty, White as the snow; In a barn she used to frolic, Long time ago.

In the barn a little mousie Ran to and fro, For she heard the little Kitty, Long time ago.

Two black eyes had little Kitty, Black as a sloe; And they spied the little mousie, Long time ago.

Four soft paws had little Kitty, Paws soft as snow; And they caught the little mousie, Long time ago.

Nine pearl teeth had little Kitty, All in a row; And they bit the little mousie, Long time ago.

When the teeth bit little mousie, Mousie cried out, "Oh!" But she slipped away from Kitty, Long time ago.

BUCKLE MY SHOE

One, Two--buckle my shoe; Three, Four--open the door; Five, Six--pick up sticks; Seven, Eight--lay them straight; Nine, Ten--a good fat hen; Eleven, Twelve--I hope you're well; Thirteen, Fourteen--draw the curtain; Fifteen, Sixteen--the maid's in the kitchen; Seventeen, Eighteen--she's in waiting; Nineteen, Twenty--my stomach's empty.

[Illustration: "AH, AH! SO THAT'S WHERE HE BURIES HIS OLD BONES!"]

#STORIES _for_ LITTLE GIRLS#

A PAIR OF GLOVES

BY H. G. DURYEE

The little girls who lived on Amity Street all wore mittens when they went to school in winter. Nobody's mother ever thought of anything else to keep small hands warm. Some mothers or grandmothers crocheted them, and some knit them with fancy stitches down the back, or put other mark of distinction upon them; but they were always mittens, and were always fastened to a long ribbon or piece of braid or knitted rein, so that they might not get lost, one from the other.

This connecting-link frequently gave rise to confusion, for when two little girls put their arms around each other's necks as they walked to school, they sometimes got tangled up in the mitten string and had to duck and turn and bump heads before the right string was again resting on the right shoulder. But as it was possible to laugh a great deal and lose one's breath while this was going on, it was rather an advantage than otherwise, and little girls who were special chums were pretty sure to manage a tangle every other day at least.

Clarabel Bradley did her tangling and untangling with Josephine Brown, who lived at the end of Amity Street. They both went to the same school and were in the same class. They waited for each other in the morning, and came home together, and shared each other's candy and ginger cookies whenever there were any, and took firm sides together whenever the school-yard was the scene of dispute.

But into this intimacy came a pair of gloves, almost wrecking it.

The gloves were sent by Clarabel's aunt, who was young and pretty and taught school in a large city; and they came done up in white tissue-paper inside a box with gilt trimming around the edges and a picture on the center of the cover. Taken out of the paper, they revealed all their alluring qualities. They were of a beautiful glossy brown kid with soft woolly linings and real fur around the wrists, and they fastened with bright gilded clasps.

With them was a note which said:

For Clarabel, with love from her Aunt Bessie. =Not to be kept for Sundays, but worn every day.=

And the last sentence was underscored.

Clarabel's mother looked doubtful as she read the message. Such gloves were an extravagance even for best--and mittens were warmer. But when she encountered Clarabel's shining eyes she smiled and gave in.

So Clarabel took the gloves to her room that night, and slept with them on the foot-board of her bed, where she could see them the first thing when she waked; and in the morning she put them on and started for school.

One hand was held rigidly by her side, but the other was permitted to spread its fingers widely over the book she carried. Both were well in view if she looked down just a little. Passers-by might see; all Amity Street might see; best of all, Josephine might see!

But Josephine, waiting at the corner, beheld and was impressed to the point of speechlessness. Whereupon Clarabel dropped her book, and had to pick it up with both hands. The furry wrists revealed themselves fully.

Josephine found her voice.

"You've got some new gloves," she said.

"Yes; my Aunt Bessie sent them."

"Aren't they pretty!"

"I think so, and they're lots nicer than mittens. I'm not going to wear my mittens again."

Josephine looked down at her own chubby hands. Her mittens were red this winter, with a red-and-green fringe around the wrists. Only that morning she had admired them. Now they looked fat and clumsy and altogether unattractive; but she wasn't going to admit that to any one else.

[Illustration: "CLARABEL DROPPED HER BOOK, AND HAD TO PICK IT UP WITH BOTH HANDS."]

"I like mittens best," she said stoutly,--"for school, anyway," she added, and gave Clarabel more of the sidewalk.

"My Aunt Bessie said specially that these were to wear to school." And Clarabel walked nearer the fence.

Josephine was hard put to it--Clarabel's manner had become so superior.

"I don't think your Aunt Bessie knows everything, even if she does teach school in a big city. My mother says she's too young to--"

What she was too young to do was not allowed to be explained; for Clarabel, with a color in her face that rivaled Josephine's mittens, had faced her.

"My Aunt Bessie's lovely, and I won't listen to another word against her, not another one--so there!"

Then she turned, with a queer feeling in her throat, and ran down the street to catch up with another little girl who was on ahead.

Josephine swung her books and walked as if she didn't care.

Clarabel overtook the little girl, who was all smiling appreciation of the new gloves, and was overtaken by other little girls who added themselves to the admiring group. But somehow her triumphal progress was strangely unsatisfactory; the glory was dimmed.

At recess, Josephine paired off with Milly Smith, who stood first in geography and wore two curly feathers in her hat. Clarabel shared her cookies with Minnie Cater, because it didn't matter who helped eat them if it wasn't Josephine. Neither spoke to the other, and at noontime they walked home on different sides of the street.

Perhaps that was why in the afternoon Clarabel lost her place in the reader and failed on so many examples in arithmetic that she was told she must stay after school.

Usually there would have been several to keep her company, but on this day there was no one else,--even Angelina Maybelle Remington had got through without disaster,--and Clarabel, wistful-eyed, saw the other girls file out.

At another time Josephine would have stayed; she always did when Clarabel had to, as Clarabel did when she was in like need. But to-night she filed out with the rest, and Clarabel, with a sense of desertion, bent over her problems of men and hay to mow, men and potatoes to dig, men and miles of railroad to build.

The noise of scurrying feet grew fainter, the sound of children's voices died away. The room settled into stillness, except for the solemn tick of the clock and the scratching of Clarabel's pencil on the slate. There were fractions in the problems, and fractions were always hard for Clarabel. Her pencil stopped often while she frowned at the curly-tailed figures. In one of these pauses the door squeaked open a little way. It squeaked again, and some one sidled into the room; it was Josephine.

"Please may I go to my seat?" she asked.

"Certainly," said the teacher, and watched her curiously.

She tiptoed to the back seat, fumbled for a few minutes in her desk, then slipped to a seat a few rows farther in front; then to another and another, till she had reached the row in which Clarabel sat.

Clarabel, though she was bending over her slate, had heard every hesitating move, and when the last halt was made she shook her curls back from her eyes, looked around, and dimpled into smiles.

The teacher, watching, waited to see what would happen next. Nothing did, except that the two little girls sat and smiled and smiled and smiled as if they never would stop.

Presently the teacher herself smiled and spoke. She had a very sweet voice sometimes--one that seemed to hint at happy secrets. That was the way it sounded now.

"Would you like to help Clarabel, Josephine?" she asked. "You may if you wish to."

"If she'll let me," answered Josephine, her eyes fixed on Clarabel's face.

"I would love to have her," said Clarabel, _her_ eyes on Josephine. And instantly the one narrow seat became large enough for two.

For ten minutes more there was great scratching of slate-pencils and much whispering and some giggling. Then with cheerful clatter the slate was borne to the platform. The teacher looked at the little girls more than at the examples. "I'm sure they're right," she said. "Now, off to your homes--both of you!"

"Good night," said Clarabel.

"Good night," said Josephine.

"Good night, dear little girls," said the teacher.

There was a soft swish of dresses and the children had reached the dressing-room. Within its familiar narrowness, Josephine hesitated and fingered her cloak-buttons.

"I think your Aunt Bessie"--it was very slow speech for Josephine--"is ever so nice and knows a lot."

"Oh!" bubbled Clarabel, joyously, "I do love the color of your mittens! Don't you--don't you"--she finished with a rush--"want to let me wear them home and you wear my gloves?"

Josephine put aside the dazzling offer.

"Your gloves are prettier and you ought to wear them."

Clarabel thought a minute, a shadow in her eyes.

"I know what," she declared, the shadow vanishing. "You wear one glove and mitten and I'll wear the other glove and mitten!"

"Oh!" said Josephine, with a rapturous hug, "that will be splendid!"

And thus they scampered home, the two mittened hands holding each other tight, while the two gloved hands were gaily waved high in the air with each fresh outburst of laughter from the little schoolmates.

A VERY LITTLE STORY OF A VERY LITTLE GIRL

BY ALICE E. ALLEN

Molly was such a little girl that she didn't seem big enough to have a party all her own with truly ice-cream in it. But she had asked for one so many times that at last Mother decided to give her one. And the party was to be a surprise to Molly herself.

Early that afternoon Molly wanted to go for a little visit to Miss Eleanor. Miss Eleanor lived up Molly's street, in a white house with apple-green blinds. Molly often went all alone.

Miss Eleanor was always so sunny and full of songs and stories and games that Molly loved her next best to Father and Mother and Baby.

"You may go, dear," said Mother, "if you will come home exactly at three o'clock."

"You always say exactly three o'clock, Mother," said Molly.

"Well, five minutes after three, then," laughed Mother. "And, Molly, so that you won't forget this time, all the way to Miss Eleanor's, say over and over, 'Five minutes after three.' Then, just as soon as you get there, say the words quickly to Miss Eleanor, 'Five minutes after three.'"

"Five minutes after three," said Molly; "I can remember that."

"That will give me plenty of time to get ready for the party," thought Mother.

Up the street with her white parasol flew Molly. "Five minutes after three," she said over and over in a whisper until she began to sing it. "Five minutes after three," she sang until she stopped a moment on the bridge to see some boys fishing. Just about there, a big dog who was a friend of Molly's ran out to say, "Good afternoon."

"Oh, Fritzie," cried Molly, "I'm going to Miss Eleanor's to make her a visit. Want to come?"

But Fritz had the house to look after. So Molly gave him a hug and ran along.

"Three minutes after five," sang Molly; "three minutes after five," over and over until she ran into Miss Eleanor's sunny little sitting-room.

"Three minutes after five," cried Molly; "that's how long I can stay. Won't that be nice?"

"Why, it's little Molly!" cried Miss Eleanor, "I'm all alone and so glad to have company! We'll hear the clock strike five. Then, if you put on your wraps, you'll be all ready to start home at three minutes past."

It seemed a very very short time to Molly before the little clock struck five.

"There, deary," said Miss Eleanor. "Put on your things and hurry right along!"

Molly put on her hat and coat. Then she kissed Miss Eleanor and hurried down the street.

When she reached the corner, she saw that the parlor at home was all lighted. And out of it came such a hubbub of little voices all laughing and talking that Molly ran faster than ever.

At the door she met Mother.