part I

hate tin boxes. They can’t be bitten and they’re so apt to cut me when I try to get them opened.’

“‘Yes, they’re horrid,’ said Mrs. Mouse. ‘We can’t open them, no matter how much we try. I like little cardboard boxes best that we can nibble through.’

“Now one day the children who lived in the house had been out coasting all the afternoon. It had been a glorious afternoon, and they had coasted so hard they were very hungry.

“When they came in they asked their mother for something to eat.

“‘Go and look in the pantry,’ said their mother. ‘You will find biscuits and jam, and quite a lot to eat in there. As it’s a Saturday afternoon you may have a little feast.’

“Off went the children to the pantry. Now, the Mice had not been bothered all afternoon. They had seen the cook leave the kitchen and the pantry was just off the kitchen.

“‘We’ll have a feast this afternoon,’ said Mother Mouse. And all the little Mice had thought it was a wonderful scheme to have a regular feast.

“They had been enjoying themselves and having a splendid time when the children arrived.

“When they heard the door open and the children coming in, the Mice scampered to their holes and to their hiding places back on the shelves. They made a great deal of noise, and some of them squealed in their hurry to get past each other.

“‘The pantry is full of Mice,’ said the children.

“Meanwhile the Mice were saying, ‘They heard us, and now they know that we are living here. Well, we’ll just have to move—that’s all. For somehow people don’t like to have Mice for visitors. It’s very foolish of them, but they don’t like us!’

“‘Well,’ said Mr. Mouse, ‘we might as well make the best of it. Besides this has been a very nice home and perhaps we’ll be lucky and find another.’

“‘I hope it will be just as nice,’ said Mrs. Mouse, as they all followed Mr. Mouse in his search for a new pantry!”

FEBRUARY 2: In the Sea

“In the sea,” said daddy, “and far away in the tropics where the plants and birds and animals are very different from here, there are floating plant creatures known as Portuguese Men-of-War.

“The reason they’ve been given this name is because some one who was about to name them decided they looked like old battleships. The Portuguese Man-of-War is made up of many little creatures all joined together, just as though many of us were all fastened together in our villages or in our country places.

“Some of these creatures are very different from each other. The Portuguese Man-of-War is quite large, and when it is like this it is filled by a kind of gas which enters into it and which makes it look even larger than it is.

“It is beautifully colored and it floats on top of the water.

“These parts are the large members of the colony. The rest of them, or rather a second kind of members of the family, hang from under the side of these—many little creatures which form the largest part of the colony.

“Many of them are small and trumpet-shaped, and they are the ones who do the marketing and get the food for the rest.

“Then there are members of the colony who also hang from under the many members on top, and they are the fingers or the feelers for the community.

“There are still others who look like bunches of grapes, and they look after the baby creatures who come to form a part of this strange animal-plant.

“Still more of them are like great long ribbons and they are armed with cells which sting and slay young fishes down in the water. Then they bring up the food to the other members of the family.

“So, you see, this whole big community of many-colored little creatures, which are a kind of animal-plant life, all help each other. And they are all of many beautiful colors, and add as much to the beauty of the sea as anything else.

“But I want to make it quite clear that they are all together as a plant would be, and yet each has its purpose in life, whether it be to market or get the fish or look after the eggs.

“Lately I have seen in a great museum in one of the large cities a copy of one of these colonies made out of blown glass.

“There you can see the colors, for without the colors you can’t half imagine how lovely it is. The little creatures are lovely lavenders, and green, and purples, and browns, and pinks—all like a lovely mass of soft and delicate colors.

“So that the Portuguese Man-of-War and its little inhabitants are becoming better known.”

FEBRUARY 3: The Circus Dream

“I want to tell you the story this evening,” said daddy, “of a little boy named Jay Rial.

“Jay Rial was as nice a little boy as any one could ever hope to see. Every one liked him and he liked people, too. But the thing he loved above everything else in the world was the circus.

“He loved the sound of the train whistle which brought the circus to town, and he loved the old circus which used to travel by the road and not come by the train at all. He loved the circus band, the clowns, the animals. He loved the very tent itself, the smell of peanuts, the roars of the lions, the beautiful ladies who rode the beautiful horses.

“He loved the performers, and every time he went to a circus he wished his eyes were bigger so he could see more, and he wished that circus people didn’t have to go to sleep at all.

“He used to follow the circus parade as it came through the town and he didn’t mind if it was always late, for he could go to the circus grounds with some of the other boys and see them unpack, and maybe he could sometimes help a little, too!

“Once he had been allowed to stand in the middle of the sawdust-covered ring when they were fixing up the tent. That had been a great moment.

“There was only one thing about circus day which ever made him sad. That was that sometimes people couldn’t afford to go to the circus. He had been very lucky. He was always able to do chores for his mother and daddy around circus time and he could make enough money for a ticket.

“But there were some little boys and girls who couldn’t do that, or whose mothers and daddies couldn’t afford to do that for them.

“‘If I ever get to be a big man,’ said little Jay Rial, ‘I’m going to take just as many children to the circus with me as I can.’

“Little Jay Rial called it his circus-dream. And sometimes he would really dream that he was taking hundreds and hundreds of little boys and girls whose faces had been sad and teary because they hadn’t thought they were going to the circus. He had dreamed of how they would follow after him and would say:

“‘Me, too?’

“And he would smile at them and say, ‘Yes, all of you!’

“It was a beautiful dream.

“Now there are many people who dream of doing something fine when they have more money or when they’re grown up and who forget it when that time comes.

“They will excuse themselves by saying, ‘Yes, I have more money than I used to have, but I find I need it all,’ instead of doing more than they had been able to do before. There are little boys who say, ‘When I grow up I’m going to see that poor children get ice-cream once in a while.’ But when they grow up they forget and they don’t realize that there are lots of children in hospitals and in homes who very seldom receive visits from the ice-cream man.

“Now Jay Rial was different. He remembered. When he grew up he went into the circus business. He was the one who would tell the newspapers in the different towns in advance when the circus was coming to town so every one could look forward to it.

“And he remembered his circus dream.

“So every year when the circus came to the very biggest city they visited, grown up Jay Rial arranged that every child in every hospital or home or any child who was crippled and not as fortunate as other children should come to the circus free.

“They arranged one afternoon when no one need buy a ticket but when every seat was free. And yet, that wasn’t enough for Jay Rial. When the hospitals and homes sent in their lists of the numbers of children who would be able to go to the circus the lists grew so long that the place wouldn’t hold them all.

“Do you suppose Jay Rial said, ‘Sorry, but we’ve room for no more?’ Not a bit of it. He had another circus party for those who couldn’t come to the first.

“And Jay Rial’s face was full of smiles as he looked at the thousands of children who were shrieking with joy over the circus, and he said, ‘My dream has come true.’

“But,” ended daddy, “Jay Rial is one of those people who help to make dreams come true.”

FEBRUARY 4: Little Mildred’s Muff

“Mildred had lost her muff,” said daddy. “She lived in a small town near a big city. She went to school in the city. Every morning she took the train into the city and came back by train in the afternoon. When she got home that afternoon she told her mother and daddy what had happened. Mildred’s daddy said that he would telephone to the railway station to see if anything had been seen of it. Mildred stood by listening.

“‘Mildred,’ said her daddy, ‘they’re asking me if your muff had a head on it. Did it?’

“‘Oh, let me talk, daddy!’ And Mildred grabbed the receiver.

“‘Yes, yes,’ she cried excitedly into the telephone; ‘it had a black fox’s head on it!’ Then she heard the joyful words:

“‘I think it has been found and brought here.’

“Mildred could hardly wait until the morning came. Then she went with her daddy to the lost and found department of the railway station.

“As soon as she got inside she cried, ‘There is my muff over there with all those umbrellas and books!’ And she jumped up and down with happiness.”

FEBRUARY 5: The Coal-Bin

“I’m proud, that is what I am,” said a large piece of coal in the coal-bin. “There was a song written once about a king named Coal.”

“But,” said another piece of coal, “you have the idea, I believe, that his name was spelt as our name is spelt. I think that is wrong. The king spelt his name Cole. The song you mean goes like this, ‘Old King Cole was a merry old soul.’ Isn’t that the one you mean?”

“Yes,” said the large piece of coal which had spoken first. “That is the old song I mean. A fine one it is, to be sure. But what care I how the king spelt his name, or how the person who wrote the song spelt it? My grandfather once lived in a king’s coal-bin in a great palace. That is, he must have. Of course he never told me about it myself for he was burnt before I came around. But one of my grandfathers must have been in a king’s coal-bin and maybe he is still there. Kings must have coal-bins and be kept warm, mustn’t they?

“Perhaps I’ve a little cousin this very moment crackling and sizzling and burning for a king, who knows?

“But, now I come to think of it I don’t believe Old King Cole was good enough to belong to our family. He had to call for things all the time, whereas we are called for!

“Yes, people want us. They never knew before how much they appreciated us. They didn’t know it until we became a little scarce.”

“Yes,” said the other pieces of coal, “we can now hold up our coal heads and say to all the world, ‘Well, now what do you think of the coal-bin? You think a lot of it if we’re within it, and if the coal-bin is empty—ah, you’re sad!’

“Yes, that shows our importance. People talk about coal nowadays. They go around asking each other if they have enough coal. And people usually answer by saying that they are getting along all right but they would like to have more.

“They would like to have more of us, we, the fine pieces of coal, the coal which is at last appreciated, the coal which at last gets thanks for the warmth it gives, and the coal which is missed so sadly when it isn’t around!”

FEBRUARY 6: In Dreamland

“We’ve got lots of work to do to-night,” said the Dream King, and the Dream Fairies said, “What have we to do?”

“Well,” said the Dream King, “in talking to the Fairy Queen this afternoon, she said that she had quite a lot to tell me and she looked very sad.

“It seems that there have been many children lately she has heard telling each other unkind things they have heard about each other.

“For instance, she heard one little girl say to another little girl, ‘Oh, Sally, I heard Mamie say she thought you were awfully mean and selfish. I told her I didn’t think so. I stood up for you. I was your friend.’

“Well, the Fairy Queen said that made her mad. She said it was far worse of the little girl who came and told such a horrid thing than it even was in the little girl who had said it.

“I am going to give dreams to lots and lots of children who have said mean things. I am going to show them a huge room full of children and all the children will be crying and sobbing, and there won’t be enough handkerchiefs to go around.

“And I will tell them that these children are crying because of the mean speeches they have heard repeated.

“Hurry, Dream Fairies, tie up the dreams for me to take around. You know what I want now.

“And, Dream Fairies,” continued the Dream King, “I’m going to tell each girl and boy how every mean speech she or he thinks of and doesn’t make, or doesn’t repeat, will come straight to Dreamland and every week we will have a great big bonfire of them. Then all the Dream Fairies will laugh and sing as the mean speeches are burnt up.”

FEBRUARY 7: How the Inkfishes Protect Themselves

“Inkfishes,” said daddy; “aren’t black at all. In fact, they look very much like the ordinary jellyfish. But they are called inkfishes because when an enemy comes near them they drop ink out of an ink pocket they have near their mouths. You see, they can see perfectly through the ink, but the other fishes can’t and so when they dive down again and again and try to catch the inkfishes, they can’t do it. The water is so black they can’t see anything and they flounder off into the clear water, while the inkfishes keep out of their way.

“The jellyfishes and inkfishes are great friends and often visit each other. Little Kitty Inkfish and Nelly Jellyfish were especially good friends, and one day Kitty Inkfish asked her mother if she could invite Nelly Jellyfish to visit her for a whole week. Old Mrs. Inkfish consented, so Nelly Jellyfish was invited. Such excitement as there was, and all sorts of entertainments and parties were planned. Nelly Jellyfish arrived at exactly the hour she was invited to commence her visit. That afternoon the first party in her honor was to be given, and, of course, a number of other jellyfishes were invited for the party.

“But a great big, dangerous fish was hovering near. He saw all the nice fat looking jellyfishes, and he said to himself, ‘Here’s where I have a supper party too.’ So he dove through the water toward little Nelly Jellyfish. Oh, how frightened all the jellyfishes were, but as quickly as possible the inkfishes had dropped ink into the water and made it so black that the big fish couldn’t see. They all got out of the way, pulling the jellyfishes with them, and watched, with great amusement, the great big fish trying to find his way out.

“He coughed and sneezed with the ink in his face and made very wry faces at the taste of the ink, which made the inkfishes chuckle.

“At last the big fish had left, and all the jellyfishes congratulated the inkfishes on their wonderful means of protection, and they said they felt pretty sure that Nelly Jellyfish would be well looked after on her visit as well as have a wonderful time.”

[Illustration: “HURRY, DREAM FAIRIES, TIE UP THE DREAMS FOR ME TO TAKE AROUND.”—_Page 29_]

FEBRUARY 8: The Vegetables

“The vegetables on the stove were talking,” said daddy. ‘I insist upon being well-cooked,’ said Mr. Leader Potato.

“‘To my mind, that is nonsense. The cook arranges the heat and puts us on the stove when she wants to,’ said one of the String-Beans. ‘She takes us off when she sees fit. And she gives us just what she wants in the way of salt and pepper and butter.’

“‘Yes, can you imagine her saying, “Mr. Bean, have you enough salt?”’

“‘Neither would she say,’ went on the Stewed Corn, “Are you quite warm enough, Mr. Corn, or are you too warm? I will open a window if you wish.” No! We do exactly as we’re told. Mr. Potato, you are wrong. Yes, I grieve to admit it, but you are quite, quite wrong.’

“‘I insist upon being well-cooked because if I am not well-cooked, I am extremely horrid to eat,’ repeated Mr. Leader Potato; ‘I am hard and not “done” at all. No one likes me then. So they find it is well to cook me properly.’

“‘We all should be cooked properly,’ said the others.

“‘You all should, it is true,’ said Mr. Leader Potato. ‘But it is absolutely important that I should be well-cooked. A half-cooked potato is so extremely disagreeable.’

“But as he was talking, along came the cook to mash Potato and his family, for dinner was almost ready.

“‘How much fussing over I require!’ said Mr. Potato proudly.”

FEBRUARY 9: The Life Saving St. Bernards

“Once there was an old man who owned a number of St. Bernard dogs,” said daddy. “One night they camped near a small settlement. The old man had found sticks and wood, and the dogs had carried it along on the sleds. So they had a huge fire. They got nice and warm and had a supper of the provisions they’d brought and which, too, the dogs had carried.

“But a storm could be seen coming, and the snow was flying so fast it was almost blinding. The old man rolled the dogs up in warm rugs, and then, rolling up in a sleeping bag, he went fast asleep.

“He had not been asleep long before he was awakened by one of the biggest St. Bernard dogs, who was tugging at his sleeping bag.

“‘What is it, my beauty?’ asked the old man. Still the dog tugged at the bag. The old man was so sleepy at first he was half dazed, but he opened his eyes. Slowly he realized that some one must be suffering near-by, for he heard a strange wailing sound as of some one in distress. He got up, put on some warm things, and, hitching some of the dogs to a sled, they started out into the blizzard.

“They went toward the place where the sound of the wailing came from, and there, half buried in the snow, they found a man almost frozen to death. The old man, with the help of the dogs, put him on the big sled and dragged him back to their camp. There the old man rubbed him, and by the fire he began to recover. He said he had started out for another settlement to find food and had become blinded by the snow until he could go no farther. He was so grateful to the old man for saving his life. But the old man told him that the dog had been the rescuer.”

FEBRUARY 10: The Birthday Goblin

“A little girl named Polly,” said daddy, “could hardly wait for her birthday to come. She had been thinking about it for a long time, and at last there was only one more night and the birthday would actually be here.

“It was bedtime and Polly was ready for bed.

“‘I’m going to stay awake for ages,’ she said to herself, ‘and try to guess what mother and daddy are going to give me, and what we’ll have to eat at the party. I do hope it will be ice-cream. I am a little afraid it won’t be, though, because when I asked mother about it, she said that perhaps it would be nice to have a change. Nothing is so nice as ice-cream for a birthday party.’

“‘That’s true,’ said a jolly little creature, who suddenly appeared before her.

“‘Who are you?’ asked Polly.

“‘I’m the birthday Goblin. That is, I am one of the birthday Goblins, for there are a good many of us needed for our work. There are such lots of birthdays,’ and the Goblin tossed his head and laughed.

“‘And,’ continued the Goblin, ‘I tell mothers and daddies not to forget the good, old-fashioned way of putting a ring, a thimble and a button in the cake. I have to see about the presents, too. For how well I know what the girls and boys like as presents! That’s our business, you know.’

“‘Are we going to have ice-cream tomorrow?’ asked Polly.

“‘Yes,’ said the Goblin. ‘Your mother took my suggestions so quickly. I didn’t have to coax her at all. But your birthday is here and the sun has been up some time. Good-by, happy birthday!’ And as Polly opened her eyes, her mother was by her bed, whispering that always wonderful birthday wish of:

“‘Many happy returns of the day!’”

FEBRUARY 11: A Make-Believe and Real President

“You have heard,” said daddy, “how Abraham Lincoln pretended the cabbages which he grew in his garden were real people and how he named them. The straightest and very best-looking one he named General Strong, and another he named Captain Brave. One more he admired especially and thought it an exceptionally fine looking cabbage. He called it Mr. President, and little did he then think that he, the little boy, would be President when he grew up.”

FEBRUARY 12: Abraham Lincoln

“I have one little story to tell you to-night which I don’t think you’ve heard before,” said daddy. “When the present King of Siam was a little boy and his governess was teaching him American history he became so impressed with Abraham Lincoln and his freeing of the slaves and the tragedy of his death, that he said,

“‘When I become King I will free the slaves of the palace.’

“‘Will you promise me that?’ his governess asked, and the little boy promised. And when he became king all of the wives and slaves of the royal palace—four or five hundred—were freed and were given money and assistance to get fresh starts as free people.

“That story came to me,” daddy continued, “from my own mother who knew the governess, and I have never told it to you two children before.

“And while it is splendid to think of a little boy in far-off Siam loving and following the great example of our splendid Lincoln, still I’ve been thinking to-day that the greatest thing of all is that we all know Lincoln so well that we can hardly find a new story to tell of him.

“He was so simple, so human, so real a person that we have all grown to know him—not only as a President and a magnificent figure in history—but as Abraham Lincoln, the man of the people.”

FEBRUARY 13: Isa’s Valentine Party

“A little girl named Isa had been very ill in a large city hospital,” said daddy. “But at last a joyful time came when Isa really seemed to be on the road to getting well, and very happy her mother and daddy were.

“‘Oh, little Isa,’ said her daddy, ‘we’re going to have a surprise for you. You know to-night is St. Valentine’s eve, and I have an idea my little daughter may be going to have all kinds of bright, heart-shaped presents!’

“‘Oh, daddy!’ said Isa, ‘instead of giving just me a valentine party couldn’t we have one for all the children in the hospital? I’m well enough to be moved into the big ward, and all the children who are able to be there can have a party with me, and we can have a huge valentine party. Oh, couldn’t we do that, daddy?’

“‘Yes, indeed,’ said her daddy.

“So in the evening the big ward was bright with red hearts strung from the ceiling and hanging over the beds. The lights were covered with red paper shades, and in the very center of the room was an enormous big heart, and what do you suppose was in the heart?”

“What?” asked Evelyn eagerly.

“Why, for every child there was a red ribbon. Each child pulled one ribbon attached to the heart and at the end was a beautiful present.”

FEBRUARY 14: Why There is a Saint Valentine’s Day

“St. Valentine,” said daddy, “was a bishop in the third century—that was many, many years ago. He was a very good, kind man and always went about doing kind things for people. But some of the Romans didn’t like him, and in those days the people were cruel. If they didn’t like any one or imagined he might do them harm, they had him beheaded, and Bishop Valentine, as he was then called, was beheaded.

“His friends felt dreadfully that such a good man should be so cruelly murdered, and for days they could talk of nothing else but of the good Bishop Valentine, and they’d tell one another of all his good deeds and of his love for all people and of his kindnesses. The older people would tell their children about him until before long they began to speak of him as St. Valentine, and that name clung to him.

“So that ever since then, through all the years that have passed, he has always been known as St. Valentine, and although he was so cruelly beheaded, still his deeds of charity and kindness will always be known.

“You see, that is why we send valentines around to tell people we’re thinking of them and are fond of them, and we call them valentines because they’re nice, thoughtful messages and are like the dear old St. Valentine.”

FEBRUARY 15: The Desk and the Ink-Well

“I misbehave most frightfully if children don’t pay me attention,” said the Ink-Well.

“Yes,” said the Desk. “And then you make me suffer.”

“Do you really know what I mean?” asked the Ink-Well.

“Of course,” said the Desk. “If, for instance, a little girl or a boy is pouring from the great big grandfather Ink-Bottle and is giving you something more in the way of a nice Inky fluid or drink, and if the little girl looks the other way, you spill.”

“I don’t spill. I turn a somersault, or I trickle down the desk.”

“Yes, down me,” said the Desk. “And do you think it is very nice to make me suffer?”

“Ha, ha,” laughed the Ink-Well, “as if you cared whether I trickled down over you or not. You are made of wood and you don’t care.”

“That’s so,” agreed the Desk, “but even if I am made of wood I like to be varnished and made over nice and fresh every little while. It’s just like having one’s face washed.”

“But people who have their faces washed,” said the Ink-Well, “(though I do believe they always wash their faces themselves) do so far more than once a year. That is as often as you get your face washed or varnished.”

“Well, I’m made of wood, you see,” said the Desk, “and so I don’t care. Once a year does quite nicely for me. Besides it would be quite utterly useless any oftener for you’d only spill over me and I’d get quite horrid looking.”

“That’s polite of you, I’m sure,” said the Ink-Well, “to say you’d look horrid with some of my nice ink on you. It adds a lot I think.”

“It may add ink,” said the Desk, “but it doesn’t add beauty.”

But the school bell was ringing and so the Desk and Ink-Well were silent.

FEBRUARY 16: Dr. Sun

“For over two weeks a little boy has followed me around,” said the Sun.

“Whatever do you mean?” asked the Sun Rays.

“He has been ill. He has had a very, very bad cold. Oh, he has been so wretched and he has not felt like doing anything. A little boy is pretty ill when he doesn’t feel like doing anything and wants to stay quiet.”

“That’s true,” said the Sun Rays. For how often they had seen small boys scampering and playing, and sometimes they had danced, too, for joy.

“The doctor comes every day,” continued the Sun. “Sometimes he comes twice a day, and once he came three times. But every time he comes he tells the little boy always to sit in the sun! And he has been following me around. When I am shining into one window in the morning, there I see the little boy sitting by the window. In the afternoon when I choose an entirely different part of the house to shine in the windows, there is the little boy again. And for two weeks he has been doing this. Just following me around. I do feel so honored. And you, my good Sun Ray children, you should feel honored too.”

“We do,” said the Sun Rays.

“Listen now!” said the Sun. And they all stopped talking to listen.

There was the little boy sitting by the window, and by him stood his mother and a big man with a low voice. The man was carrying a little black satchel and he was talking.

“Well, how are you to-day, my boy?” he asked.

“Oh, much stronger and better,” said the boy. “I almost feel like getting out again.”

“You’ll be able to in a very few days now.”

“Oh, doctor,” said the mother, “you have saved my little boy’s life. He was so sick.” But the doctor shook his head.

“I did not save his life,” he said. “The Sun did that. The Sun fights germs better than medicines or doctors. We are needed to tell the people to take advantage of the Sun and use it, and we have to tell them what the trouble is. For the Sun can’t talk. If he could he would be one of the greatest doctors in the world. For he always carries his cure with him. Ah, now he helps me drive away the colds, the many horrid sicknesses that come when little boys have to stay in the house.”

“Dear father,” said the Sun Rays, “you are really Doctor Sun.”

“And you my little assistant nurses,” said the Sun.

FEBRUARY 17: Mr. Moon Hides

“What’s the matter?” asked the Earth.

“I’m tired,” said the Moon.

“All right,” said the Earth. “My shadow is always ready for you to hide behind when you want it.”

“You don’t mind, do you?” asked the Moon.

“I’m highly flattered,” said the Earth. “It is a great honor. Lots of people come out and look at us both at such times. For people call it an Eclipse.”

“What do they mean by that?” asked the Moon.

“They call it a total eclipse,” said the Earth, “when there is no Moon to be seen at all.”

“My! And they use words like that—total Eclipse—just to say that the Moon can’t be seen. Well, well, well, they do pay me a great compliment.”

The Moon talked to the Earth for a long time and the Earth’s shawl or shadow kept the moon from sight for several hours.

Before long the Moon grew a little restless. “I think I must be leaving,” he said.

“Sorry to see you go,” said the Earth. “You call on me so seldom. Your visits are so rare.”

“Oh,” laughed the Moon, “you are so nice to me, but where did you pick up that last word? Was it running around down on the earth where you heard it as it walked over you?”

“Words don’t run around,” said the Earth, “but the people who use them do. That word means that your visits are so few. I’d like to see you oftener.”

“Thank you,” said the Moon. “Perhaps because I come only now and again it is better, for you see it is more of a treat.”

“Maybe that is so,” said the Earth. “I always enjoy looking at you from afar, but I do thoroughly enjoy your calls.”

“Then I’ll come some time again,” said the Moon.

FEBRUARY 18: A Careless Master

“A horse,” said daddy, “was very thirsty.

“‘I don’t know how I can go on working so hard without a drink,’ he was trying to tell his master. But his master paid no attention.

“On and on they went. The horse’s tongue became so dry. He hung it out of his mouth, but the master didn’t notice—not even when he gave him a pat as he came out from a house where he had left a package.

“Now, a little fairy was hovering near-by. The fairy was the Princess Joy and she was in her long dress of mist-fog material. For the day was misty and there was a light fog. But not enough rain had fallen for the horse to wet his tongue. He had tried to hold his mouth open and get a drink that way but the rain-drops were not coming down. They were feeling shy and not like a trip to the earth.

“‘I’m so thirsty,’ said the horse again to himself.

“‘Thirsty,’ said the Princess Joy. ‘Why doesn’t your master give you something to drink? You’re a good horse. You go wherever he wants you to go—and so willingly, too. You’re so loyal and you are nice with his children and let them play with you whenever they want to. Can’t he give you a drink?’

“‘He has forgotten,’ said the horse. ‘He doesn’t mean to be cruel. He has just forgotten—that’s all.’

“‘Well, we’ll attend to that,’ said the Fairy Princess Joy.

“Now she knew that the horse’s master and the ice man did not like each other. ‘I’ll attend to this,’ she said to herself.

“The ice man was delivering ice from house to house along the same street where the master was delivering his parcels. The ice man had his ice in a little hand wagon he was pushing along himself.

“‘You shall have some fine ice water,’ whispered the fairy to the horse. ‘The best of ice water.’

“The Fairy whispered to the ice man, and though he didn’t know that the fairy had told him to leave his wagon in just such a place, he did so.

“‘Now walk up a little bit,’ she said to the horse.

“The horse began to lick a fine piece of ice. Ah, such a drink as he had. The ice melted so fast against his dry tongue, and there was a great deal in the side of the wagon. He licked the ice until half of a piece had gone.

“Just then the ice man and his master came out at the same time. There the horse was having his drink.

“‘You owe me for a piece of ice,’ said the ice man. ‘I can’t sell that piece now. Why don’t you give your horse some water? What are you—cruel to animals, eh?’

“This made the master feel very badly. ‘I forgot,’ he murmured. ‘I shall pay you for the ice and I’ll never forget again.’

“‘The first good speech I’ve heard you make. You’ve always been too careless and thoughtless before, but now we’ll be friends, and I do believe you’ll never forget your fine animal again.’ And the master agreed.”

FEBRUARY 19: The Cat Show

“There were cats at the Cat Show,” said daddy, “such as are never seen in any kitchen. Cats on velvet cushions who looked far too haughty ever, ever to crawl under a good old stove on a torn cushion. For at this Cat Show there were cats whose families were old and noble in the history of Catland. And cats of all colors! They were even lavender and so many other queer colors for cats to be!

“And such wonderful fur they had! It was soft and silky and combed so well. They wore bright ribbons, and their cushions matched! And they were fed the most delicious bits of meat and fish—and drank cream, real, real cream!

“But two cats were talking. One was named Royalty and the other Nobility.

“‘What do you think of the Show?’ asked Royalty.

“‘It’s about the same as most,’ said Nobility, with a yawn.

“‘How dull they are!’ snarled Royalty. And some passer-by said,

“‘That cat is so highly bred, you see. Did you notice how he snarled?’

“‘Isn’t that too absurd!’ said Royalty. ‘As if it were something very fine to be cross. I’m cross because of these people. They make such a fuss over me. They spoil me, and then some of my poor little sisters and brothers are left by these very same people to starve in the city all summer, while they go off and shut up their houses!’

“‘What do you mean?’ asked Nobility. ‘You haven’t any sisters or brothers who live in kitchens, have you?’ And Nobility’s back rose in surprise.

“‘Indeed, I have,’ said Royalty, ‘and I’m proud of it! Do you for one moment think that my family were born in Egypt or India—or Malta—or wherever they say the family came from? Do you know where my family came from? From the alleys and side streets where they used to hunt for scraps of food—almost any kind of food.

“‘Then, you see, the family were ambitious, and somehow we became kitchen cats, and we lived on milk and good food.’

“‘But how did you ever come here?’ asked Nobility.

“‘Because my little master wanted to make some money to buy a bicycle. He thought perhaps I’d win a prize at a small Show which was given at that time. He fed me up, put a ribbon around my neck, and had me sit on a purple cushion. I won a prize and I’ve been winning them ever since. I was bought for a great deal of money, and I make a lot! But what does that mean to me? Nothing! All I want to say is that if only I knew Grown-Up talk I’d say to all these people that they could admire me if they wished but to please remember my sisters and brothers when the summer comes again.’”

FEBRUARY 20: The Queer Pets

“A funny old woman,” commenced daddy, “lived all alone. Her chief delight in life was to have all the chickens, geese and ducks she could, and let them walk anywhere they pleased. They could go right into the parlor or into the kitchen, whichever suited their fancy. Luckily, for the good of the parlor, they really preferred the kitchen. All the food was there, and they liked to eat better than anything else.

“Now, this old woman was very peculiar, too, and she looked it. But the funniest thing about her was that all the animals she had were queer looking too. The geese seemed to be a little different from any other geese. The ducks had even more hideous feet than most ducks have, and they were all of rather strange colors.

“One day not very long ago there flew around the neighborhood a strange looking bird. He seemed to be quite alone.

“But soon, to every one’s surprise, they saw him playing with the strange looking geese, ducks and chickens that belonged to the old woman. He never wanted to fly in the house, but they saw that she brought out water and crumbs to him. And the old woman welcomed with joy one more strange creature.”

FEBRUARY 21: Harry’s Composition

“Harry was a very clever little boy,” daddy said. “The teacher of the class to which Harry belonged had had all the pupils write original compositions to recite at the Washington’s Birthday entertainment.

“The day before the entertainment (at which, of course, all the mothers and daddies of the children were to be present) a rehearsal of everything was to take place. It was Harry’s turn to recite his composition. As he got up on the platform his legs were shaking, and every one saw how nervous he was.

“He began, then he faltered, and then he broke down and sobbed. Harry, the hero of the school, was crying. Could it be true? The pupils looked at him with pity. What could be the trouble, they asked themselves.

“‘Teacher,’ he finally said between his choking sobs, ‘I didn’t write that composition. I cheated. I copied it out of an old