Cinderella by - (e ink ebook reader txt) 📕

>often, and lean against the trees and rocks for support, while

they rested and regained their breath.

 

In places the snow was so deep and soft, that they sank above

their knees. Late in the afternoon they reached the camp nearly

exhausted, and it was several days before they were able to

return.

 

The snow was still deep and Mr. Brown knew he must go back on

snow-shoes, but he was afraid Lady Gray would have to be left

behind.

 

Finally one of the men suggested making her some snow-shoes.

They cut four round pieces of board, twelve inches across, and

fastened them on with rope. Lady Gray seemed to understand what

they were for and tried very hard to walk in them.

 

She was very awkward at first and could hardly stand up, but by

practicing a little every day she was soon able to manage nicely.

 

So Mr. Brown and Lady Gray both returned on snow-shoes, and how

every one did laugh when they saw them.

 

But Lady Gray never could have done it if she had not tried.

 

THE ANGRY BOBOLINK.

 

Pretty little bobolink

In your satin coat,

Trimmed with white across the neck

Black about the throat,

Why so angry do you seem?

Why so fierce your mien?

That you’re scolding somebody

Plainly can be seen.

 

“Don’t you know,” says bobolink,

As he shakes his head,

That my nest is hidden in

This soft grassy bed?

Somebody has come too near,

And I wish to say

There is no admittance here

Pass the other way.

 

“If my gentle little wife

Sits so calm above,

It’s because she knows I’ll guard

This dear nest we love.”

Fear not, pretty bobolink,

Sing your joyous song,

Never will I trouble you,

Sing, the whole day long.

 

HOW HIRAM SPENT HIS SHRIMP MONEY.

 

“I wish my mother had a ring like those the ladies wear at the

hotel,” said Hiram Green to himself one day. “There isn’t one of

those ladies as pretty as my mother; she ought to wear rings

too.”

 

Hiram was the son of a fisherman, but the fisherman had died when

Hiram was a little boy. Hiram’s mother took in sewing and fancy

work to earn money to support herself and her son. He helped her

what he could out of school hours, and in vacation. He had two

uncles who wad taught him how to catch shrimps. With the money he

earned by selling them he could buy things for his own use or

pleasure. He had a bank almost full of what he called his

“shrimp-money.” He did not mean to count his money until the bank

was full.

 

Now Hiram loved his mother more than anything else in the world.

Whenever he dreamed of being rich some time, as boys often do, it

was not for himself he wanted the money, but that his dear little

mother might drive in a carriage, drawn by a pair of horses with

clanking chains.

 

The sight of the flashing gems on the hands of some of the summer

visitors at the fishing village in which he lived had added a new

article to the list of beautiful things his mother was some day

to own. He had heard that just one single diamond was sometimes

worth five hundred dollars or more. This had discouraged him very

much. But one day happening to pass a shop in the neighboring

town he saw a number of rings displayed in the window. Diamond

rings which flashed and sparkled, it seemed to him, just as those

worn by the ladies in the hotels. He stopped fascinated, ana

pressed his face against the glass eagerly to see if any prices

were marked upon them. Imagine his surprise when he saw upon the

largest one a tag marked $4.75. He looked again to see if he had

not made a mistake. Perhaps it was $475.00. But no, he knew

enough about figures to see that he was right the first time.

 

Home he went as fast as he could get there, and ran up into his

bedroom. Then, for the first time since he had begun to save his

“shrimp-money” he opened his bank and counted its contents.

“Three dollars and twenty-two cents!” he cried, “almost enough. I

was going to buy something for myself this time, but I’ll have

that ring before another week.”

 

Hiram worked early and late for the next few days. He caught more

shrimps than he had ever caught in the same length of time, and

sold them readily.

 

“I think there must be something you are wanting, very much, my

boy,” said his mother.

 

“Yes, there is,” replied Hiram.

 

At the end of the week he had the sum he desired. Hurrying to the

shop where he had seen the ring, before going inside he gave one

hasty, almost frightened look into the window. Could it be gone!

No, there it was flashing and sparkling as before.

 

That evening, he placed it on his mother’s finger. She looked at

it in surprise. “It is yours, mother,” he cried, proudly, “your

very own, I bought it with my shrimp money. I was determined my

mother should have a ring as handsome as those ladies wear.”

 

“My dear boy,” said his mother, while something as bright as the

shining stone flashed in her eyes, “Not one of those ladies can

value their rings as I shall value mine.”

 

Years afterwards Hiram learned that what he had bought for a

diamond was only a bit of glass.

 

“Did you know it then, mother?” he asked.

 

His mother nodded. “And you never told me.”

 

“It was brighter to me than any real diamond,” she said, “the

brightness I saw flash in it was the unselfish love of my boy.”

 

THE ANT’S HOUSE.

 

“What a curious picture that is at the head of this story.” That

is what I think I hear some of the “Little Ones” say. “What does

it mean?” some one asks. It looks like a procession of ants. That

is just what it is. A procession of ants all marching off to find

a new home. Some one has destroyed their old one. Let us hope no

one did it on purpose.

 

The ants are very busy and very nice little creatures. If their

houses are stepped upon, or injured so as to be useless the ants

immediately go to work to repair damages. They do not sit down

and fuss about it first, but I have no doubt they let each other

know what they think. And how do you suppose they do this? By

touching each other with their tiny feelers.

 

After they have talked in this way, and decided what is to be

done some of them take the eggs from the ruins and carry them to

a safe place. Look carefully at the pictures, and you will see

that almost every ant is carrying an egg. They know that if they

lose the eggs all the young ants inside the eggs will be lost

too.

 

While ants do not seem to have a very keen sense of hearing,

their sense of smell is very strong. And where do you think it

lies ? In the same little feelers with which they talk to each

other. The first ant’s house seen in the round picture has been

cut in two to show you how wonderfully these little creatures can

build.

 

It was made by the ants that live in tropical countries. The

house at the back of the picture has not been disturbed. Does

it not look as if an architect had planned it? Ask some of the

older people in your family to tell you something more about

ants. There is much more of interest in regard to them than I

have space to write you.

 

THE FOOLISH PUG.

 

A pompous pug once thought that he

A dashing swell would try to be,

And on his neighbors one and all,

Sat out to make a stylish call.

 

He wore a glass upon one eye,

And on his head a silk hat high;

A wide, stiff collar around his throat,

And last an English overcoat.

 

So fine and splendid was his air

The very birds stood still to stare,

As walking on his two hind feet

He sauntered boldly down the street.

 

But oh, alas! it comes to all

To learn that pride must have a fall,

And e’er the corner he had turned

Poor pug that bitter lesson learned.

 

A saucy maid with one great whack,

Brought down her broom upon his back,

And as he raised a frightened wail

Another soused him from her pail.

 

Poor pug! that night he sat and thought

Of all the trouble he had brought

Upon himself, because that he

A foolish dude had tried to be.

THE SILHOUETTE PARTY

“Children,” said Grandpa, one afternoon, “I am going to build a

bonfire this evening, to burn up this rubbish, so you may have a

silhouette party.”

 

“Why, what is a silhouette party?” asked Lucy, opening her eyes

very wide.

 

“I know,” said Ralph, “it is funny black pictures on something

white.”

 

“That’s right,” laughed Grandpa. “Now you fly round and write

your friends and Grandma and I will get everything ready.”

 

When the young people arrived at half past seven, they found a

blazing fire, and in front of it was stretched a sheet between

two large apple trees.

 

Quite a distance in front of the sheet were some seats, where

Grandpa told some of the children to sit, while the others took

part in the pictures.

 

He then disappeared with them in a tent close by where Grandma

was waiting to dress them in their different costumes. Shouts of

laughter came from the tent as the children put on their odd

dresses; indeed there was so much fun that it took quite some

time.

 

When all was ready Grandpa came out and addressing the children

who were waiting said, “These are to be Mother Goose pictures,

which you will all know. You must guess whom they represent

and the one who guesses correctly the largest number will receive

a prize.”

 

He threw a large pine knot on the fire, which burned up brightly,

and there the children saw a shadow on the sheet, a little bent

figure with a broom over its shoulder.

 

“The old woman who swept the cob-webs out of the sky,” cried some

one.

 

Following this, came a figure with a long cloak and tall peaked

hat, leading a dog.

 

“Old Mother Hubbard,” guessed another.

 

Then came a boy and a girl carrying a pail.

 

“Jack and Jill,” chorused the children.

 

After this a girl with a shepherd’s crook.

 

“Little Bo-peep,” again was guessed.

 

“Now,” said Grandpa, “it is time the others had their turn at

acting.”

 

So the exchange being made, the pictures continued.

 

“Jack Horner,” “Little Miss Muffet,” “Old King Cole,” and “Mary,

who had a little lamb,” followed in quick succeission.

 

Then Grandpa announced that the pictures were over.

 

“As we cannot decide who has guessed the largest number of

pictures,” said he, “I will give you each a prize. And he passed

them each a card.

 

It proved to be a picture of Ralph and Lucy cut from black paper

and pasted on a white card.

 

“These,” said Grandpa, “are silhouette pictures too. Will you

always know what a silhouette picture is now?”

 

“Oh yes,” said the children.

 

THE SNOW BIRDS.

 

It had snowed very hard. Ralph and Edward, who were visiting

Grandma in