Five Minute Stories. Richards Laura Elizabeth Howe

      “I – don’t feel very well,” said Pecky. “I don’t feel strong enough to fly.”

      “Oh!” said his mother, “then you had better not eat any breakfast, and I will send for Doctor Woodpecker.”

      “Oh no, please don’t!” cried Pecky, and down he fluttered to the lawn.

      “That’s right!” said the mother robin, approvingly. “I thought there was not much the matter with you. Now bustle about, my dear! See how well your brother and sister are doing! I declare, Toppy has got hold of a worm as long as himself. It will get away from him – no, it won’t! There! he has it now! Ah! that was a good mouthful, Toppy. You will be a fine eater!”

      Pecky sat still, with his head on one side. He felt quite sure that if he waited and did nothing, his mother would take compassion on him and bring him some worms. There were Toppy and Flappy, working themselves to death in the hot sun. He had always been his mother’s favourite (so he thought, but it was not really so), and he was quite sure that she would not let him go hungry.

      So he gave a little squeak, as if quite tired out, and put his head still more on one side, and shut his eyes, and sat still. Now his mother did not see him at all, for her back was turned, and she was eating a fine caterpillar, having no idea of waiting on lazy birds who were old enough to feed themselves.

      But some one else did see Master Pecky! Richard Whittington, the great gray cat, had come out to get his breakfast, too, and he saw the lazy robin sitting still in the middle of the lawn with his eyes shut.

      Richard could not have caught one of the others, for they all had their wits about them, and their sharp black eyes glanced here and there, and they were ready to take flight at a moment’s notice.

      But Richard Whittington crept nearer and nearer to the lazy robin. Suddenly – pounce! he went. There was a shrill, horrified squeak, and that was the last of poor Pecky Robin.

      The mother robin and her two other children flew up into the tree and grieved bitterly for their lost Pecky, and the mother did not taste a single worm for several hours.

      But Richard Whittington enjoyed his breakfast exceedingly; and he was as good-natured as possible all day, and did not scratch the baby once.

      THE BOY’S MANNERS

      The Boy was going out to Roxbury. He was going alone, though he was only five years old. His Aunt Mary had put him in the horse car, and the car went directly past his house; and the Boy “hoped he did know enough to ask somebody big to ask the conductor to stop the car.”

      So there the Boy was, all alone and very proud, with his legs sticking straight out, because they were not long enough to hang over, – but he did not mind that, because it showed his trousers all the better, – and his five cents clutched tight in his little warm hand.

      Proud as he was, the Boy had a slight feeling of uneasiness somewhere down in the bottom of his heart. His Aunt Mary had just been reading “Jack and the Bean-stalk” to him, and he was not quite sure that the man opposite him was not an ogre. He was a very, very large man, about twelve feet tall, the boy thought, and at least nine feet round. He had a wide mouth, full of sharp-looking teeth, and he rolled his eyes as he read the newspaper. He was not dressed like an ogre, and he carried no knife in sight; but it might be in one of the pockets of his big gray coat.