Cinderella; Or, The Little Glass Slipper, and Other Stories. Unknown
said papa, “I am delighted he is so satisfactory.”
THE RAINDROPS’ NEW DRESSES
“We’re so tired of these gray dresses!”
Cried the little drops of rain,
As they came down helter-skelter
From the Nimbus cloud fast train.
And they bobbed against each other
In a spiteful sort of way,
Just like children when bad temper
Gets the upper hand some day.
Then the Sun peeped out a minute.
“Dears, be good and do not fight,
I have ordered you new dresses,
Dainty robes of purest white.”
Ah! then all the tiny raindrops
Hummed a merry glad refrain,
And the old folks cried: “How pleasant
Is the music of the rain!”
Just at even, when the children
Had been safely tucked in bed,
There was such a rush and bustle
In the dark clouds overhead!
Then those raindrops hurried earthward,
At the North Wind’s call, you know,
And the wee folks, in the morning,
Laughed to see the flakes of snow.
SIR GOBBLE
Bessie Curtis was in a great deal of trouble. She was spending a year in the country while her father and mother were in Europe. It was not that which was troubling her. She liked the country, she loved her uncle and aunt with whom she lived, and she heard every week from her father and mother. But something disturbed her. As the summer passed, and the autumn came, she had moments when she looked very sober. What was the reason?
I will tell you.
Early in the spring her uncle had given her a young turkey.
“There, Bessie,” he had said, “that is one of the prettiest turkeys I have ever seen. I will give him into your care, and on Thanksgiving Day we will have him on the dinner-table.”
For some time Bessie fed the turkey every day without feeling particularly fond of him. Very soon, however, he began to know her; he not only ran to meet her when she brought him his corn and meal, but he would follow her about just the way Mary’s little lamb followed HER about.
Her uncle often called after her: “And everywhere that Bessie goes, the turkey’s sure to go.”
Yes, round the garden, up and down the avenue, and even into the house itself the turkey followed Bessie.
Then why was she so sad?
Alas! she remembered her uncle’s words when he gave her the turkey, “On Thanksgiving Day we will have him on the table.”
Thanksgiving Day would be here in a week.
Now, if Bessie had been like some little girls, she would have told her trouble to her uncle. But she never mentioned it to any one, although she cried herself to sleep several nights before Thanksgiving Day.
At last the day came, and Bessie, instead of going out to the fowlyard as usual, kept in the house all the morning. She was afraid that, if she went, she would not find her beloved friend. Dinner-time came, and, with a heavy heart, she seated herself at the table. Her uncle and aunt noticed her sober face, and thought that she missed her father and mother.
“Come, come,” said her uncle, “we must cheer up; no sad looks on Thanksgiving Day. Maria, BRING IN THE TURKEY.”
Poor Bessie! she could not look up as the door opened, and something was brought in on a big platter. But, as the platter was placed on the table, she saw that it did indeed hold her turkey, but he was alive and well.
She looked so astonished that suddenly her uncle understood all her past troubles.
“Why, Bessie,” he said, “did you think I would kill your pet? No, indeed, but I told you he should be on the table Thanksgiving Day, so here he is.”
Then Bessie’s uncle struck the turkey gently with his carving-knife, the way the queen strikes a man with a sword when she makes him a knight.
“Behold!” said Bessie’s uncle, “I dub you ‘Sir Gobble;’ you shall never be killed, but die a natural death, and never be parted from Bessie.”
WHAT IS IT?
What is that ugly thing I see
Which follows, follows, follows me,
Which ever way I turn or go?
What is that thing? I want to know.
If I but turn to left or right
It does the same with all its might;
It looks so ugly and so black
When o’er my shoulder I look back.
Sometimes it runs ahead of me,
Sometimes quite short it seems to be,
And then again it’s very tall;
I don’t know what it is at all.
I’ll climb into my little bed,
And on my pillow lay my bead,
For when I’m there I never see
That thing in front or back of me.
JOHN’S BRIGHT IDEA
Mrs. Meredith was a most kind and thoughtful woman. She spent a great deal of time visiting the poor. One morning she told her children about a family which she had visited the day before. There was a man sick in bed, his wife who took care of him, and could not go out to work, and their little boy. The little boy—his name was Bernard—had interested her very much.
“I wish you could see him,” she said to her own children, John, Harry, and Clara, “he is such a help to his mother. He wants very much to earn some money, but I don’t see what he can do.”
After their mother had left the room, the children sat thinking about little Bernard.
“I wish we could help him to earn money,” said little Clara.
“So do I,” said Harry.
For some moments John said nothing, but, suddenly, he sprang to his feet and cried:
“I have an idea!”
The other children also jumped up all attention. When John had an idea, it was sure to be a good one.
“I tell you what we can do,” said John. “You know that big box of corn Uncle Sam sent us for popping? Well, we can pop it, and put it into paper bags, and Bernard can take it round to the houses and sell.”
When Mrs. Meredith heard of John’s idea, she, too, thought it a good one.
Very soon the children were busy popping the corn, while their mother went out to buy the paper bags. When she came back, she brought Bernard with her.
In a short time, he started out on his new business, and, much sooner than could be expected, returned with an empty basket.
Tucked into one of his mittens were ten nickels.