The
Rollo Books
by
Jacob Abbott.

New York: T.Y. Crowell & Co.

YOU CAN SEE THE RAFT, &c.—Page 121.

ROLLO LEARNING TO READ.

THE ROLLO SERIES

IS COMPOSED OF FOURTEEN VOLUMES, VIZ.:

A NEW EDITION, REVISED BY THE AUTHOR.

NEW YORK
THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO.
PUBLISHERS

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by
PHILLIPS, SAMPSON & CO.,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.

NOTICE TO PARENTS.

In those intervals of rest which the serious cares and labors of life imperiously demand, a man may find the best amusement for himself in efforts for the amusement of children. This little work and its predecessor, “Rollo Learning to Talk,” have been written on this principle.

Parents find it very difficult to employ little children. “Mother, what shall I do?” and sometimes even, “Mother, what shall I do after I have done this?” are heard so often that they sometimes exhaust even maternal patience. These little volumes will, we hope, in some cases, provide an answer to the questions. The writer has endeavored to make them such that children would take an interest in reading them to themselves, and to their younger brothers and sisters, and in repeating them to one another.

The difficulty with most books intended for children just learning to read, is that the writers make so much effort to confine themselves to words of one syllable, that the style is quaint and uninteresting, and often far more unintelligible than the usual language would be. The author’s design here has been, first to interest the little reader, hoping, by this interest, to allure him on to the encounter of the difficulties in the language, and to the conquest of them. Hence, the more difficult words and phrases, in common use, are not avoided, for the very object of such a reading book should be to teach the use of them. They are freely introduced and rendered intelligible by being placed in striking connections, and familiar, by being frequently repeated. By a wonderful provision in the structure of the mind, children thirst for repetition,—the very thing essential to give security and permanence to the knowledge they acquire.

The subjects of the articles, accordingly, and the method of treating them, are in the highest degree juvenile. But the language is mature. For it is language which we wish to teach them, and consequently we must keep, in language, a little above them, advancing continually ourselves, as they advance.

J. A.

CONTENTS.

ROLLO LEARNING TO READ.

HOW ROLLO LEARNED TO READ.

Should you like to know how Rollo learned to read? I will tell you. It is very hard work to learn to read, and it takes a great while to do it. I will tell you how Rollo did it.

One evening Rollo was sitting on the floor by the side of the fire, playing with his blocks. He was trying to build a meeting-house. He could make the meeting-house very well, all except the steeple, but the steeple would tumble down.

Presently his father said,

“Rollo, you may put your blocks into the basket, and put the basket in its place, in the closet, and then come to me.”

Rollo obeyed.

Then Rollo’s father took him up into his lap, and took a little book out of his pocket. Rollo was glad. He thought he was going to look at some pictures. But he was disappointed.

He was disappointed; that is, he found there were no pictures in the book, and was sorry.

His father said,

“I suppose you thought there were pictures in this book.”

“Yes, sir,” said Rollo.

“There are none,” said his father; “I have not got this book to amuse you. I am going to have you learn to read out of it, and learning to read is hard work.”

Rollo was very glad when he heard this. He wanted to learn to read, so that he could read story books himself alone, and he thought that learning to read was very pleasant, easy work.

His father knew that he thought so, and therefore he said,

“I suppose you are glad that you are going to learn to read, but it is harder work, and will take longer time than you think. You will get tired very often, before you have learned, and you will want to stop. But you must not stop.”

“What,” said Rollo, “must not I stop once—at all—all the time, till I have learned to read?”

“Oh yes,” said his father; “I do not mean that you must be learning to read all the time;—you will only read a little while every day. What I mean is that you must read every day, when the time comes, although you will very often think that you are tired of reading so much, and had rather play. But no matter if you are tired of it. It is your duty to learn to read, and you must do it, if it is hard.”

“I do not think I shall be tired,” said Rollo.

“Very well,—you can see. Only remember if you should be tired, you must not say so, and ask not to read.”

Rollo’s father then opened the book and showed Rollo that it was full of letters,—large letters, and small letters, and a great many little words in columns. Do you know what a column is? There was also some very easy reading in large print, but no pictures.

Then Rollo’s father explained the plan by which he was to learn to read. His sister Mary was to teach him. Mary was to call him to her every morning at nine o’clock, and teach him his letters for a quarter of an hour. She was to do the same at eleven, and at three, and at five. The rest of the time Rollo was to have for play. Mary was to take three or four of the letters at a time, and tell Rollo the names of them, and make them on the slate, and let him try to make them, and let him try to find them in books, until he should know them perfectly. She was to keep an account of every day, marking the days when, for any reasons, she did not hear him, and putting down, each day, the letters he learned that day, and as soon as he had learned all his letters she was to tell his father.

If he should at any time refuse to come when she called him, or come sullenly or in ill humor,—or if he disobeyed her, or made her any trouble, wilfully, she was to put the book away at once, and not teach him any more that day, but at night tell his father.

When Rollo’s father had thus explained the whole plan, he said,

“Now, Mary and Rollo, this is a hard task for both of you, I know. I hope you will both be patient and persevering,—and be kind to one another. Mary, you must remember that Rollo is a small boy, and cannot learn as fast as you might expect or wish,—you must be kind to him and patient. Be sure also to be punctual and regular in calling him at the exact hour. And Rollo you must be patient too, and obedient, and you must remember that though it is hard work to learn to read, you will be very glad when you shall have learned. You will then enjoy a great many happy hours in sitting down by the fire in your little chair, and reading story books.”

Soon after this Rollo went to bed thinking a great deal of his first lesson, which he was going to take the next day.

Do you not think now that it would have been better if Rollo’s father had tried to make learning to read more amusing to his little boy? He might have got a book with letters and pictures too,—or he might have bought some blocks and cards with letters on them, and let Rollo learn by playing with them. That would have been more amusing. Do you think that would have been a better way? I think it would not. For if Rollo had begun to learn to read, expecting to find it play, he would have been disappointed and discouraged a great deal sooner. He might have looked at the pictures in his book, or played with the cards or the blocks, but that would not have taught him the letters on them. It was better that he should understand distinctly at the beginning that learning to read was hard work, and that he must attend to it as a duty; thus he would be prepared for it as it was, and find it more and more pleasant as he went along. But if he had expected that it would be play, he would only have been disappointed, and that would have made it harder, and made it take a great deal longer time.

Rollo liked reading very well for a day or two, but he soon became tired. He thought the quarter of an hour was very long, and that Mary always called him too soon. He was mistaken however in this, for Mary was always very exact and punctual. He found too that he got along very slowly. It was a good many days before he could say the first few letters, and he thought it would take a great while before he should have learned them all. One pleasant morning, when he was digging with his little hoe, in the yard, Mary called him, and for a minute or two he had a great mind not to come. But then he recollected that if he did not, she would immediately put the book away and tell his father at night, so he threw down the hoe and ran. But it was very hard for him to do it.

In a few days one thing surprised both Mary and Rollo. It was that he learned the second four or five letters a great deal sooner than he did the first. They did not understand the reason of this. The third lesson was learned sooner still, and so on, the farther they went down the alphabet the faster Rollo learned.

One evening when Rollo had learned about half his letters, his father took him up in his lap, and took a small round box out of his pocket, with a pretty picture on the top. Besides the picture there were three letters; they were these, A, B, C. Rollo looked a moment at the picture, but he was more pleased with the letters than the picture. He was very much pleased to see those letters,—the very letters which he had learned, on the top of such a pretty box.

“Oh there is A,” said he, “and B, and C, on the top of this pretty box. How funny!”

Then his father opened the box and poured out a great many beautiful round cards into Rollo’s lap. There were beautiful, painted pictures on one side and letters on the other. Rollo was most interested in looking at the letters.

“Oh, father,” said he, “what beautiful cards! Why did you not buy them at first, and let me learn my letters with them?”

“Because,” said his father, “if I had bought them at first, when you did not know any of your letters, you would have not been pleased with any thing but the pictures, and rolling the cards about the floor. Or if I had given them to Mary to teach you your letters from them, then you would not have liked them any better than your book. But by letting you learn for a time from your book, till you know a good many letters, you can understand the cards, and you notice the letters on them; and when you play with them you will remember a great many letters on them, and thus you will become more familiar with them.”

“With what?” said Rollo.

“With the letters,” said his father.

“What is familiar with them?” asked Rollo.

“Why you will know them better, and remember them longer,—and you will know them quicker when you see them again in books. That is being familiar with them. Do you not think you will like this box of cards a great deal better now, to play with, than before you knew any letters?”

“Yes, sir, I was very glad to see the A B C on it.”

After this Rollo played a great deal with his cards, and though he did not learn any new letters from them, they helped him to become familiar with the letters as fast as he learned them from his book.

The last part of the alphabet Rollo learned very fast, and at length one evening Mary and Rollo came together to their father, telling him with smiling faces that he had learned them all.

Then Rollo’s father gave him a long lesson in reading little words—he gave him a great many columns, so many, that it would take a good many weeks to read them all. Mary was to hear him four times every day. Then he read the easy sentences over in the end of his book, and a good many others in another book, until at last he could read very well alone. It took a long time, however, to do all this reading. When he finished learning to read he was more than a year older than he was when he began. The stories in this book are for him to read, so that he may learn to read better. You can read them too. Farther on in this book I shall tell you more about Rollo.

In reading these stories Rollo found a great many words which he could not understand. He always asked some one what these words meant, for he wanted to understand what he read perfectly. His father advised him to read his story book aloud too, unless when it would disturb some one, because by reading aloud he would learn faster.

THE FIRST LESSONS IN LOOKING.

When the baby was very little indeed, and first began to open his eyes, his mother saw that the bright light of the windows dazzled them, and gave him pain; so she shut the blinds and put down the curtains.

When the baby was so very little, he did not know how to look about at the things which were around him. He had not learned to move his eyes steadily from one thing to another. He could not take hold of any thing, either, with his hands. He did not know that his hands were made to take hold of things with. His mother held a handsome ivory ring before him, and endeavored to make him see it and take it. She put it in his hand, but he did not know how to hold it, and it dropped upon the floor.

The baby was very weak too. He could not walk nor sit up, nor even hold up his head. Unless his mother held his head for him, it would drop down and hang upon his shoulder. Once she laid him down upon the bed, and she went away a minute or two. While she was gone he rolled over on his face, and was so weak that he could not get back again. I do not think he knew how to try. His mother came back and lifted him up, or perhaps he would have been stifled.

One day his mother said, “Oh, how many things I have got to teach my little child. I must teach him to look, and to hold up his head, and to take things in his hands, and I must do all these things while he is quite a little baby.”

She thought she would first teach him to look. So she let in a little light, and when he was quiet and still, she held him so that he could see it. But he did not seem to notice it, and pretty soon he went to sleep.

The next day she tried it again; and again on the following day; and soon she found that he would look very steadily at the white curtain, or at the place where the sun shone upon the wall. She did not yet try to make him look at little things, for she knew she could not hope to make him see little things till he had learned to notice something large and bright.

When Samuel was lying in his mother’s lap, looking steadily at something; she was always careful not to move him, or to make any noise, or to do any thing which would distract his attention. She knew that children were always puzzled with having two things to think of at a time, and she was afraid that if while he was thinking of the light and trying to look at it, he should hear voices around him, he would stop thinking of the light, and begin to wonder what that noise could be.

In about a week, Samuel had learned his lesson very well. He could look pretty steadily at a large bright spot when it was still. Then his mother thought she would try to teach him to look at something smaller. She therefore asked his father to buy her a large bright orange, and one day when he was lying quietly in her lap, she held it up before him. But he would not notice it; he seemed to be looking at the window beyond.

Then his mother turned her chair gently round, and sat with her back towards the window so that he could not see the window, and then he looked at the orange. Presently she moved the orange slowly,—very slowly,—backwards and forwards, to teach him to follow it with his eyes. Thus the baby took his first lessons in looking.

TICK,—TICK,—TICK.

One morning I was going to take a journey. I was going in the stage. I expected that the sleigh bells would come jingling up to the door for me at seven o’clock. So I thought that if I wished to be ready, I must get up at six.

I went into my little room where I was to sleep. There was a clock on the wall, by the side of my bed. It said tick,—tick,—tick. “I am glad,” said I to myself, “for now I can see what o’clock it is.” So I put my lamp down on the floor, and put my spectacles behind my pillow, and then laid down and went to sleep.

By and by I woke and thought I heard a little noise. I listened. It was the clock, saying tick,—tick,—tick; and I said to myself, “I wonder what o’clock it is?” So I sat up, and took my spectacles from behind my pillow, and put them on my nose, and looked up at the clock. The lamp which was on the floor shone upon the clock so that I could see, and I saw that it was only three o’clock, and I said, “Oh, it is only three o’clock. It is not time for me to get up yet.” So I took my spectacles off of my nose, and put them behind my pillow, and laid me down again. The clock kept saying, tick,—tick,—tick.

Pretty soon I went to sleep, and I slept an hour. Then I awoke and said to myself, “I wonder what o’clock it is?” So I sat up, and took my spectacles from behind my pillow, and put them on my nose, and looked up at the clock. The lamp which was upon the floor shone upon the clock, so that I could see, and I saw that it was only four o’clock, and I said, “Oh, it is only four o’clock; it is not time for me to get up yet.” So I took my spectacles off of my nose, and put them behind my pillow, and laid me down again. The clock kept saying all the while, tick,—tick,—tick.

Pretty soon, I went to sleep, and slept some time. Then I woke, and said to myself, “I wonder what o’clock it is?” So I sat up, and took my spectacles from behind my pillow, and put them on my nose, and looked up at the clock. The lamp which was upon the floor shone upon the clock, so that I could see, and I saw that it was only five o’clock, and I said, “Oh, it is only five o’clock. It is not time for me to get up yet.” So I took my spectacles off of my nose, and put them behind my pillow, and laid me down again. The clock kept saying all the while, tick,—tick,—tick.

Pretty soon I went to sleep, and slept some time. When I woke, I said to myself, “I wonder what o’clock it is?” So I sat up, and took my spectacles from behind my pillow, and put them on my nose, and looked up at the clock. The lamp which was upon the floor shone upon the clock, so that I could see, and I saw that it was six o’clock. Then I said now it is time for me to get up. So I jumped up and dressed me, and looked out of the window, and there was a beautiful, bright star shining in the sky. The star was up before me.

When I was ready I opened the door to go out; but the clock still kept saying tick,—tick,—tick. I wondered what made the clock keep going so all the night and all the day, and I went back and opened the door to see. And what do you think I found? Why, I found a great heavy weight hung to a string, and the string was fastened to some of the little wheels up in the clock. The weight kept pulling down and pulling down all the time, slowly, and it pulled the string down slowly, and the string made the wheels go round, and the wheels made the hands go, and some of the little wheels made that noise I heard,—tick,—tick,—tick.

What do you think happens when the weights which make the clock go get down, down, to the very bottom of the clock? Why, then they have to wind them up to the top again, and they begin anew.

JONAS.

One fine summer evening a gentleman came riding down a hill in a country covered with pleasant farm houses, green fields, and little groups of trees. He had a small boy in the wagon with him.

There was a brook at the bottom of the hill. A bridge was built over the brook, and the road passed over the bridge. The horse and waggon, with the gentleman and his boy in it, went swiftly over the bridge and up the hill; but just as they began to ascend, one of the traces broke.

One of the traces? What is a trace? Do you know my boy? The traces are those long, stout straps of leather which pass along the sides of the horse, and are fastened to the waggon. The horse draws a waggon, or a chaise, by means of the traces. Therefore they are always made very strong. You can see a picture of some traces in “Rollo learning to Talk,” a book about as large as this, at the story of a Goat for a Horse. The next time you take a ride, I advise you to look at the traces on the horse, and see how strong they are. See too how they are fastened to the horse, and how they are fastened to the chaise.

If one of the traces should give way, that is, should break, in going up a hill, what do you think would be the consequence? Why, the waggon would go back, partly held by the other trace. That was the way with this waggon; it went back, the horse was frightened, the gentleman jumped out, the boy called out, “whoa,—whoa,—WHOA.”

It did not do any good. Boys had better be still when there is any difficulty.

The waggon backed until, just as it was going off the bank, a boy ran up and put a stone behind the wheel. That stopped it.

This was not the boy who was in the waggon. It was another boy. The gentleman had not seen him before. He had on light colored clothes, a patched jacket, and an old straw hat; one side of the brim was almost worn out with catching butterflies; the knees of his trousers were stained with the grass. The gentleman looked at him a minute, and said “thank you, my boy.” Then he began to look at the harness. When the gentleman had examined the traces, he found that the leather was not broken; it was only the tongue of a buckle by which the trace was fastened that was gone; for the harness was new, and the waggon was a handsome one.

“I wish I had a piece of twine to fasten it with, till we get home,” said he to his son, as he felt in his pockets. He then looked around to see where the little fellow was who had trigged the wheel. Do you know what I mean by trigging the wheel? The boy was sitting on the trunk of a tree, by the side of the road, and as the gentleman turned around to see him, he was just pulling out a long piece of twine from his pocket.

“Here is a string, sir,” said he; and he got up and came to the gentleman. He seemed tired however, for he went back and sat down again immediately.

“I thank you,” said he, “but I am afraid it is not strong enough.”

“You can double and twist it,” said the boy.

They twisted the string, and then doubled it and twisted it again, and so tied the harness. The gentleman and his son then got into the waggon again, and were going to ride up the hill. The gentleman hesitated a moment whether he ought to offer to pay the boy for his string or not. Do you think he ought to?

“I would pay him,” whispered his little son; “he looks like a poor boy.”

“Yes,” replied his father,“but perhaps he would make a bad use of the money. Perhaps his father and mother would not like to have him have any money.”

“Why cannot you ask him?”

The gentleman then turned to the boy who was still sitting on the log, and said,

“What is your name, my little fellow?”

“Jonas.”

“Where do you live?”

“Sir?”

“Where do you live?”

The boy hesitated a moment as if he did not understand him. Then he said,

“I don’t know sir.—I don’t live any where.”

The little boy in the waggon laughed.

“Don’t know where you live?” said the gentleman. “Well, what are you doing out here?”

“I have been catching butterflies.”

“Where did you come from?”

“I don’t know sir.—I came from the city.”

“The city! What city?”

“I don’t know sir,—the city back there. I don’t know what the name of it is.”

JONAS SITTING ON A LOG.—Page 86.

“Do you live in the city?”

“No, sir, I am not going to live there any more?”

“Do your father and mother live there?”

“My father is dead; and I have not got any mother.”

“What has become of your mother?”

“I never had any, sir.”

The gentleman smiled a moment when he heard this answer, and then he looked serious and concerned and paused a moment. He seemed not to know what to do.

“But, Jonas,” said he again, “you say you do not live any where; where do you get your food and sleep?”

“Sir!”

“Where do you sleep at night?”

“I slept in Mr. Williams’ shed last night.”

“And where do you expect to sleep to-night?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Where did you get your breakfast this morning?”

“A man gave me some.”

“And where did you get your dinner?”

“I have not had any dinner, sir.”

“No dinner!—I should think you would be too tired and hungry to chase butterflies, without any dinner.”

“I was too tired, and so I stopped.”

The gentleman, after talking with the boy a little longer, concluded to take him into his waggon, and carry him home.

“Jump up behind into my waggon, Jonas,” said he, “and I will give you some supper.”

So Jonas jumped up behind and rode home with them. You will hear more about him hereafter, for who do you think this gentleman was? Why it was Rollo’s father, and the boy who was riding with him was Rollo himself. Jonas lived with Rollo a long time, and became a very industrious, useful boy. He used to take care of Rollo, and play with him.

A LITTLE LETTER.

This is a letter written to a little boy about as large as you. James is the name of the boy. James’ uncle wrote it.

The letter.

“Dear James,

Do you want me to write you a little letter about a robin? I think you do. Well; I will write it. Now I will begin. A robin is a bird. A robin has two wings and two legs; he flies in the air; it is his wings make him go. When he comes down to the ground, he hops along on his two legs. When he sees a worm he picks it up with his bill. Do you know what his bill is? It is a mouth. Then he picks it up just as the hen does, and eats it. Now for the story.

Near the house where I live, there is a field; and in the field there is a tree. I was walking in the field, and went near the tree; as I went near it, a bird darted out of the tree, and sung out very loud; it made me start. When I saw it was a bird, I looked among the leaves and branches of the tree, and found there a pretty robin’s nest, and three eggs. Only think, a beautiful nest, with three eggs. I looked at them for a minute, and then went away and left them there. The next day, I walked down to the tree again, to see the nest and the pretty eggs. I pulled away the leaves, but the nest was not there. I stooped down on the ground, looked into the grass, and there I saw the robin. The poor robin was dead, the nest was torn in pieces, and the eggs were broken. I would send you one of the eggs, but it is broken so much, that I think it will not do. When the little robin was alive, he sung pleasantly, he made him a nest, and handsome eggs; but now the robin is dead, the nest is torn in pieces, and the eggs are broken. Poor robin; poor robin.

I have written this story of the robin for little James. I am very sorry that any boy should kill the poor robin and spoil its nest.

This is from your affectionate,

Uncle.”

ROLLO’S DREAM.

One day Rollo’s mother wanted him to do some errands for her. He went on one, reluctantly, but when she gave him another he murmured aloud. “Oh,” said he, “I wish I did not have so many errands to do. What a hard life I lead!”

This gave his mother pain, and he saw it. When he got back from this errand she told him there was nothing more for him to do. Rollo went and stood at the door a few minutes to see if there were any boys out there. But there were none, so he took a story-book in his hand and went down into the garden, and took his seat in the little arbor which his father had made for him, and began to read.

The arbor reminded him of his parents’ kindness, and this made him feel unhappy to think of his unwillingness to help his mother. These thoughts troubled him, and so he could not attend to his book. Presently he got lost in a reverie,—his book dropped over upon his lap. His head gradually sunk down,—and here you see Rollo fast asleep.

ROLLO ASLEEP IN THE ARBOR.—Page 46.

While he slept he dreamed. Rollo dreamed that he lived in a small house, a great many miles away, and that his mother was there alone with him. She asked him one day to go and get a pail of water. “Oh,” said he, “I wish I did not have so much water to bring,—what a hard life I lead!”

He dreamed that just then he saw a cat lying down in the sun by the door. She seemed to have nothing to do. “Oh,” thought Rollo, “how I wish I were a cat. It would be such a fine thing to be a cat.”

No sooner had he said this than he felt some how or other a strong desire to get down on his hands and knees,—he found himself growing smaller and smaller,—his fingers became sharp claws, and in short Rollo dreamed that he was turning into a cat.

He walked about, a minute or two, stretched himself, mewed and purred to ascertain that he was really a cat, and then laid down again in the sun to go to sleep. As he shut his eyes he said to himself, purring, “How glad I am that I have no more water to bring! What a fine thing it is to be a cat!”

Pretty soon he waked up and was hungry. His first thought was to go to his mother as usual, for some bread and butter. He went in and looked piteously up into his mother’s face and mewed. She did not mind him. He mewed louder. She paid no attention. Then he went to making a louder noise, as cats can, when necessary. His mother went and opened the door, and took the brush and drove him out, saying as he went, “scat.”

Rollo then thought he must go and catch some mice or starve. So he went down cellar, and posted himself before a little hole in the wall. He waited here an hour, and at length a little mouse peeped out. Rollo darted his paw out at him, but he missed him, and the mouse drew back into his hole where he was safe. Rollo waited many hours longer, but no mouse came. “This is worse than bringing water,” thought he. “I wish I could get something to eat. What a hard life I lead!”

Just then he heard, that is, he dreamed he heard, a loud noise, moo-o-o, in the yard. He scampered up, hungry as he was, to see what was the matter. It was the cow lowing to be milked. She looked full and large, as if she had had as much as she could eat.

“In the green fields all day,” thought hungry Rollo, “with nothing to do but eat and drink and then lie down under the trees. Oh, how I wish I were a cow!”

He had no sooner said these words than he found himself growing very large. He felt something coming out of his forehead,—he put his paw up, though with difficulty, for his paw was growing into a large, stiff leg, and he found that horns were coming. By the time his leg was down again, it was changed entirely, and had a hoof at the end. He was becoming a cow. He lashed his sides with his tail, and walked about eating the grass in the yard, till he had satisfied his hunger, and then he said to himself, “How much better this is than watching for mice all day in a dark cellar. Oh, it is a fine thing to be a cow.”

After milking, they led Rollo into the barn, put a halter round his neck, and tied him in a dark, unpleasant stall. “Have I got to stay tied up here till morning?” thought Rollo. It was even so.

The next morning they drove him off to pasture. The boy beat him with a stick on the way, but he was so great and clumsy that he could neither escape nor defend himself. In the field, the flies bit and stung him, and though he could brush off some of them with his tail, yet the largest and worst of them always seemed to get upon places he could not reach. At night when he was coming home, some boys set a dog upon him and worried him till he was weary of his life. “Ah,” said he, “it is a terrible thing to be a cow,—what a hard life I lead!”

Just then the dog became tired of barking at him, and trotted away. “Oh,” said Rollo, “if I was only a dog. A dog can defend himself. Then a dog has plenty to eat and nothing to do. What a fine thing it would be to be a dog!” No sooner said than done. Rollo began to grow slender and small, his horns dropped off,—his hoofs turned back into claws again, his back became sleek and shining, and he found himself a beautiful, black dog, with hanging ears and a curled tail, and an elegant brass collar about his neck.

Rollo ran about the streets very happily for half an hour, and then went home. The dream seemed to change its scene here, and Rollo found himself in a beautiful yard belonging to the house where his master lived. He went home hungry, and they gave him a bone to eat. “What,” said Rollo to himself, “nothing but a bone!” He gnawed it for a while, thinking, however, that it was rather hard fare, and then began to think of going to bed. There was no bed for him, however; for his master came and took hold of his collar, and led him along towards a post in the yard, where he chained him, and throwing his bone down by his side, left him to watch for the thieves.

Rollo had a bad night. ’Tis true no thieves came, but he was all the time afraid they would come, and at every little noise he woke up and growled. Thus disturbed, and chilled by the cool air of the night, he passed his hours restlessly and miserably. “Ah!” said he, “dogs do not have so pleasant a life as I supposed. What a hard way this is to get a living!”

At this moment he heard a great many persons coming along; he started up and barked, for it was very early, though beginning to be light. A number of men were leading a huge animal along. It was an elephant. They were taking him into town for a show, and they came in early, so that nobody should see him without paying.

“That’s the life for me,” said Rollo. “What a gentleman of an animal the elephant is; he has a dozen men to wait upon him. Ha! Old Longnose, what a happy fellow you must be. Oh, if I was only an elephant!”

As soon as he had said this, he could feel his nose lengthening into a slender trunk,—his body swelled out to a great size,—his feet grew large, and his black, shining skin turned into a coarse, rough, grey hide,—and he found himself walking along the road, with a man on his head.

He arrived at the great stable where he was to be exhibited, thinking that it was an admirable thing to be an elephant. They gave him something to eat, and soon the men and boys came in to see him. For half an hour he had a fine time, walking around, carrying boys about on his tusks,—taking his keeper’s head into his mouth,—picking up nuts and pieces of gingerbread with the finger and thumb at the end of his proboscis,—laying down and rising again at the keeper’s command. Pretty soon, however, he got tired, and when the keeper ordered him to lay down, he concluded that he would not get up again. But the keeper taught him by blows that he was not his own master, if he was a gentleman. New troops of starers kept coming in, and Rollo got tired out completely with going over and over again the same evolutions. He could hardly stand at last, and when they left him for the night, and he lay down to try to rest, and he reflected that it must be just so to-morrow, and the next day, and so on as long as he lived, he was almost in despair. “Oh!” said he, how foolish I was to wish to be an elephant! I had rather be any thing else. What a hard life I lead!

“And then such a window as this to look out of, after my hard day’s work,” said he, as he turned his eye upward towards a little square hole in the stable wall. “What a window for an elephant’s residence!”

As he looked out this hole, his eye rested upon a green tree growing in a garden behind the wall. A bird was perched upon a branch, singing an evening song.

“Ah, you little bird, what a happy time you must have there,—free as air, and full of happiness. You find plenty to eat, you have your own pleasant home upon a lofty tree, out of the reach of any danger. You go where you please with your swift wings. Oh, if I only had wings, how easily I could escape from all my troubles.”

As he said this, his long proboscis which was lying over his leg as he was reclining upon the stable floor, began to straighten out and stiffen,—turning into a huge bill,—feathers began to come out all over him—his immense body dwindled down to the size of an ox, then to that of a sheep, and finally he became smaller than a dove. Beautiful wings covered his sides. He hopped along upon the floor, and finding that he was really a bird, he leaped up and flew out of the window,—away from the ugly stable forever.

He spent a pleasant night among the trees, and early the next morning was singing blithely upon a branch. A man came into the field with something in his hand. Rollo looked at him, happy to think that no man could catch him or hurt him, now that he had such a pair of wings. In a minute the man held up the thing he had in his hands and pointed at him. Rollo had just time to see that it was a gun, and to stretch his wings in terrible fear, when,—flash,—BANG,—went the gun, and down came the poor bird to the ground, with his wing and leg torn away, and a dozen leaden shot lodged in his red breast,—for he was a robin. The terror and pain waked him up, and he found himself sitting in his arbor, with his book on the ground, where it had fallen from his hand. He got up, and went to the house, thinking that a discontented mind would find trouble enough in any situation, and that a boy with kind parents, a pleasant home, and plenty of food and clothing, ought not to complain of his lot, even if he was called upon sometimes to help his mother.

THE COLD MORNING.

One pleasant morning in the fall of the year, little Charles, who had been sleeping on the trundle-bed in his mother’s chamber, waked up and opened his eyes. He looked around him, and saw that his father was dressing himself.

“Father,” said he, “may I get up too?”

“It is pretty cold this morning; can you bear the cold long enough to dress yourself?”

“But, father, I need not stay here; I can take up my clothes and run down into the parlor, and dress me there by the fire.”

“No, it is not proper for any body to go to the parlor till they are dressed. Besides, perhaps the fire is not built yet.”

By this time, Charles’ nose had become pretty cold; so he said, “Well, I believe I will wait;” and he drew his head under the bedclothes again.

In a few minutes he became warm again, and thought that it would not be very cold if he should get up, and that if it was, he should not mind it. He looked out a second time, and said,

“Father, do you think I should have time to dress me before you get ready to go down stairs?”

“I think you will, if you are quick.”

“Do you think I could help you any in building the fire?”

“Yes, you might hand me the wood and carry out the ashes, and after the fire is built, you might sweep up the hearth.”

“Then I will get up,” said Charles; and he sprang out of bed, and began to dress himself.

In a few minutes, however, he began to be cold, and to shiver, and his fingers grew numb, and he began to wish he had waited a little longer. At last he stopped dressing himself.

“Father,” said he, “it is colder than I thought it was. I have a great mind to get into bed again.”

“Well,” said his father, “you can do as you please; but how far have you got, in dressing yourself?”

“I am about half dressed.”

“Then it will take you about as long to undress again as it would to finish dressing, and be ready to go down.”

Charles stood a moment shivering and thinking.

“So it will,” said he; “I wish I had not put on my jacket.”

After a moment’s pause, he concluded to finish dressing, and he went on resolutely through it; and just as his father opened the door, he took hold of his hand, saying that he was ready.

“Father,” said he, as they were going down stairs, “I think that when any body means to do any thing, he ought to think of all the difficulties before he begins, and then go through it quickly without stopping.”

“Why?” said his father.

“Because I grew colder while I was standing still, not knowing what to do, than all the time while I was dressing me. And now I shall be very cold before we get the fire built. Father, I don’t see what makes it cold. I wish it was always warm as it is in summer.”

“While we are building the fire, I will explain it to you,” said his father. So they went down stairs.

When Rollo read this story he said he was sorry it left off without telling why it is colder in the winter than in the summer, because he thought he should like to know. So at breakfast that morning, he asked his father to explain it to him.

“Yes,” said his father, “I will explain it to you. It is because in the winter the sun moves through such a part of the sky that he does not shine so well upon the part of the world which we live in, as he does in the summer.”

Rollo listened attentively to what his father said, but he thought he did not understand it very well. So he said he meant always to dress himself quick in the cold morning, and not keep beginning and leaving off as Charles did.

HOW TO READ RIGHT.

I wish all the boys and girls who may read this book to learn by it to read right, and now I shall tell you how to read right. But first I must explain some things to you about the way in which books are printed. What I am going to tell you now, is what Rollo’s father explained to him, after he had learned to read in easy reading, and had learned all the stops,—the comma, and the period, and the interrogation mark, and all the stops. I shall explain them to you by the help of a story, which I am going to put in here. I shall stop telling the story every few minutes to explain some things about the way of printing it. Here is the beginning of the story:—

Once there was a man who thought he would go up upon a mountain.

That is the beginning of the story; but I wish to stop a moment to ask you to look at the letters which it is printed with, and see whether they are as large as the reading before it. Is it printed in just as large letters, or larger, or smaller? Yes, it is smaller. I am going to have all the story printed in smaller print. The reason is because the principal thing I wish to do now, is to explain to you how to read, and I only wish for the story to help me,—so I put it in smaller print, or as they generally call it smaller type. It is very often so in books. One part is printed in larger, and the other part in smaller type. The most important is in large type. The least important is in small type. If you will ask your father or mother, or your brother or sister, if you have one old enough, they will show you books with large and small print in them. Whenever you see any thing printed in smaller print than the rest of the book, you ought not to read right on without thinking any thing of it; but you ought to pause a minute, and observe it, and think what the reason is. Now I will begin my story again in small print.

Once there was a man who thought he would go up upon a mountain; so he rode along on his horse till he came as near to the mountain as he could, in the road,—and then he turned off into the woods and rode on until he came to the foot of the mountain. He could ride no farther; so he tied his horse to a tree.

Then he began to walk up the mountain.

Do you see that when we come to the word tree, just above there, that we leave off printing in that line. There is a period, and then the rest of the line has nothing in it. It is blank, as they call it, that is white, all white paper. The next part of the story begins in the next line. The next part of the story is, these words, “Then he began,” and that is printed in the next line. And if you look at it, you will see that it is not exactly at the beginning of the line. The word “Then” is not printed as near the side of the page as the other lines above it are. There is a little space left blank. Do you see the little space left blank before the “Then”? Now what do you suppose is the reason why we left off in the middle of the line and began again in the next line, leaving a little blank space? Why, it is because I had finished telling you all about the man’s coming to the mountain, and was now going to tell you about his going up the mountain, and so I thought it would be best to leave off for that line, and begin again in the next. Should you like to know what such a place is called? It is called a new paragraph. A new paragraph is made whenever we come to any new part of the story. If you look back over the leaves of this book you will find a great many new paragraphs on all the pages. If any person says any thing in the story, we put what he says in a paragraph by itself. See if you can find some new paragraphs.

Now, when you come to any new paragraph in your reading, you ought not to read right forward without stopping or noticing it at all. You should pause a little when one paragraph ends, and then begin again when the new paragraph begins, so that those who hear you read, and who are not looking over, may know by the sound of your voice, that you have come to a new paragraph.

Now I will go on with the story, again, beginning at the new paragraph.

Then he began to walk up. He scrambled through the bushes for some time, and at last came out into a smooth, but muddy path. Here, however, he was in no little difficulty, for the path was so slippery that notwithstanding all he could do, he seemed rather to be sliding down, than climbing up.

Here we come to the end of another paragraph. And I wish you to look at the word “down” in the last line. Do you see any thing strange about it? Is it printed like the other words?

Once I asked some children to look at a word printed so, and to tell me what the difference was between it and other words. One said it looked fainter. Another said it looked smaller. A third said it was not printed with good ink. But the true explanation is, the letters of the word are slanting. That is all. It makes the word look a little fainter.

You will see that the letters are different by looking first at the d in “sliding,” which comes before “down,” and then looking at the d in “down.” The d in “sliding” is straight. The d in “down” is slanting; all the other letters in down are slanting. Do you know what this kind of printing is called? It is called Italic.

The word “down” in the story is printed in Italics. The reason why it is printed in Italics is because I wanted you to notice it particularly. It is remarkable that while the man was trying to get up, he should, instead of that, slide down. So I had the word printed differently, that you might notice it particularly. Whenever you are reading and come to any word printed in Italics, you must notice it, and speak it very distinctly, for it is an important word.

Look back in this book and see if you can find some words printed in Italics. When you find one, read the sentence it is in aloud, and speak the word which is in Italics very plain and distinct, and see if you do not understand the sentence better.

You must always read such words very distinctly in all books except the Bible. In the Bible, the words are put in Italics for a different reason, which I cannot explain to you now. Now I will go on with the story.

He at last got over this slippery part of the path, and then came to a place where it was very rocky. Trees and bushes hung over his head, and grew thick all around him, and he began to be afraid that he might meet some wild beast. Presently he looked through the bushes, and saw at a distance among the rocks, some large black thing, and he thought it was a bear. He was very much frightened, and began to scream out as loud as he could, Help, Help, Help.

Do you notice any thing remarkable in those three last words? Are they printed like the other words? Are they printed in Italics? How do they differ from common printing? Can you tell? Do you often see words printed so?

They are printed in Capitals. Capitals are letters shaped differently from other letters. They are generally larger than other letters, but not always. These words are printed in capitals, because they are very important indeed. The man cried, Help, Help, Help, very loud. So we print them in Capitals. If a word is very important, we generally print it in Italics, but if it is very important indeed we print it in Capitals. When you come to a word printed in Capitals, you must generally read it very plain and distinctly indeed. I should like to have you look back to the story of Jonas, and see how the words are printed where the boy said “Whoa.” Can you tell the reason why they are printed so? and can you read them right? But let us go on with the story.

At the same time that he shouted for help so loud, he grasped hold of a tree close by, and began to climb it, by the branches, to get out of the bear’s way. When he got up a little way, he could see over the bushes to the very place where the bear was; he looked there, and saw—what do you think it was?

You see a straight mark printed after “saw.” Do you see it? What do you suppose it is? It is what they call a dash. The reason why I put the dash there, is that I was going to tell you what the man saw, but I suddenly stopped, and asked you what you thought it was. When we suddenly stop in saying any thing, and begin to say something else, we put in a dash. So we use a dash in some other ways. You ought to stop a little when you come to a dash, thus; “He looked there and saw—what do you think it was?” Dashes are generally put in, when we want you to stop a little in your reading. Now for the story again.

He looked, and saw—what do you think it was? Why, it was nothing but an old, black log!!

Do you see two characters at the end of that sentence? They are notes of exclamation. When two of them are put together they mean that what comes before them is very extraordinary and surprising. Should you not think it was very extraordinary and surprising for a man to think he saw a bear, and be frightened and shout help, and climb up into a tree, and find, after all, that it was nothing but a great, black log? It is surprising, and when you read it, you must read it as if you thought it was very surprising, so; “What do you think it was? Why it was nothing but an old, black log!!” You can get your father or mother to show you how to read it, if you do not know.

It was nothing but an old, black log, lying against the rocks. The man felt ashamed. He clambered down, and went to look at the log which had frightened him so. It was as black as a coal.[*] The man laughed to think that he should have supposed that to be a bear.

Do you see after the word coal, in the last line but one, a little star? Do you know what that star is for? It is to make you look down to the bottom of the page, and there you will find something more about the black wood. When you come to any little star then, when you are reading, you must look down to the bottom of the page, and there you will find another little star, with something printed after it. That which is printed thus at the bottom of a page is called a note.

Other characters besides stars are made for notes. These are some of the characters, § ¶ † ‡. There are not many notes in this book. Perhaps you will find some by and by.

This is all that I have to tell you now about reading. But now I will put in the whole story about the man going up the mountain, and you may see if you can read it all right, and see too, if you remember all that I have explained.

[*] It was burnt black by a fire, which somebody had built there a great while before.

CLIMBING UP A MOUNTAIN.

Once there was a man who thought he would go up upon a mountain; so he rode along upon his horse till he came as near the mountain as he could, and then he turned off into the woods and rode on until he came to the foot of the mountain. He could ride no farther; so he tied his horse to a tree.

Then he began to walk up. He scrambled through the bushes for some time, and at last came out into a smooth but muddy path. Here, however, he was in no little difficulty, for the path was so slippery that, notwithstanding all he could do, he seemed rather to be sliding down, than climbing up.

He at last got over this slippery part of the path, and then came to a place where it was very rocky. Trees and bushes hung over his head, and grew thick, all around him, and he began to be afraid that he might meet with some wild beast. Presently he looked through the bushes, and saw at a distance among the rocks, some large, black thing, and he thought it was a bear. He was very much frightened, and began to scream out as loud as he could, Help, Help, Help.

At the same time that he shouted for help so loud, he grasped hold of a tree close by, and began to climb it, by the branches, to get out of the bear’s way. When he got up a little way he could see over the bushes to the very place where the bear was; he looked there and saw,—what do you think it was? Why it was nothing but an old, black log! An old, black log, lying against the rocks. The man felt ashamed. He clambered down and went to look at the log which had frightened him so. It was as black as a coal.[*] The man laughed to think that he should have supposed that to be a bear.

He determined not to be so foolish another time, and then he went along climbing up the mountain. It was steep and rocky, and there were bushes and trees each side of the path. He had to stop often to take breath and rest himself. At last he reached the top, and could see a great many miles all around. He could see woods and farms and towns and rivers away down, down, very far below him.

After a while he came down the mountain. He walked very carefully, so as not to fall. When he came to where the old black log was, he looked at it and laughed.

[*] It was burnt black by a fire, which somebody had built there a great while before.

ROLLO GETTING READY FOR HIS FATHER.

One day little Rollo was sitting by the fire on his green cricket. His mother was sewing at her work-table.

“Mother,” said Rollo, “when do you think father will come home?”

His mother said, “I think he will come home pretty soon.”

“Then,” said Rollo, “I think I had better get a chair for him.”

So he went and took hold of the great rocking-chair, to pull it to the fire for his father; but it was so heavy that it would not come. So Rollo began to cry.

His mother looked up and said, “Rollo, what is the matter?”

Rollo said, “This rocking-chair will not come.”

“Where do you want to carry it?”

“I want it to be by the fire, so that my father can sit in it when he comes home,” said Rollo.

“Why do you want your father to have it?”

“Because;” said he. He did not know exactly how to tell the reason, and so he only said “Because.”

“It is because you wish to please him and to save him trouble, is it not?”

“Yes, mother,” said Rollo.

“Well, do you not think it displeases me and gives me trouble to have you cry, and make me get up and come and move the chair for you?”

Rollo knew it did, but he did not answer.

Then his mother said, “What good does it do to displease me and make me trouble, for the sake of pleasing father and saving him trouble?”

Rollo could not answer this question; so he kept swinging and rocking, back and forth, on the chair. His mother went on with her work.

By and by he said, “Well, I can get my father’s slippers for him.”

So he went to the little closet by the side of the fire, and took out the slippers, and put them down in the corner, and then when his father came in, he ran to the door to meet him, and he said,

“Father, father, I could not move up your chair, but there are your slippers all ready.”

THE WAY TO OBEY.

When Rollo was about five years old, his mother one evening took him up in her lap, and said,

“Well, Rollo, it is about time for you to go to bed.”

“Oh, mamma,” said Rollo, “must I go now?”

“Did you know,” said his mother, “that it is wrong for you to say that?”

“Why, mother,” said Rollo, surprised.

“When I think it is time for you to go to bed, it is wrong for you to say or do any thing which shows that you are not willing to go.”

“Why, mother?”

“Because that makes it more unpleasant for you to go, and more unpleasant for me to send you. Now whenever I think that it is time for you to go, it is my duty to send you, and it is your duty to go, and we never ought to do any thing to make our duty unpleasant.”

Rollo then said nothing. He sat still a few minutes thinking.

“Do you understand it?” said his mother.

“Yes, mother,” said Rollo.