My Short Story Book

LIST OF THE SERIES

Uniform in Price and Style
MY BIBLE STORY BOOK
MY SHORT STORY BOOK
MY WILD ANIMAL BOOK
MY FARMYARD STORY BOOK
MY NURSERY RHYME BOOK
MY NURSERY TALE BOOK

My Short
Story Book

by
Olive Molesworth,
E. Nesbit,
L.L. Weedon, etc.
Ernest · Nister · London ·
E · P · Dutton & C^{o.} New York ·
No. 3233.

CONTENTS

The Snow Witch.

THERE was skating on the ponds where the snow had been cleared; there were icicles on the trees, nice blue, clear skies in the daytime, cold, bright, wintry moonlight at night.

Lovely weather for Christmas holidays! But to one little five-year-old man, nothing had seemed lovely this Christmas, though he was spending it with his Father and Mother and his big sisters at Grandpapa’s beautiful old country-house, where everybody did all that could be done to make Grandpapa’s guests happy.

For poor little Roger was pining for his elder brother, Lawson, whom he had not seen for more than four months. Lawson was eight, and had been at school since Michaelmas, and there he had caught a fever which had made it not safe for him to join the rest of the family till the middle of January. But he was coming to-morrow.

Why, then, did Roger still look sad and gloomy?

“Stupid little boy,” said Mabel. “I’m sure we’ve tried to amuse him. Why, Mamma let him sit up an hour later than usual last night, to hear all those funny old fairy tales and legends Uncle Bob was telling.”

“Yes, and weren’t they fun?” answered Pansy. “I did shiver at the witch ones, though, didn’t you?”

Poor little Roger! Pansy’s shivering was nothing to his! They had all walked home from the Vicarage, tempted by the clear frosty moonlight, and the hard, dry ground; and trotting along, a little behind the others, a strange thing had happened to the boy. Fancy—in the field by the Primrose Lane, through the gateway, right in a bright band of moonlight, he had seen a witch! Just such a witch as Uncle Bob had described—with shadowy garments, and outstretched arms, and a queer-shaped head, on all of which the icicles were sparkling, just as Uncle Bob had said. For it was a winter-witch he had told the story about, whose dwelling was up in the frozen northern seas; “the Snow Witch” they called her.

Cold as it was, Roger was in a bath of heat, his heart beating wildly, his legs shaking, when he overtook his sisters. And the night that followed was full of terrible dreams and starts, and misery, even though nurse and Baby were next door, and he could see the nightlight through the chinks.

If it had not been that Lawson was coming—Lawson, who never laughed at him or called him “stupid little goose”; Lawson, who listened to all his griefs—Roger could not have borne it. For, strange to say, the little fellow told no one of his trouble; he felt as if he could only tell Lawson.

No wonder he looked pale and sad and spiritless; there was still another dreadful night to get through before Lawson came.

But things sometimes turn out better than our fears. Late that afternoon, when nursery tea was over and bed-time not far off, there came the sound of wheels and then a joyful hubbub. Lawson had come! Uncle Bob had been passing near the school where he was, and had gone a little out of his way to pick him up. Everyone was delighted—though of them all, none so thankful as Roger.

“Though I won’t tell him to-night,” decided the unselfish little fellow, “not to spoil his first night. I shan’t mind when I know he’s in his cot beside me.” And even when Lawson asked him if anything were the matter, he kept to his resolution.

But he awoke in the middle of the night from a terrible dream; Lawson awoke too, and then—out it all came. “I thought she was coming in at the window,” Roger ended. “If—if you look out—it’s moonlight—I think p’r’aps you’ll see where she stands. But no, no; don’t—don’t; she might see you.”

So Lawson agreed to wait till to-morrow. “You go to sleep,” he said. “I’m here, and you can say your prayers again if you like.”

Lawson was up very early next morning. When breakfast was over he told Roger to come out with him. Down the Primrose Lane they went, in spite of Roger’s trembling.

“Now, shut your eyes,” said Lawson, when they got to the gate. He opened it, and led his brother through.

“Look, now!” he said, with a merry laugh. And what do you think Roger saw?

An old scarecrow, forgotten since last year. There she stood, the “Snow Witch”—an apron and ragged shawl, two sticks for arms, a bit of Grandpapa’s hat to crown all—that was the witch!

“Shake hands with her, Roger,” said Lawson. And shake hands they both did, till the old scarecrow tumbled to pieces, never more to frighten either birds or little boys. “Dear Lawson,” said Roger lovingly, as he held up his little face for a kiss. And happy, indeed, were the rest of the Christmas holidays.

L. Molesworth.

The Christmas Tree Punch.

“YOU mustn’t go into the dining-room, children,” said Mother, popping her head in at the school-room door.

“All right, Mother!” Jack and Dorothy and Eva called after her, but Jim didn’t say anything.

He was the naughty boy of the family, and went by the name of “Jim the Terrible,” and I am afraid he very often deserved his name.

When the others went to say good night to Mother, Jim paused outside the dining-room door; it was open just the least little bit in the world, and he peeped in and saw a wonderful tree, standing in the middle of the room, laden with toys.

Right at the top hung a Punch doll, dressed in satin and tinsel, and he shone and glittered so that Jim could see him better than the other toys.

But his Mother called to him, so he could not wait to examine the tree more closely.

When the children were in bed Jim made up his mind to lie awake, and as soon as the others were asleep, he stole softly downstairs to have another look at the Christmas-tree.

The room was a blaze of light now, and the Punch doll at the top shook his staff at Jim as soon as he entered.

“Oh! you naughty boy,” he cried. “You Terrible Jim. What do you mean by coming here when your Mother told you not to go near the dining-room! I’ll teach you to disobey! Oh—o—o—o—! Go to bed! go to bed!”

All the while Punch was speaking he was growing larger and larger, until at last he seemed as big as the giant in the pantomime, and then he gave a terrific jump from the top of the tree, and began to chase Jim upstairs.

Oh! how the little boy ran, with Punch close behind him all the time.

At length he reached the nursery, and with a bound sprang into his bed and tucked the clothes up round him. There he lay trembling for ever such a time, but when at length he ventured to peep out, the nursery was quite dark, and Punch had evidently gone away, so he curled himself up and went to sleep.

The next day when the children were called in to the forbidden room, they simply danced and screamed with delight when they saw the beautiful Christmas-tree.

At least all except Jim, for when he looked at the Punch doll on the top of the tree, it seemed to him that it was frowning at him, and he made up his mind never to peep through cracks of doors again, when it was forbidden him, however much he might want to know what was behind them.

Now, before he had made this good resolution he had been thoroughly miserable.

He could take no pleasure at all in the beautiful presents which Mother gathered for them from the Christmas-tree, for all the time he was watching the Punch doll to see if he would come down from his perch and chase him upstairs again.

No sooner did he resolve to be a better boy in future than the expression on Punch’s face changed in a most surprising manner: he seemed almost to smile at Jimmy.

Even when the tree was stripped of everything except Punch, and the children were busy pulling the plums out of the big snapdragon Father had lighted, Jimmy fancied the old fellow nodded his head at him once or twice in a friendly fashion, and the little boy was so relieved and happy that he clapped his hands for joy, and shouted with the rest.

L. L. Weedon.

The Grateful Pedlar

THERE was once a poor old pedlar who sold ribbons and brooches and tapes and needles; his hair was long and his back was bent, and perhaps he did look rather strange; but that was no reason why the boys should have called him names and thrown stones at him as he went through the village. At last a stone hit him on the forehead and he fell on the dusty road, and the bad boys ran away, afraid of what they had done. But one boy named Jack had seen the thing from a field some way off, and now he came running up, and bathed the poor old man’s head and spoke kindly to him, and when the pedlar was better he said: “You are a good boy and you may have what you like out of my pack.”

Now, Jack did not like to take anything valuable out of a poor man’s pack, so he looked at all the pretty things, and then he picked out an old knife.

The pedlar laughed. “You have chosen the most valuable thing I have,” he said; “that knife will cut through iron or stone as easily as through butter.”

“Oh! then,” said Jack hastily, “let me have these old spectacles.”

The pedlar laughed louder than ever.

“Those spectacles will make you see to any part of the world, and see through stone or iron as easily as through glass,” he said; “there—take both!”

And putting the two into Jack’s hand he vanished—and he did it quite easily, because he was a magician.

So now Jack’s fortune was made; he could see where gold and precious stones lay under the earth and he could cut away the rocks that covered them as though they were butter.

So he was rewarded for his kind-heartedness.

But the greatest reward of all came to him when the Princess of that land was carried off and hidden by an enchanter. And the King, after vainly offering all sorts of other prizes, at last said that any man who could find the Princess and set her free should marry her.

So Jack put on his spectacles and saw the Princess sitting crying in a lonely tower. It was a year’s journey off, but he made the journey, and wherever he was, he put on his spectacles again and looked at the beautiful Princess, and that gave him courage.

At last he came to the tower, and with his magic knife he cut through the iron door and set the Princess free, and with the same knife he killed the wicked enchanter.

Then he took the Princess home in triumph and the grateful pedlar came to the wedding-feast.

E. Nesbit.

The Little Lost Doll.

SHE was lost as they went through the wood. How it happened nobody quite knew, but they supposed she must have tumbled out of the perambulator as Kitty pushed it through the ferns and long grasses, and so poor Dolly was left there, lying on her back, staring up at as much sky as was visible through the fern-fronds, and the foxglove leaves, and the branches of the trees overhead.

Would they come back for her? The children’s voices and footsteps grew fainter and fainter, till at last they died quite away in the distance, and the robin began singing again on the branch over her head. Presently the little bird caught sight of Dolly, and flew down and looked at her with his bright eyes, and then a tiny field-mouse ran round and over her with her little light paws—which must have tickled, but still Dolly never moved, and a wise old beetle came out of his hole, and twiddled his long whiskers as he peered at her curiously.

“Sweet! sweet!” said the robin. “Who is she?”

“Twee! twee!” whispered the mouse. “I don’t know!”

“Hum, hu-um!” buzzed the beetle. “Why doesn’t she speak?”

But Dolly didn’t say a word!

Now, eventide came, and the sun grew tired, and put himself to bed under a crimson-and-gold counterpane. The robin found a comfortable twig on which to perch, and tucked his head under his wing. The mouse went home to her babies, of whom she had six—all packed warm and tight in a neat little nest hung on to a cornstalk in the next field. And the beetle spread his shining wings and went for a fly round before he, too, rolled himself in a roseleaf blanket and went to sleep! But Dolly never closed her eyes!

Then the great stars lit their lamps, and looked down at her through the fern-fronds, but if they said anything no one heard them—they were too far off!

“Dolly, dear Dolly, where are you?” cried a little voice, and little footsteps came pressing through the tall bracken fern.

But Dolly didn’t answer!

“Dolly! Dolly! Oh! I wish I could find my Dolly!” There were tears in the little voice now, and the footsteps were more hurried. Yet Dolly lay still!

The sobs grew louder and louder, the little feet almost touched Dolly as she lay hidden under the big foxglove; then the little steps went on, and the sobs grew fainter in the distance, and Dolly lay still staring up at the sky!

So the days went by, and the winter came, and the falling leaves drifted over Dolly, and the snow covered her, but she never moved nor shivered—till one day in spring-time a great wind arose, which blew all the dead dry leaves away in little rustling dances—and lo! John the woodman caught sight of Dolly’s pink cheeks and blue eyes still staring up at the sky!

“Why,” he exclaimed, “I do believe there’s little missie’s doll, as she fretted so at losing!”

And he took Dolly home in his pocket!

M. A. Hoyer.

The Uninvited Guest.

EFFIE was quite in distress about the spare room in her doll’s-house, because she had no “visitor doll.”

All the other rooms were occupied, for there were two smart maids in the kitchen who were beginning to cook the dinner; then in the dining-room there was a “mamma” sitting on the blue sofa, gazing at the bowl of gold-fish. In the nursery, the three children were already put to bed, and the poor, tired nurse rested by the bright coal-scuttle on the floor. In the drawing-room, two gay dolls in ball-dresses sat by the piano; but there was no one for the spare room!

“It seems a great pity,” said Mamma, “because you put all the nicest things in this room, Effie—the wax candles, the pretty box of chocolates, the lace curtains to the bed, and the dumb-bells; we must try and think of someone to come and stay here.”

“Mamma, do you think Rosie would lend me one of her dolls?” suggested Effie.

“Supposing you write and ask her,” said Mamma.

Effie seemed to think this a good idea, but then she would have to wait a few days, because her friend was away, staying at a farmhouse.

“Shall we put the china baby in,” said Mamma, “or is he quite one of the family?”

“Oh, Mummy, he’s the youngest child of all!” replied Effie, shaking her head.

“I am afraid he is too much of a baby,” said Mamma, looking into the spare room, “and he might get into the shower-bath or open the door of the bird-cage—perhaps it would be unsafe.”

Effie nodded.

“We will write to Rosie, then,” said Mamma encouragingly.

That night, when Effie was fast asleep, a little grey mouse peeped through a crack in the nursery floor, and seeing that the room was empty, she hurried into every corner to find some chance crumb of cake or bread, but alas for her! the room had been too carefully swept, so the hungry little mouse could find nothing for her supper.

Suddenly, she saw the dolls’-house, so she squeezed through the glass door, which Effie had not quite shut, and very soon found her way into the spare room.

“The very thing!” cried she to herself, whisking her tail with joy. “Here is a nice little bed to sleep in, and a wax candle on the dressing-table for supper! How lucky I am! this is indeed a nice house to visit!”

The next morning, Effie ran to her dolls’-house and gave a little scream. “Mummy, look! there’s been a mouse in the spare room! It’s eaten two of the candles—look!”

“That is not quite the guest you hoped for, is it, Effie?” said Mamma.

“No, but do you think it will come again to-night? Oh! I should like to see it in the morning!” said Effie.

Emily Bennett.

The Winged Flower

A GAILY-TINTED little flower once lived in the corner of a field. No other flowers grew near, and she often felt sad and lonely. But one day a beautiful butterfly hovered over her head and began to talk to her. Presently he alighted upon one of her leaves, and gazed admiringly into her sweet face. The flower felt very happy, and said: “How good it is of you to stop here and talk to me!”

“I must be going soon,” replied the butterfly. “How I wish that you could fly away with me! You have no idea how delightful it is to flit about in the air!”

“It must indeed be nice!” replied the little flower. “But I cannot fly, for, as you see, I have no wings, and besides, my stalk holds me fast to the ground. So I have to stay always in one place. I must just make the best of it,” added she, trying to be brave, although her heart ached at the thought of parting with her winged friend.

Then a kind little Fairy popped up out of the grass, and said: “I have been listening to your talk. If you, fair flower, would indeed like to fly away with your friend, I will give you a pair of wings like mine.”

Then the Fairy touched the flower with her wand, and she sprang from her stalk, with two gauze-like wings to bear her up. She looked now something like the butterfly, only even more beautiful. The two friends flew away together over the fields, and the Fairy returned to Fairyland, feeling very happy because she had been able to please the little flower.

E. Dyke.

The Stuck Up Rabbit.

THERE was once a little yellowy-brown rabbit, who was so proud that there was no bearing him. He ran away from home and went to live with some strange rabbits. “I have a right to be proud,” he said, “because my parents are Belgian hares.” But he looked so exactly like the other rabbits that no one believed him, and they turned him out for boasting.

So he went to live in the cucumber-frame, and as the gardener did not notice him he had rather a good time of it. But presently the cucumbers were all over, and then the gardener shut up the frame and went away. And then the bunny grew hungrier and hungrier, and he cried aloud, but no one would help him. “It serves him right for being so proud,” said the other rabbits.

But his mother, who lived quite on the other side of the field, heard him cry, and she came jumping on to the cucumber-frame with such a bounce that she broke the glass and tumbled in. “Come home this minute,” she said. “I’ll teach you to run away from home.”

As she took him past the strange rabbits they all called out: “Hullo, Stuck-up, where are you off to?”

“He’s going home to his father and mother,” said Mrs. Bunny.

“But he said his father and mother were Belgian hares.”

“Belgian fiddlesticks!” said his mother. “I’ll teach him to be ashamed of his family!” So she took him home by the ear. He’s quite a different bunny now, and works hard to support his old father and mother, as all good rabbits should.

E. Nesbit.

April Showers.

TOMMY was a terrible tease, and poor little Mamie came in for most of the teasing.

Tommy wasn’t really an unkind little boy, but he was very thoughtless, and very often he led Mamie into all sorts of scrapes. One day he persuaded her to play at Indians with him; he screwed up her hair into tight knots, made her shut her eyes and then blacked her face. When the little girl looked in the mirror over the mantelpiece and saw how ugly she was, she ran out of the room, meaning to go to Nurse to be washed clean again; but Tommy ran after her, and, just as she was passing the drawing-room door, he gave her a push, and in she went, right into the middle of a group of ladies who were visiting her Mamma. Oh! how angry Mamma was, for she thought Mamie had done it on purpose.

But what hurt Mamie’s feelings the most was the way in which Tommy treated her dolls. He didn’t like dolls himself, and he couldn’t understand how his sister could love a silly wax thing. But she did. She thought Rosalind was the sweetest and loveliest of babies.

One day Tommy bought a penny squirt. He played for a long time at storms at sea with it, sailing his boat on a big pan of water that stood out in the garden, and squirting at it until it sank.

But he grew tired of this, and then he began to squirt Rosalind, as she lay cuddled up in Mamie’s arms.

Poor Rosalind! Mamie tried hard to protect her, but in vain. “It’s only an April shower,” said Tommy, laughing. “It won’t hurt her.” But dolly was soon wet through, and the last remaining bit of pink on her cheeks came off when Mamie dried her.

The next day Mamie told some of her friends of her troubles, and the little girls put their heads together to think how they could punish Tommy. “I know,” said Elsie Martin. And then there was a great deal of whispering and laughing, after which the little girls parted.

Tommy was going out to tea that afternoon, and as he passed the end of the garden wall, dressed out in his best, a sudden shower of water was squirted all over him, spoiling his nice clean suit.

Tommy looked up in astonishment, for it was not raining; then he heard a great deal of giggling and someone called out: “It’s only an April shower; it won’t hurt you!”

Tommy didn’t say a word, but marched straight home, for he knew he couldn’t go to his tea-party as he was. Mamie met him at the door. “I’m so sorry,” she said, for she had already begun to repent of what she had done. “Won’t you forgive me?”

“Never mind, Mamie,” said Tommy. “It served me right, and I’m sorry I squirted Rosalind, and I’ll never tease you again.”

L. L. Weedon.

The Story Of Tommy.

ONCE there was a little boy called Tommy. His Mother sent him one day into the town to buy some needles. On his way home he got tired of carrying them, so when he saw a hay-cart which he knew would pass his Mother’s door he stuck the needles into a bundle of hay. When he got home his Mother said: “Well, Tommy, and where are the needles?”

“Oh! Mother, they will be here directly. I was tired of carrying them, so I stuck them into a hay-cart which is coming this way, and it will soon be here.”

“Oh, you stupid boy, Tommy! you stupid boy! If you were tired of carrying the needles you should have stuck them into your coat.”

“I’ll do better next time, Mother; I’ll do better next time.”

A few days after, his Mother said: “Tommy, will you go into the town and fetch a pound of butter?”

Off went Tommy, bought the pound of butter, and put it all over his coat. When he got home his Mother said: “Well, Tommy, and where’s the butter?”

“I put it all over my coat, but the sun melted it.”

“Oh! you stupid boy, Tommy! You should have put it on a nice white plate and covered it with a piece of white paper.”

“Oh! I’ll do better next time, Mother; I’ll do better next time.”

A few days after, his Mother said: “Tommy, Farmer Jones has given us a little hen. Will you go and fetch it?”

“Oh! yes,” said Tommy. Off he went, fetched the little hen, and put it on a white plate; but before he could put a nice piece of white paper over it, it had flown quite away!

When he got home, his Mother said: “Well, Tommy, and where is the little hen?”

“Oh! Mother, I did what you told me; I put it on a white plate, but before I could cover it with a piece of paper it flew quite away.”

“Oh! you stupid boy, Tommy! You stupid boy! You ought to have put it in a wicker basket and shut down the lid.”

“I’ll do better next time, Mother; I’ll do better next time.”

A few days after, his Mother said: “Tommy, there is a plum pudding for dinner. Go and fetch a pound of brown sugar.”

Off went Tommy, bought the pound of sugar, and put it in a wicker basket, and shut the lid down tight. When he got home his Mother said: “Well, Tommy, and where’s the sugar?”

“Here it is, Mother, here it is.” And he opened the basket, but it was quite empty, for all the sugar had tumbled through the holes in the wicker-work!

“Oh! you stupid boy, Tommy! You should have put the sugar in a paper bag and tied a piece of string very tightly round it.”

“I’ll do better next time, Mother; I’ll do better next time.”

Some time after, his Mother said: “Tommy, Farmer Jones has promised us a dear little puppy dog. Will you go and fetch it?”

“Oh! yes,” said Tommy. So off he went, fetched the little puppy dog, put it in a paper bag, and tied a piece of string very tightly round its neck. When he got home and opened the bag, the poor little puppy was quite dead.

“Oh! you stupid boy, Tommy! You stupid boy! You should have tied a string quite loosely round the little dog’s neck, and let it run after you, and you should have called, 'Hi, little dog!’”

“I’ll do better next time, Mother,” said Tommy, crying.

A long time after, his Mother said: “Tommy, will you go into the town and fetch a leg of mutton? Now, mind you bring it home very carefully.”

“Oh! yes,” said Tommy. So off he went, bought a leg of mutton, tied a piece of string round it, and dragged it after him on the ground, and said: “Hi, little dog! Ho, little dog!” and all the little dogs in the town came after him and ate the mutton, and when he got home there was nothing left but the bone!

When his Mother saw it, she said: “Really, Tommy, you are too stupid; you really are quite a goose.”

A little while after, Tommy was nowhere to be found. His Mother hunted everywhere for him; she cried “Tommy!” here and “Tommy!” there, but she could not find him. As she was coming through the yard and crying and calling, “Tommy! where’s my boy Tommy?” she heard a little voice that seemed to come from the poultry-house: “Here I am, Mother; here I am!”

She opened the door, and there was Tommy sitting on the goose’s nest. She asked him what he was doing, and he said: “Oh! Mother, you said I was quite a goose, so I thought I had better come and sit on the goose’s nest, and I’ve broken all the eggs!”

Wasn’t he a silly boy?

Constance Milman.

The New Ship.

“WHERE are you off to, children?” said Mother. She was just stepping into the carriage to pay a round of visits when Geoffrey and his sister came running out of the house in a state of breathless excitement.

“We’re going down to the river to sail my ship, Mother,” said Geoffrey. “I’ll look after Rosie and see that she comes to no harm.”

“My dear boy, I couldn’t think of letting you go by yourselves,” said Mother. “Father will be home to-morrow, and then he will take you,” she added, as she saw the children’s eager faces begin to cloud over. Then she kissed them both, got into the carriage, and drove away.

“It’s a jolly shame!” said Geoffrey crossly. “As if we should come to any harm! Why, I’m as well able to take care of you as Father. Of course I shouldn’t let you fall in.”

“Well, it’s no use,” sighed Rosie; “we can’t go, so we may as well think of something else to do.”

A rebellious frown gathered on Geoffrey’s face. “I’m going to the river,” he said; “I shall only stay a few minutes to see how the 'Dancing Polly’ sails. Mother will never know!”

Rosie hesitated a minute, but when she saw Geoffrey running down the drive without her, it was too much, and off she went after him.

For a whole hour the children spent a most delightful time sailing the “Dancing Polly,” but alas! the crew, which consisted of a wooden doll, fell overboard, and in stretching over to rescue it Rosie lost her balance and toppled into the river.

Geoffrey shrieked for help. “Rosie’s drowning! Rosie’s drowning!” he cried, and in a moment someone came dashing down the bank, there was a plunge, a moment of dreadful suspense, and then Rosie was lying on the grass with Father standing over her. Yes, it was Father, who was a captain in the Royal Navy, and who had come home from sea a whole day before he was expected.

“However did your Mother come to let you two mites go off to the river by yourselves?” said Father on their way home.

Geoffrey hung his head for a moment, and then, like a brave little man, he told his Father all the truth.

“Ah! Geoff, my boy,” said his Father, “you’ll never make a sailor if you can’t obey orders!”

And what did Mother say?

Why, not one angry word, for no sooner did Geoffrey see her than he burst into tears, and Mother put her loving arms round him and whispered: “My darling, I know you won’t disobey me again!”

And Geoffrey never did.

L. L. Weedon.

The Happy Lily.

THERE was once a beautiful white Lily who lived in a green garden, and had all the happiness of sun and dew that can come into a flower’s life. Only one thing saddened her; now and then the gardener would come and gather some of her sisters: he took them away, and she never saw them again. One dreadful day the gardener came with a sharp knife and cut the Lily’s stalk and carried her away in his hand. As she went she shed bitter tears, and the gardener said: “What a lot of dew there is in this Lily!”

When she was brought to the house she was placed in a tall green vase and set by the bedside of a little sick child. When the child saw her beauty his tired eyes lighted up with pleasure, and he cried: “Oh, the dear Lily! Mother, when can I go out to see the other lilies growing?” And from that moment he began to get better.

“It was the Lily did it,” said his Mother, with tears of happiness. “He was so tired that if the Lily had not come to cheer him, he might have gone to sleep and never wakened here again.”

The Lily tried hard not to fade. She held herself up bravely, and day by day the sick child looked at the Lily and grew stronger and stronger. And at last a day came when he was well enough to be taken into the garden to see the lilies growing, and when he was gone the Lily drooped and drooped, for she felt that the end of her pretty green and white life was near. But though she was sad, she was not sorry, for she felt that she had done some good with her life. And as she drooped there a white butterfly came fluttering in. “Oh, happy Lily!” he cried. And she looked sadly at him. “I am not sorry—only sad,” she said.

“Sad,” he said; “do not you know what happens to all flowers who are able to help and comfort any little child? When they die, they turn into fairies and can fly for ever through all the green gardens of the world. The other flowers will only be flowers next year, but you will be a fairy.”

And as he spoke the Lily died and became a fairy, and she and the butterfly spread their white wings and flew out into the sunshine together.

E. Nesbit.

Contented Charlie.

NO one bothered about Charlie; he was so happy and contented that the other children half thought he really preferred broken toys to whole ones. He toddled through life with a happy smile on his face, made a gee-gee of the old bench in the back-yard, and never once envied Tommy his fine new Dobbin.

It was not only in the matter of toys that Charlie failed to receive his just share. When black Biddy had a brood of seven chicks, and each of the children claimed one as a special pet, it was the lame one that was called Charlie’s. One day, Mother found her little lad sitting by himself on the doorstep, with Hopperty, as the lame chick was called, huddled up in his pinafore. “What’s the matter, Charlie boy?” said she, for she noticed that the little cheeks were very white and the pretty blue eyes heavy.

“My head’s so funny, Mother!” said Charlie.

The next day there were six children playing in the field behind the house, and one little boy lay tossing on his bed upstairs.

Now, you would have thought that amongst so many children one would scarcely have been missed, but Charlie was. The children felt as though they could not play, now that he was not with them. Then they remembered what a sweet, unselfish little fellow he had been.

“We gave him the lame chicken!” said Dora regretfully.

“I never once offered him a ride on Dobbin,” sighed Tommy.

“I don’t think any of us were very kind to him,” said Alice. “He was so contented that we thought anything would do for him.”

The week that Charlie was ill was the most miserable the children had ever spent, and when at the end of that time the Doctor said the worst was over and Charlie began to mend, there was nothing his brothers and sisters would not have given him, they were so thankful. The chickens were secretly carried up to Charlie’s bedside, but Mother said she could not have the sick-room turned into a poultry-yard.

“But we gave him the lame chicken,” the children pleaded; “and oh! Mother, we are so sorry!”

“Well,” said Mother, “he loves Hopperty best now; but, my darlings, Charlie will be down amongst you all soon, I hope, and then you must remember to try and be as unselfish to him as he has always been to you.” The children did not forget Mother’s words, and as for Charlie, he is the happiest little boy in the world, and the other children are all the happier too, I know, for having learnt to be a little more like their unselfish little brother.

L. L. Weedon.

Our Cat’s Tale.

THIS is a true story, but you needn’t believe it unless you like. It happened to a cat I know, who has never said anything untrue in her life. One day when this cat had gone down to the sea to bathe, she was standing on the steps of her bathing-machine looking at the sea and wondering whether it would be cold—as I daresay you have often done—when she saw something golden and gleaming in the water. She thought it was a fish, and dived into the water at once. But it was no fish; it was a yellow sea-cat, with fins and a fish’s tail—a sort of cat-mermaid.

The cat who told me the story said that the sea-cat took her by the paw and led her down into the deep parts of the sea and showed her wonderful things. Everything in the sea-cat’s world is just the opposite of what it is here. Whatever is wet here—milk, for instance—is dry down there; and whatever is dry here—such as a cat’s bed—is wet there.

But I never allow my friend the cat to talk much of this adventure. Not because I don’t believe her; but because I think it may make her proud if she talks too long about the wonderful things she saw there. Anyhow, I don’t see how you can doubt a cat’s word. A cat hasn’t any words, do you say? No—that’s just it.

E. Nesbit.

Doing Nothing.

TOMMY would not learn his lessons. He wouldn’t do his sums, he upset the ink over his geography book, and smashed his slate. He tore a leaf out of his grammar and made a paper boat of it. He ought to have been punished, but he wasn’t, because his Mamma thought that dear Tommy must be ill or he wouldn’t behave so badly; so, thinking the fresh air would be good for him, she asked him to pick her a bunch of buttercups out of the meadow, but Tommy said he would rather not—he didn’t want to do anything ever again.

Tommy was not a bad little boy generally, but sometimes the idle fairy, who is no bigger than a grain of mustard-seed, though very strong, sat in his ear and whispered naughty things to him. He threw all his lesson-books in a heap on the school-room floor, and went out to the orchard, where he ate seven big apples one after the other, and lay on his back looking up at the apple-trees, and trying to feel glad that he had had his own way. Presently he sighed.

“What do you want?” said a voice, and Tommy saw a little red-cheeked man in a green cap, swinging on one of the apple boughs and looking at him.

“I only want to do nothing,” whined Tommy; “it’s very hard they won’t let me.”