Kitabı oku: «Dew Drops, Vol. 37, No. 16, April 19, 1914», sayfa 3

MAISIE PLAYS THE GOOD FAIRY

BY COE HAYNE

Often did Maisie play the good fairy when out in fields. When she saw a lamb caught in the fence, she freed it; when a little bird fell from its nest she replaced it; when a wee chick lost its mother, she helped it out of its misery. So did she try each day to make the world happier.

One day as she was roaming about, she saw something dark in the grass. She stooped and picked up a pocketbook. Her eyes opened wide with excitement when she found inside of the pocketbook several five-dollar bills and some silver.

"Who could have lost it?" she asked herself.

Maisie was going to run to the house to show her mother what she had found when she caught sight of a boy lying face downward upon the ground beside the road.

She ran to the boy and knelt beside him. Touching him lightly upon the cheek with a wisp of grass, she said:

"Look up, boy. What is the matter?"

"I've lost my father's pocketbook," sobbed the boy. "I drove ten sheep to market and the man paid me for them. But I dare not go home because I've lost the money."

"Do you believe in fairies?" asked Maisie.

"What good are fairies?" replied the boy.

"Maybe they would bring you good luck," said Maisie.

"I don't believe it," said the boy.

"Suppose you try them. Close your eyes."

The boy closed his eyes.

"Now repeat after me:

 
"Bright eyes, light eyes! Fairies of the dell,
Come and listen while my woes I tell."
 

The boy did as he was told.

"Now open your eyes," ordered Maisie.

The boy opened his eyes and within six inches of his hand lay the pocketbook. Eagerly he took it and opened it.

"Is the money all there?" asked Maisie.

"Every cent!" cried the boy with joy.

"You had better believe in good fairies," said Maisie, as she ran away laughing.

"Ah, you are the good fairy!" called the boy after her. "Many, many thanks for your kindness."

THE LITTLE PIONEER'S RIDE

BY ANNA E. TREAT

"Whoa, Buck! Whoa, Bright!" called out Stephen Harris, pioneer, and the glossy red oxen halted in the forest opening. "This shall be our dinner camp to-day, boys," said he. "See what a fine spot."

The pair of stalwart lads, with rifles on their shoulders, who had been walking all the forenoon beside the big covered wagon, thought it was, truly, a fine spot and began to make camp for dinner, unyoking the oxen and turning them out to graze, kindling a fire with dry twigs and moss and fetching water from the clear brook that rippled by.

Meanwhile, children of all ages began to climb down from the wagon. There were ten of them, fine healthy children; the youngest, Martha, was a little yellow-haired girl of three, the pet and pride of them all.

The wagon, which had been their traveling house for a month was well fitted up for the comfort. The seats were built along the sides and so contrived as to hook back at night; then the bedding, tightly rolled up by day, was spread out on the wagon bottom. Under the wagon swung the large copper kettle, the most important of all things in the households of those early times.

After dinner the oxen were yoked up, and in great spirits the pioneers scrambled to their places in the wagon, and the oxen started on at a good pace, and they had gone a mile or two before the fearful discovery was made that little Martha was missing!

The patient oxen were turned about, and as fast as possible the distracted family traveled back to the dinner camp, Mr. Harris and the big brothers calling, as they went, the name of the child.

The camp was finally reached—but little Martha was not there and no trace of her could be found.

The forest had seemed so peaceful an hour before, but now it was filled with terrors. What wild animals might not lurk in the thickets! The very brook seemed to murmur of dangers—quicksands and treacherous water-holes.

"Baby! Baby!" called Mr. Harris suddenly, breaking into a sharp cry; and this time, in the anxious waiting pause of silence, a shrill little voice from right under the wagon piped out, "Here I is!" and over the rim of the great copper kettle popped Martha's golden head. Scrambling out, "head-over-heels," she rushed into her mother's arms, as fresh and rosy from her after-dinner nap as though she had been rocked in the downiest cradle in the land.