Kitabı oku: «The Nursery, December 1873, Vol. XIV. No. 6», sayfa 3

When he had got through with the book, she took him down cellar with her to get some apples. Aunt Susan soon filled her pan, and started back; but Eddy stopped to taste the apples in every barrel.

"Come, Eddy," called Aunt Susan from the head of the cellar-stairs.

"In a minute," answered Eddy, straining to reach the apples in a barrel that was nearly empty. Just then he slipped, and fell into the barrel head first, with his feet sticking up.

How he squealed! Aunt Susan's cold had made her so deaf, that she did not hear him. He kept on squealing and kicking until the barrel tipped over; and then he backed out of it, and went slowly up to the kitchen, very red in the face.

He was pretty quiet after that until dinner was ready. After dinner the children cracked nuts, and parched corn, and played merry games; and Eddy had his share of all the fun. When he went to bed, his Aunt Susan asked him whether he had had a good time.

"Splendid!" said Eddy.

"How did you like being thrown into the puddle?" said Aunt Susan.

"First rate!" said Eddy.

"Did you think it good fun to dive into the barrel?"

"Jolly!" said the little rogue. "I'd like to do it again."

M. F. Burlingame.

BENNY'S ARITHMETIC LESSON

Little Benny has just begun to go to school.

Some boys as young and active as he is would rather play all day long than to spend part of the time in the school-room; but he seems to like it.

Almost every day he comes running home, saying, "I've learned something more to-day;" and, after he has told us about it, we send him out of doors with his little cousins, who live close by.

We know that all work and no play would make Benny a dull boy.

To-day he felt very proud, because he had been learning to add. He said that he could say the first table.

I told him to begin, and I would tell him if he was right.

So he began; and this is the way it went on:—

 
Benny.—One and one are two.
Mamma.—That is very true.
Benny.—Two and one are three.
Mamma.—Nought could better be.
Benny.—Four and one are five.
Mamma.—True as I'm alive.
Benny.—Five and one are six.
Mamma.—That's a pretty fix.
Benny.—Six and one are seven.
Mamma.—Thought you'd say eleven.
Benny.—Seven and one are eight.
Mamma.—Bless your curly pate!
Benny.—Eight and one are nine.
Mamma.—Why, how very fine!
Benny.—Nine and one are ten.
Mamma.—Pretty good for Ben.
 

We had a good hearty laugh when we got through; for Benny's earnest way of reciting pleased me, and he enjoyed the emphatic manner in which I replied to his additions. How many of the little "Nursery" boys can say the table that Benny did?

C. H.

GRANDPA'S BOOTS

How the stars did snap that December night! The moon was up too; and how cold and white she looked!

And how busy Jack Frost was! No one saw him swing a hammer; no one heard him drive a nail: but, by the time morning had come, he had laid right across the ponds and the river a floor of ice smoother than any wooden floor ever put down by the joiners of Norridgewock.

All the boys were out sliding. Ed Peet had come from over the river; Fred Danforth was there from the tavern; and George Sawtelle came running up from the big house under the willow. Others were there too, slipping along on Jack Frost's floor.

Little Albert looked out of the window, and saw the boys at their play. Why couldn't he go out too?

"Shall I go, mother?" he asked.

"Your slippers are too thin, Albert."

"Oh! I can put on grandpa's boots."

"Yes, you can go, but be careful. You are too young for such rough sport."

Off scampered the eager feet, and on went the big boots. A smile must have lighted up the mother's eyes as she heard her little boy tramping over the floor in the heavy boots.

The boys were taking their turn at sliding. Away down at the end of the line stood Albert. They were sliding carefully, not running too hard; for a little way out the ice was thin. After a while, it was Albert's turn. "I'll beat those big, clumsy boys," he thought.

Taking a long run, driving ahead with all his force, he shouted, "Now see your grandpa go!" And, sure enough, grandpa's boots went and went, out where the ice was thin, and down went Albert into the water! The water was not deep, though. He was out again in a moment; and there he stood, cold and dripping like an icicle in a January thaw.

I can hear the boys laughing, and I seem to see the smile lighting up the mother's brown eyes still more merrily, when her little boy came home. Albert never forgot it. In after-years he would say, "Whenever I am inclined to show off, I think of grandpa's boots."

E. A. R.