THE CENTENNIAL EXHIBITION BUILDINGS, SHOWING TOWER AND FOUNTAIN-BOWL.

THE SEEDS.
"I'm very glad that I'm of some use in the world," said the wheat, bowing its golden head in the 
breeze. "The farmer will take care of my seed. He will have most of it ground into
flour, of course, but he will keep the best to sow next spring. Then my children will grow up into 
fresh green stalks of wheat."
The plants growing along the ditch, outside the field of wheat, were not so happy. "The farmer will not save our
seed," they said to one another. " How are we to plant our little ones where they will have room to 
grow? "
 " I have hundreds of seeds in my head," said the poppy. " I wish I could get rid of them !"
"No one wants poppies," shouted the Wheat; " and, please, throw none of your horrid seeds into this 
field."
The poppy took no notice of the wheat. She had heard a soft breeze rustling along. Quickly she opened 
the little trap-doors at the top of her head, so that her seed could get
out. Then she said, " Please, gentle breeze, give my stem a good hard shake so that my seeds will fly out
at the open doors."
The breeze came with such a strong puff that it
nearly blew the poppy right over. Seeds flew out on all sides.
"Thank you," said the poppy when it could stand up straight again. "Those seeds will find a place to grow now."

THE DANDELION'S PARACHUTES.

"Come and see what I have made," the dandelion called to the breeze. It was
stretching its neck up as high as it could, so as to give its tiny parachutes a good
taking-off place. "You may play with them as much as you like, and then let them drop."
" That will be fun," said the breeze. It blew the fluffy parachutes up into the air, and played at 
puffing them up and down and to and fro. Then it let them fall all over the
field and road-side. A tiny seed was holding on to each parachute, and so it found 
a good place to grow in.
" There! My children will grow up strong and green," said the dandelion; and, as her work was done, 
she fell asleep.
When the yellow broom saw how clever the poppy and the dandelion had been, it said to itself, "Now, 
what can I do? I have it! I'll do some pea-shooting! "
Its hard black seed-pods began to spring open, and, with a smart twist, they shot seeds far and wide. 

"I'LL DO SOME PEA-SHOOTING."

Pop! Pop! Crack! Crack! Just like little pop-guns going off! It was
great fun for all the plants, and the
yellow broom was very pleased at the way its plan was working. Its seeds were falling on nice open 
spaces, where they would have room 
to grow into fine plants.
A rabbit lay flat beside a bidi-bid plant.
"Let me hide here," he said, "till that man with the gun has gone."
"It's not a man with a gun, " said the bidi-bid with a smile. " It's that yellow broom shooting its seeds all over 
the place.
But stay if you like." The sly bidi-bid had seen her chance. As fast as she could, she was sticking her spiky seeds on to 
the
bunny's furry coat. " He will take you for nice ride," she whispered to the baby seeds.
And so he did. When he ran away, he did not know he was taking baby bidi-bids with him. Then they began to prick him, and he
rubbed them off against a post.
They fell on to a clear patch of earth, just  the place to grow in next spring.
When the spring came again, the field was green with proud young stalks of wheat; but wheat was not the only thing growing 
there. All along the fence, and in the field, too, poppies, dandelions, broom, and bidi-bids were springing up.
"How did you come here?" asked the
wheat. " The farmer sowed my seed, but I'm sure he didn't sow yours."
" That's our secret," said a fresh young dandelion.

SAFETY FIRST.
NEVER MEDDLE WITH ELECTRIC FITTINGS

SAFETY FIRST.
CHOOSE A SAFE WAY TO SCHOOL, AND USE IT ALWAYS.

SAFETY FIRST.
NEVER GET OFF A CAR, BUS, TRAM, OR TRAIN TILL IT HAS STOPPED.

MORE PORK!
More pork! More pork! Many of us know that strange bird-call, which is heard by night. It is our shy 
little native owl calling. At least, he is shy by day; at night he becomes
bold and daring.
All day long, he has been hiding in some dark corner in the bush, lazy and half asleep. Now that it 
is night and dark, he is up and doing. His large, bright yellow eyes are
wide open, and with them he can see in the darkness. His swift wings are muffled with soft down, so 
that he flies on them without making a sound.
Now is the time to hunt lizard, mouse, and rat; beetle, moth, and weta; sometimes,
even a baby bird. Quickly and surely, the morepork pounces on his prey. In his large strong claws, he 
carries it back to the secret nest in the hollow tree.
There, two baby moreporks are hungry waiting. 

THE MOREPORK.
 
At first, the mother and father birds tear the flesh from the bones, and  feed the chicks. Before long, however, the hungry little 
fellows are quite 
able to help themselves. If there is more food than the family can eat, it is
stored up near by. The nest begins to look something like a small butcher's shop!
What funny little things the baby moreporks are! They came out of two round, white, glossy eggs. At 
first the nestlings were grey in colour and quite blind. In about a week's
time, their coats changed into soft white down, and their eyes opened. They were still odd little 
creatures, with hardly any heads and big strong legs and feet.  We see from 
our picture that they are not at all like their parents.

BABY MOREPORKS.

The old birds are dark brown spotted with fawn. Their breasts are lighter than their backs, but they 
have not the white waistcoats of other owls. Their bills, too, are black,
while other owls' are yellow.
We are much more likely to hear a morepork than to see one. During the day he hides, not only from  
us, but from the other birds. They like to worry and chase the
morepork when he is helpless. As he
cannot see, he has to escape as best he
can. He flies off in a slow dazed way, often bumping into the tree trunks and branches, until he 
finds a better hiding place.
At night, when he is at his best, the other
birds are afraid of him... and we do not see him then, because we are tucked up in bed. Perhaps we are 
lying and listening, as he seems to say so clearly the words that gave him
his name - More pork! More pork!

A NEW PIN.
See a pin and pick it up, All the day you'll have good luck.
And when we pick it up, we'll look at it and notice its bright silvery coat, its little round head, and 
its good sharp point.
In our picture we see a pin before it had a 
head or point, next, with head but no point, and then the finished, neat, little pin with both head 
and point.
In the first place, our pin came from under the ground. Copper and zinc were dug out of the earth to 
make brass. The
brass was then pulled into a long wire . Pieces, the right length for pins, were cut off from  the 
wire.
Each short piece was then held firm, while a hammer tapped the top end, and flattened out the wire to 
make the pin's
head. The other end was then ground until it was smooth and sharp; and our pin had its point. The 
yellow brass pin
was next dipped into a tub of melted tin. When it was taken out and dried, it was shiny and silvery, 
and it was indeed
its own, neat, bright, little self - a new pin ready for use.
Pins have so many uses that we wonder how we should get on without them. Long ago, people had no pins 
like ours.
The very first pins were thorns and fish-bones or other small bones. Then came wooden skewers, like 
the skewers we
put through meat, only smaller. These were used for holding clothes and other things together.
The first real pins that were made were worn for show, and not for use. They were not plain pins 
like ours, but
pretty silver ones, with heads shaped like stars or diamonds or the heads of animals.
Ladies liked these pretty pins so much that they were always buying them. The Queen said too much 
money was
being spent on pins, and she made a law that pins were
to be sold only on two days a year - New Year's Day and the day after. Then the
women had to save their pennies for a whole year, and these savings were called "pin money." We 
still speak of pin
money
when we mean the money a woman keeps, not for pins, but for little odds and ends.
Even plain pins like ours were not cheap
at first. It was only when machines began to make them that we could buy a whole
packet of pins for a penny. So cheap they are to-day that we hardly bother to pick one up. In war 
time, however, we
know that nothing, not even a pin, must be wasted;
and then, what about the good luck?


