
SAFETY FIRST.
NEVER DIVE INTO WATER WITHOUT  KNOWING 
ITS DEPTH.


POPPY.
A poppy-bud hung its shy head on its tall, thin stem. The 
bud was shut up in a green case, with silver down upon it.
No rain or cold or hungry foe could get at the baby bud.
There were plenty of bugs and insects that would have 
liked a lunch of nice soft poppy-bud. One little fellow 
came along and looked at the poppy's tall stem. He began 
to crawl up it, but he did not go far. The stem was covered 
with sharp, fine hairs, and they made nasty fences for the 
bug to climb. He gave it up.
Then he thought he would taste the stem. He nibbled, and 
out came a drop of milky juice. But it was 
not nice, sweet
milk; it was nasty, bitter stuff. " Any more, of that would 
kill me," he said. " Poppies are not food 
for bugs "; and off he
went.
The bud smiled to itself and grew bigger and fatter. Then 
one fine day it hung its head no longer. 
The stem stood up, straight and stiff, and the bud looked 
up bravely at the sky. By and by, the green case opened a 
little, and there was just a peep of the poppy's red dress.
The two sides of the case opened wider and wider, 
showing more and more of the gay frock packed away so 
tightly.
At first it was very crushed and creased, but the wind soon 
shook it out and ironed it. The frilly gown of four bright 
petals stretched and spread and became smooth and silky. 
How lovely the poppy looked now, as it danced on its 
stem, in its dress of glossy, scarlet silk, with the pretty, 
crinkled hem!
The poppy did not only dance and play. It held up its little 
packets of pollen to the bees and flies. 
It had no honey for them, but they liked the pollen. When 
they caught sight of the bright, dancing flower, they came 
fast to 
visit it. As they
walked over the poppy's seed-box, in the middle of the 
petals, they dropped pollen dust on it from 
other flowers. The
poppy hoped they would do that. That pollen dust would 
make the seeds grow inside the seed-box.
Besides being a gay little dancer, the poppy was a wise 
mother. It was thinking all the time of its 
seed babies. As
soon as they were growing well, the poppy cared no more 
about its red frock or the bees that came to see it. Indeed, it 
let the silky flounces all fall on the garden path. Then it 
went to sleep and dreamed sweet dreams.
At last, there was nothing left of the poppy but its box of 
dreams, which was really its round 
seed-box. It stood on the
top of the stem now stiff and dry. It was a pretty box with 
a carved cover. Under the edge of the 
cover was a row of
little holes, with tiny lids over them.
When the seeds were quite ripe, the poppy opened all those 
little lids. Then the breeze shook the 
seed-box, and out
popped the tiny, dark-brown seeds. They were just like
pepper being shaken out of a pepper-pot. They fell all over 
the warm earth; and there we shall let them lie until next 
spring, when they will grow into new poppy plants.



SAFETY FIRST.
KEEP WITHIN YOUR DEPTH TILL YOU CAN SWIM 
WELL.


SAFETY FIRST.
ON A COUNTRY ROAD KEEP TO THE  EDGE OR ON 
THE GRASS STRIP.


TRY, TRY, TRY AGAIN.
Robert Bruce, a brave Scottish King, was hiding in a cave. 
For some time he 
had been trying to drive his foes out of
Scotland. He had lost six battles against them, and now, 
his men, like 
himself, were all hiding in the mountains. Sad
and hopeless, he lay on the floor of the cave.
"It's no good," he said to himself. " I shall have to give in."
Just then he saw a little spider hanging on its thread from 
the low roof of 
the cave. As he watched it, the little creature
began to pull itself up on its rope of finest silk. Up it went 
a little 
way, and then down it fell again.
It had another try, and mounted again, only to fall back a 
second time. It tried a third time and a fourth, still with no 
luck.
"It has given it up," said the king to himself, as the spider 
hung quite still for a minute or two. 
But Robert Bruce was
wrong. After its rest, the spider tried again, and yet again, 
to haul itself up.
"It's like me," said the king, "beaten six times. I wonder if 
it will try again! "
It did! And the seventh time was the lucky time. Up, up the 
spider went, drawing in its thread as it 
mounted; and this
time there was no slipping back. The spider reached its 
goal - the roof of the cave. The battle was won!
"Bravo!" cried the king jumping up.
You have taught me a lesson, little spider. I, too, will try 
again, and perhaps I yet shall win the day.
Robert Bruce started off with fresh hope. He led his men 
into battle again, and this time he won the fight. He drove 
the foe  right out of the country, and Scotland was free.

SAFETY FIRST.
AS THE DAYS GROW SHORTER WATCH
YOUR STEP.

OUR PRINCESSES' HOLIDAY HOUSE.
The large house in our picture is called Royal Lodge. It is 
in England, in the country, and our Princesses, Elizabeth 
and Margaret Rose, often go there for a little holiday.
In the garden we see another house, a very small one, with 
its own little garden round it. This is the six-roomed play-
house 
that was given by the people of Wales to the Princesses. It 
has everything
in it the same as a real grown-up house, even hot and cold 
water and a wireless set. The house and all the things in it 
are 
made the right size for a child. The Princesses never grow 
tired of looking
after The Little House, as they call it, and its garden.
Near The Little House we see a swimming pool, which is 
being made for the Princesses. They have both been 
learning to swim at 
a Bath Club in London. Princess Elizabeth was very proud 
when
she could swim the length of the bath. She asked her 
mother, the Queen, to come to the Bath Club and watch 
Margaret Rose and herself at their swimming lesson. The 
Queen went, and she was very pleased to see how well her 
daughters were getting on in the water.

ROYAL LODGE, GREAT WINDSOR PARK.

Since our photo was taken, the Princesses' father, our 
King, gave them a surprise present. It is a climbing frame 
and a chute, which have been put up not far from their 
swimming pool. There are rope ladders, climbing ropes, 
and trapezes. Princess 
Elizabeth and Princess Margaret Rose ought to be strong, 
healthy girls, and
so, we are glad to know, they are.


A PRINCE LEARNS TO READ.
Long ago there lived in England a boy prince named 
Alfred. He was a 
gentle kind boy, full of fun, too. He had three
brothers all older than himself. They taught him to ride, to 
shoot with a 
bow and arrow, to fish, and to hunt. The four
boys used to be out of doors all day long. On cold 
evenings, however, 
they sat round a great log fire, and listened to
the glee-man singing songs and telling tales. Alfred loved 
these songs 
and stories. He used to learn them all off by heart.
Now, although these four young princes could do so many 
things, there was 
one thing they could not do. It is
something we are all learning to do at this very minute: to 
read. One day 
their mother, the Queen, was reading a book
to them. When she came to the end of the book, she said, " 
Now, boys, I 
will give this book to the one that first
learns to read it."
It was a lovely big book, with the capital letters printed in 
blue, red, 
and gold, and pretty gay pictures on many of the
pages. Every letter in it had been written by hand. In those 
days there 
were no machines for printing books like ours.
The boys turned over the pages, and looked at the pictures 
and the neat 
writing. Yes, it would be nice to have the
book, but, oh dear, what a long time it would take to 
puzzle out all those letters and words! The three bigger 
boys said, "Oh, no, Mother, we could never do it, " and off
they ran to get ready for a wild-pig hunt.
Alfred was still looking at the book. Will you really give 
it, Mother? " he asked.
"Yes," said the Queen, " I really will."
"Then I shall learn to read it," said Alfred.
If Alfred had lived to-day, he would have had a school, 
and a teacher, and 
a School Journal, just as we have, all ready
to help him to read. Although he was a prince, he had none 
of these things; 
but he found a kind monk who said he would teach him.
For a school reading book, Alfred had to use the big book 
that was to be 
the prize. The writing in it was much harder to read than 
the good clear type in our school books, and many of the 
words were very hard. Alfred, however, had made up his 
mind to learn. Every day, when his brothers went off to 
some 
exciting sport, he went to his reading lesson.
At last, one day, he took the book to his mother, and asked 
her to hear him 
read. The Queen listened to Alfred read,
in his sweet clear voice, page after page, and she was 
delighted. He could 
read every word in the big book, and his
mother gladly gave it to him as his prize.
When Alfred grew up, he became king; and a very good 
and wise king he was. 
He loved reading and learning, and he wanted all his 
people to enjoy it, too. 

ALFRED LEARNING FROM THE MONK.

He built schools and found teachers, so that it would be 
easier for the children to 
learn to read than it had been for or him.
Books were still written by hand, and were very rare. King 
Alfred had a 
few, and he read them over and, over again. The book he 
liked best, however, was the one his mother had given him 
for a prize when, as a boy, he had first learned to read.

SAFETY FIRST.
ALWAYS WASH YOUR HANDS AFTER PLAYING 
WITH A DOG.

BIRD WITH THE GOLDEN THROAT.
Country boys and girls may know the tui's note quite well. 
Town children are not so lucky. Sometimes in the spring, 
however, a tui does come into a town garden. Then 
everyone is excited, and goes out to take a peep at him.
He will very likely be looking for something nice and 
sweet to eat. If a kowhai in the garden is in flower, or a 
flax bush, or a gum, the tui will be feeding on their honey. 
If there are no honey flowers, a good way to keep him 
about the garden is to put some sugar and water out for 
him. He likes that.
The tui has a long tongue with a fine brush on the end or it. 
This dips deep down into the 
honey-cups of the flowers,
and reaches every drop of sweetness for the hungry bird. 
Sometimes he cannot wait for the flowers to 
open. Then,
with his sharp beak, he tears the petals to pieces, and so 
reaches the honey.
As he dips his bill into the flowers, the fine pollen-dust 
sticks to his head. He carries this pollen 
from flower to flower,
dropping some, and picking up more. In this way he helps 
the flowers to make good seed, from which 
new trees will
grow.
If we are lucky enough to meet a tui, we shall see that he is 
larger than a blackbird, and more slender in shape. His 
glossy black feathers gleam with a blue, green, and purple 
sheen. He has a lacy collar of fine white feathers round his 
neck. Then, the two white puffs at his throat are the mark 
by which he is easily known.
Tuis are happy, lively birds, always having fun of some 
kind. They love playing together high above 
the tree-tops. A
flock of them will turn and twist, shoot up and dive down, 
chase one another and do all kinds of 
fancy tricks. When
the game is over, all at once they close their wings, and 
drop like stones down into the forest.
Another game is to make all kinds of strange sounds with 
their voices. With a funny stretch of the 
neck, they will
cough and sneeze, chuckle and gurgle, clang and honk, 
click and cluck, sob and whisper. They are 
clever mockers,
too. They can learn to mew like the cat, bark like the dog, 
crow like the rooster, and even cry like 
the baby. In the old
days, the Maoris often kept a tame tui, which they taught 
to talk.
In the forest, the tui mocks other birds. We may think we 
hear the bell-bird's voice, and then find it is the tui 
mocking the bell-bird's sweet note; for, besides making all 
kinds of queer sounds, the tui can sing the sweetest songs. 
So sweetly does it sing that it has been called the bird with 
the golden throat.
The tui loves to sing, and in the bush its song is the first to 
be heard in the morning, and the last 
at night. It sings the
joyful notes as it swings on the tree-tops, when it is on the 
wing, and even when sitting on
its eggs. Sometimes it makes the sweet music of the flute, 
sometimes the soft notes of a whisper song, and sometimes 
the rich toll of a bell.
We hope that there will be more and more of these 
beautiful birds, with  their lovely music, in our forest. We 
hope, too, that more of them will grow bold enough to 
come about our homes and gardens; and also that, when 
they do come, nothing will harm them or drive them away 
again.


SAFETY FIRST.
NEVER TOUCH GUNS OR OTHER FIREARMS.


SAFETY FIRST.
LEAVE HOME EARLY TO AVOID  HURRYING TO 
SCHOOL.

HOCUS POCUS! YELLOW CROCUS!
All the winter the garden had been cold and bare. Rain had 
soaked it; 
frost had frozen it; snow had buried it. Down
below the earth, however, where the frost could not reach 
him, Crocus was 
asleep in his cosy little house.
Then the sun began to grow warmer. Spring was coming. 
At last the 
sunbeams tapped at the door of that little round
house. " Is it time to get up already?" asked a sleepy-head.

CROCUS CORM. 

Crocus peeped out from his warm blankets, and saw that 
his friend, 
Snowdrop, was up and away. "Why didn't you
call me?" shouted Crocus, wide awake now; but Snowdrop 
was too far off to 
hear him.
" First, I must have some breakfast," said Crocus. And, 
lucky fellow, his 
little house, or corm, was full of rich white
food. Soon he felt strong and fit for his journey up, up 
through the dark 
earth.
Little shoot that he was! At first he looked like a smooth 
white tooth 
peeping out of the top of the hard brown corm.
The shoot quickly grew longer, and inside it, packed ever 
so tightly, 
were three leaves and a tiny flower.
Pushing was not easy, but Crocus had a strong sharp point 
on his head. 
Before very long he was able just to peep
above the ground. And what a sight he saw!
Instead of dark wet earth above and around him, there was 
the lovely blue 
sky, and the golden sunbeams, and the
clear bright light. There were sounds, too. Is that a bird 
singing? Can 
that be a bumble-bee buzzing? Crocus looked round, and 
there, best of all, was his little friend, Snowdrop! Her 
lovely white bell hung on its slender stalk, and Crocus 
thought he heard it ring with a gay little peal.
He must not, however, stand there staring! There was work 
to be done. The 
sunbeams helped him, and he managed to grow quite tall 
for a Crocus. It was warm now, and Crocus threw off his 
outer wraps. Now his leaves 
could see the
light, and they became green and long and slender.
The most precious thing that Crocus had, his flower, was 
still closely wrapped in its silken cloak. 
All this time it had
been growing, but no eye had as yet seen one glimpse of 
its beauty. At last, the great moment came, 
the cloak was
pushed back, and out burst the first bright peep of yellow.
The sunbeams all came streaming round to help Crocus to 
unfold his long pointed flower; and soon six glossy golden 
petals were spread smooth and wide. Crocus stood in all 
his glory, gleaming in the spring sunshine 
like a golden
goblet.
Hocus pocus! Yellow Crocus! Flaming gaily in the sun. 
August's heavy rain may soak us, September's 
whirling dust
may choke us, Yet one merry golden Crocus Says that 
spring's begun.

SAFETY FIRST.
NEVER PUT CELLULOID NEAR A FLAME.
 

HORATIO NELSON.
A long time ago, there was a little baby boy. His brothers 
and sisters 
wanted him to be called Horace; but their father
said, "No; his name is to be Horatio. " And Horatio that 
baby became - 
Horatio Nelson, a name that one day all the
world was to know.
Baby Horatio grew to be a rather pale, sickly little boy, but 
he had plenty 
of grit.
We see him in our picture. He is playing with a sword, 
which his 
great-uncle had used in a real battle. That was Horatio's 
favourite plaything.
One day Horatio went off with another boy, bird-nesting. 
The two boys 
wandered through the bush, and they missed
each other. Horatio went on by himself, thinking only of 
nests and eggs.
Horatio's grandma had come to look after the Nelson 
children. When Horatio did not come home for 
dinner, she
began to worry. Time passed, and still he did not come. 
Was he lost or, worse still, had the gipsies 
stolen him ?
Everybody in the house went out to look for Horatio.
It was night and quite dark when, at last, a servant found 
him. He was sitting beside a creek, which 
was too wide and
deep for him to cross. As he could not find his way home, 
he had thought it best to wait until 
someone found him.
Horatio's grandma was very glad to have her small 
grandson safe and sound once more. All the same, she 
gave him
a little scolding for staying away so long. " It's a wonder 
that hunger and fear did not drive you 
home," she said.
"Fear ? " said Horatio. "What is it, Grandma? I didn't see it 
anywhere."
When Horatio was bigger, he was to ride one day with his 
elder brother to school. The snow was 
falling thick and fast,
and was lying very deep on the road. Horatio's brother said 
that they could not go on, and they 
turned back.
" If the snow is too deep, I don't want you to go," said their 
father; "but why not try again? I will put you on your 
honour to go to school, if there is no real danger. "
The boys started off again. The snow was deeper than 
ever, and the bigger boy wanted to turn back; 
but not so
Horatio. "We must go on," he said. "We are on our honour, 
and we can do it if we try."

HORATIO SAYING GOOD-BYE TO HIS GRANDMA 
BEFORE GOING TO SEA.

They did. The brave heart, that knew nothing about danger 
or fear, won through.
When Horatio was twelve, he went to sea to be a sailor in 
the King's Navy. Many were the dangers he 
had to meet,
but he
met them all with that same brave heart. At last he became 
an admiral, and his ships were fighting the Battle of 
Trafalgar.
As he walked the deck, the gold and silver stars shone on 
the breast of his admiral's coat. His friends begged him to 
cover them up, lest they made him an easy mark f or the 
foe.
"No,"  he said. " In honour I gained my stars, and in 
honour I will die with them."
 It was not long before he was shot down.
He lived just long enough to hear that his ships had won a 
great victory, for England.
Then the brave sailor, Horatio Nelson, who had never 
known fear, closed his eyes in
peace. He had done his duty.


SAFETY FIRST.
BEFORE STEPPING OFF THE FOOTPATH, LOOK 
RIGHT, THEN LEFT.


SAFETY FIRST.
LEARN NOT ONLY TO SWIM, BUT TO SWIM 
REALLY WELL.



4

