MAGGIE AND TOM.
Maggie and Tom Tulliver lived at Dorlcote Mill, Tom had been away at school and was expected home for the holidays that 
afternoon. 
At last the sound of gig wheels was heard. Mrs. Tulliver stood with open 
arms while Maggie hopped first on one leg
and then on the other. Tom jumped down from the gig, calling to his dog, "Hallo, Yap! " Then he allowed himself to be
kissed willingly enough, though Maggie did hang on his neck in rather a 
strangling fashion. Meanwhile his eyes
wandered towards the field, the lambs and the river, where he promised 
himself he would begin to fish the first thing
next morning.
" Maggie," said Tom, a little later, " you don't know what I've got in my pockets." "No," said Maggie,  " How bulgy they look. Is 
it marbles or cobnuts?"
" Neither, " said Tom. " Look! " He drew something half out of his right-hand pocket.
" What is it? " said Maggie in a whisper. "I can see nothing but a bit of yellow."
 " Why it's . . . a new … guess, Maggie. "
"Oh, I can't guess, Tom," said Maggie impatiently.
"Don't be a spitfire, else I won't tell you, " said Tom, thrusting his hand back into his pocket.
"No, Tom," said Maggie, laying hold of the arm that was held stiffly in the pocket. "I'm not  cross, Tom; it was only because I 
can't bear guessing. Please be good to me."
Tom's arm slowly relaxed, and he said,
"Well, then, it's a new fish-line - two new ones - one for you, Maggie, all to yourself. I wouldn't go halves at school in the toffee 
and gingerbread on purpose to save the 
money; and Gibson and Spouncer fought me because I wouldn't. Here are hooks, too. I say, won't we go and fish tomorrow down 
by the Round Pool! And you shall catch your own fish, Maggie, and put the worms on and 
everything.
Won't it be fun?" Tom began slowly to unwind the line, and he went on, " Wasn't I  a good brother now, to buy you a line all to 
yourself ? You know, I needn't have bought it, if I hadn't liked. "
"Yes very, very good  . . . I do love you, Tom."
Tom had put the line back in his pocket, and was looking at the hooks one by one, before he went on 
again: " And
the fellows fought me because I wouldn't give in about the toffee. "
" Oh, dear! I wish they wouldn't fight at your school, Tom. Didn't it hurt you? "
"Hurt me? No," said Tom. "I gave Spouncer a black eye. That's what he got for  wanting to leather me. I wasn't going halves 
because anybody leathered me."
"Oh, how  brave you are, Tom! I think
you're like Samson. If a lion came roaring at me, I think you would fight it, wouldn't you, Tom? "
" How could a lion come roaring at you, you silly thing? There are no lions except in shows."
"No, but if we were in Africa," said Maggie.
"Well, I should get a gun and shoot him."
" But if you didn't have a gun, what would you do, Tom? "
Tom paused, and at last turned away with scorn. " But the lion isn't coming, so what's the use of talking? I'm going to see my 
rabbits." 
 Maggie's heart began to flutter with fear.
She dared not tell the sad truth at once, and she walked after Tom in trembling  silence. She was thinking how she could tell him 
the news so as to soften his sorrow  and his anger, for Maggie dreaded Tom's anger above all things. " Tom," she said 
timidly, " how much money did you give for your rabbits? " Two half-crowns and a sixpence," said Tom promptly. " I think I 
have a great deal more than 
that in my steel purse upstairs. I'll ask Mother to give it to you."
" What, for?" asked Tom, "I don't want your money, you silly thing. I have a great deal more money than you because I'm a boy. 
I always have half-sovereigns 
and sovereigns for my Christmas boxes because I shall be a man, and you only 
 have five-shilling pieces, because you're only a girl!"
 "Well, but, Tom, perhaps Mother would let me give you two half-crowns and  a sixpence to spend  and buy some more rabbits."
"More rabbits! I don't want any more." 
"Oh, but, Tom, they're all dead." 
 Tom stopped and turned towards Maggie. "You forgot to feed them then, and Harry
 forgot? " he said, his cheeks growing first red and then pale. " I'll pitch into Harry - I'll have him turned away. And, I don't
love you, Maggie. You shan't go fishing with me to-morrow. I told you to go, and see the rabbits every day." He walked on 
again.
. "Yes,  but I forgot --- and I couldn't help it, indeed, Tom. I'm so very sorry," said Maggie, while the tears rushed fast.
You're a naughty girl," said Tom severely, and I'm sorry I bought you the fish-line."
" Oh, Tom, it's very cruel," sobbed Maggie. " I'd forgive you if you forgot anything - I wouldn't mind what you did."
"Yes, but I never do forget things, I don't. "
" Oh, please forgive me, Tom; my heart will break, " said Maggie, shaking with sobs, clinging to Tom's arm, and laying her wet 
cheek on his shoulder.
Tom shook her off. "But you're a naughty girl. Last holidays you licked the paint off my lozenge box, and the holidays  before 
you 
let the boat drag my fish-line when I'd set you to watch it, and you pushed your head through my kite, all for nothing."
"But I didn't mean to," said Maggie. "I couldn't help it."
"Yes, you could," said Tom, "if you'd
minded what you were doing. You shan't go fishing with me to-morrow."
(To be continued.)

ROBIN HOOD AND FRIAR TUCK.
Robin Hood lived in Sherwood Forest with his merry band of outlaws. One day 
he heard of a certain Friar Tuck of
Fountains Abbey, who was a wonderful shot and a fine swordsman, and might 
be a match for even Robin himself.
Making up his mind to meet this rival, he set off at once through the 
forest.
In time he came to a pleasant stream which, however, looked fairly deep in 
the middle. Not wishing to wet his fine
clothes of Lincoln green, he sat down on the bank to consider. Presently he 
heard someone, who was hidden by the
willows, talking about hasty pudding and meat pie. " Meat pie is the best," said a voice, " and more so when it has
young onions in it. "
" Mercy," said Robin to himself, " that talk makes me hungry!" Then he 
forgot his hunger in his surprise at seeing a
stout friar coming out from the willows, carrying a large meat pie. It 
seemed that the friar had been talking to himself
and, having decided that there was nothing to equal meat pie, he sat down 
on the bank and began his feast.
The meat pie was fast vanishing, and Robin's heart sank. Unless he acted 
at once, all would be lost. " Hey, friar," he called, "carry me
over the water, or I cannot answer for your safety." The friar, startled 
at this strange greeting, looked up, to see Robin Hood pointing an
arrow at him.
" Drop your arrow, and I will carry you over," said the friar, " for 
we are taught to help one another. " He hoisted Robin on
to his back, waded with him across the stream, and set him down on the 
other side.
" Thank you, good father," said Robin; "I am greatly indebted to you. "
" Indebted to me, are you? " said the friar. "Then you shall repay me. My 
business, which is more important than yours, lies on the other
side of the stream. I hope you will not do less for me than I have done 
for you. Carry me back across the stream, please." This was all said
very politely, and so suddenly had the friar drawn
his sword, that the astonished Robin Hood had no choice but to obey.
Robin found his burden a heavy one, but he stumbled through the stream and placed the friar on dry 
land. Then
seizing his own sword, he said, " Now, holy friar, be not weary in well-doing, and carry me back 
again, or I will make
a pincushion of you. "
The friar's eyes twinkled as he said, " My son, your wits are sharp. Once more I will bend my back 
for you." Then,
half-way across the stream, he gave a jerk, which sent Robin flying over his head into the deep 
water. The friar quickly
gained his own bank, laughing at Robin as he struggled to the opposite side of the stream.
" You villain! " shouted Robin. " If you come within reach of my sword, I will shave your head closer 
than it has ever
been shaved before."
" Hard words are cheap," said, the friar quietly. "If, my son, you would like a bout with swords, 
meet me in the
middle of the stream.
The two waded into the stream and a hard fight took place. Each thought to himself that he had never 
before met so
clever a foe. Then Robin made a fierce lunge, his foot slipped, and he fell on to his knees. Robin 
was now at the
mercy of the friar, who, however, paused while he regained his feet.
"You are the fairest swordsman I have ever met," said Robin. "Now, may I blow three blasts on my horn?
" Certainly," said the friar. The echoes of the horn had not died away before fifty
green-clad men came running to the spot. The friar looked in amazement at Robin's followers. Then he said, " A boon for a boon! 
Allow me to whistle my call."
Putting his hands to his mouth, he gave a loud shrill whistle. It was answered, not by a band of men, 
but by a pack of
fifty dogs, which came rushing through the bushes to their master.
Will Scarlet was one of the first of Robin's men to reach him, and when he saw the friar, he 
laughed. " Call off your
dogs, Friar Tuck," he said.
" Friar Tuck! " exclaimed Robin. " Are you Friar Tuck? Then we are friends. It was you I was on my 
way to find. "
" Yes, I am Friar Tuck, " said the friar, "and may I say without boasting that, although I'm a poor friar, I've never yet met knight 
or trooper or yeoman to whom I have yielded. But yours, friend, is a stout blade. I should like to know you."
" It's Robin Hood, the outlaw, who has been helping you at this christening," said Will Scarlet, laughing and pointing at their 
dripping clothes.
" Robin Hood! " said the friar. " This is a pleasure. Had I known sooner, not only would I have carried you across the stream, but 
I would also have shared my pie with you. " 
" Ah, the pie! " said Robin. " That was the start of all the trouble. Bring it with you, good friar, 
and join our company in
the greenwood. Will you come with us?"
Nothing before had ever tempted Friar Tuck to leave Fountains Abbey, but the
charm and romance of Robin Hood and his green-clad men now lured him. He 
accepted Robin Hood's invitation, and
from that day became one of the merriest of that merry band of outlaws.

MAGGIE AND TOM. (Continued from page 11.)
With these terrible words Tom ran off. Maggie stood motionless, except 
for her sobs, for a minute or two. Then she
ran inside and up to the attic, where she sat on the floor, and laid her 
head against the worm-eaten shelf, with a
crushing sense of misery. Tom had come home, and she thought how happy she 
should be, and now he was cruel to
her. Hadn't she wanted to give him the money, and said how very sorry she 
was? "Oh, he is cruel! " she sobbed aloud.
She soon felt that she had been hours in the attic and they must all be 
having tea and not thinking of her. Well, then,
she would stay up there and starve herself; then Tom would be sorry. She 
would never go down if Tom did not come
to fetch her. Presently she heard a quick footstep on the stairs, and her 
heart began to beat fast with the sudden shock of hope.
Tom only stood at the top of the stairs and said, " Maggie, you're to come 
down. " But Maggie rushed to him and
clung sobbing round his neck,  "Oh, Tom, please forgive me - I can't bear it 
- I will always be good - always remember things - please, dear Tom! "
" Don't cry then, Magsie - here, eat a
bit of cake," said Tom. Maggie's sobs began to subside, and she bit a piece of
cake, and then Tom bit a piece, just f or
company. They ate the cake together and, when there was no more cake, except what
was downstairs, Tom said, " Come along,
Magsie, and have tea. "
So ended the sorrows of that day; and the next morning Maggie was trotting 
with her own fishing-rod in one hand and
a handle of the basket in the other. She stepped always, by a peculiar 
gift, in the muddiest places, but she looked
out beaming from under her bonnet because Tom was good to her.
She had told Tom that she would like him to put the worms on the hook for 
her, although she believed him when he
said that worms couldn't feel. (It was Tom's private opinion that it didn't 
much matter if they did). He knew all about
worms and fish and those things, and what birds were a nuisance, and how 
padlocks opened, and which way the
handles of gates were to be lifted. Maggie thought this sort of knowledge 
was very wonderful, much more difficult
than remembering what was in books. She was rather in awe of Tom, for he 
was the only person that called her
knowledge " stuff," and was not surprised at her cleverness.
Tom, indeed, thought that Maggie was a silly little thing; all girls were 
silly - they couldn't throw a stone so as to hit anything, couldn't do anything with a pocket-knife, and were frightened of frogs. 
Still, he was fond of his sister, and
meant always to take care of her, make her his house-keeper, and punish her 
when she did wrong.
 They were on their way to the Round
Pool, that wonderful pool, which the floods
had made a long while ago. No one knew
how deep it was; and it was strange, too,
that it should be almost a perfect round, framed in with willows and tall reeds, so
that the water was to be seen only when you got close to the brink. The 
sight of the old favourite spot always put Tom
in a good humour, and he spoke to Maggie in the most friendly whispers, as 
he opened the precious basket and got
ready their tackle.
He threw her line for her and put the rod in her hand. Maggie thought it 
likely that the small fish would come to her
hook, and the large ones to Tom's. She had,
however, forgotten all about the fish, and was looking dreamily at the 
glassy water when Tom said in a loud whisper, "Look, look, Maggie! " and came running to prevent her from snatching her line 
away.
Maggie was frightened lest, as usual, she had been doing something wrong; 
but presently Tom drew out her line and
brought a large fish bouncing on the grass.
Tom was excited. " Oh, Magsie, you little duck! Empty the basket ! "
Maggie was not conscious of any unusual merit, but it was enough that Tom 
had called her Magsie, and was pleased with her. There was nothing to spoil her delight in the whispers and dreamy silences, 
when she listened to the light
dipping sounds of the rising fish, and the gentle rustling, as if the 
willows and the reeds and the water had their happy
whispering also. Maggie thought it would make a very nice heaven to sit by the pool in that way, and never be scolded. She never 
knew she had a bite till Tom told her; but she liked fishing very much.
-Adapted from "The Mill on the Floss," by GEORGE ELIOT.

THE INVISIBLE MAN

One of the retainers of a certain Persian governor had a great wish to find 
some way of making himself invisible. At
length he had the good fortune, as he thought, to meet a dervish, who 
agreed, for a certain sum of money, to give him
some pills which would have the desired effect. The man was delighted, and 
boasted to his friends, and even before
the governor, that on a certain day he would visit them as an invisible man.
On the day arranged, having taken one or two of the magical pills, he came 
to the governor's palace, hoping to
astonish everybody. Now, the governor had made up his mind to cure this 
retainer of his taste for magic. He had
therefore given orders to the sentries, servants, and others about the 
palace that, when the would-be invisible man
arrived, they were all to pretend that they could not see him.
Thus it came about that, when the man reached the palace gate, he was 
delighted to notice that the sentries did not,
as usual, salute him. As he walked on, he became more and more certain 
that the dervish's pills had had the
promised effect. No-one looked at him; no one spoke to him; no one, 
seemingly, knew that he was there.
At length he reached the room where the governor was sitting with his 
companions. They, also, appeared to be quite
unaware of his presence; and he decided to prove that he had really been 
among them in an invisible form. A Persian
water-pipe was standing in the middle of the room with the glowing 
charcoal in it. The " invisible man " put his lips to
the mouthpiece and began to smoke. Those present at once exclaimed in 
astonishment.
" How strange, " they said, " look at that pipe! No one is near it, and 
yet it is just as though some one were smoking
it. Listen to the water gurgling in the bowl!"
Delighted at his success, the " invisible" one became bolder. Some lighted 
candles were in the room, one of which he
blew out, then lighted again, then blew out again.
" Whatever is happening?" asked the company in pretended amazement.
" I have it!" suddenly exclaimed the governor. " I know what it is! 
So-and-so has eaten one of his magic pills, and he
is in this room although we can't see him. Well, we shall discover if it 
is as impossible to touch him as it is to see
him. Get some sticks and lay about you in all directions."
The servants lost no time in raining down a shower of blows on the unlucky "magician," who cried for mercy.
"But where are you?" demanded the governor, hiding a smile. " Cease to be invisible. Show yourself that we may see you."
" Oh, master, " cried the poor crest-fallen fellow, " if I am really invisible, how is it that every 
blow of the sticks lands
upon my poor back? I begin to think that I have been cheated by that scoundrel of a dervish and that 
I'm not invisible
after all."
Everybody laughed heartily, and the poor, foolish fellow was allowed to depart, vowing that never again would he dabble in 
black magic.

THE CHASE.
One misty autumn morning, Lep, the hare, was sitting on a bank at the edge of the moor. He had left 
the damp wood
and come out to bask in the sunshine. He was making himself clean and tidy for the day and removing 
those
tiresome burrs from his coat. Very carefully he combed his long ears, putting his head on one side 
and dragging
down his ear as he passed his foot over it. It was while he was busy over his toilet that the hateful " Woof!"
suddenly sent a shiver along his skin.
Maisie Coleman was hoping to find a few berries still on the bramble bushes 
at the edge of the wood, and had set out
with her pet sheep-dog, Punch, at her heels. She frowned when she saw Punch 
looking eagerly ahead, and she said
sharply, " Down, Punch, down! You are not to go hunting. Stay with me, sir!" But Punch thought blackberrying poor
fun, and, in spite of Maisie's attempts to hold him, he sprang away, 
barking joyously, and made straight for Lep: "Woof! Woof!"
Lep was a good-sized hare and very active, but he knew and feared the 
shaggy sheep-dog. Punch had got between
him and his retreat in the heart of the woods, so he was forced to run 
instead of hide. He made for the open moor,
and Punch bounded after him, still barking the challenge.
Away went Lep towards the ridge, for his impulse was always to run uphill. 
As he ran he kept tilting back his head to
watch the trail behind. Even now the heather was not to his liking, for it 
caught at his legs and made him tired; he
therefore, whenever he could, followed a path through the bracken or ran 
across the grassy patches.
The distance between the hare and the dog remained about the same; if 
anything, Lep was gaining a little, and soon
he would reach the ridge and find a hiding-place among the boulders and the 
gorse. But, alas for Lep! Just as the race
was nearly won, up over the brow of the hill came a new foe, a 
black-and-white dog, attracted by Punch's barking. He saw the hare at once, and gave, chase at a speed that made 
Punch seem a lumbering old thing of no
importance. Terror-stricken, Lep turned from the new enemy, and raced back, 
avoiding Punch by a few yards, straight
for his home wood. Maisie saw the poor little hare, both dogs after him, 
come running towards her with his ears
pressed back and his eyes nearly popping out of his head; and she felt very 
sorry for him.
" Punch, Punch! " she called. She hardly expected him to stop, but Punch 
was a faithful pet, and something in his
little mistress's voice made him hesitate. He looked up at her and she 
said, "Oh , do stay here, there's a dear old
Punch! " in such distressed tones that he decided to stop and be petted.
The black-and-white dog, however, crashed into the wood after Lep. The 
little hare darted through the undergrowth to
the stream, crossed it and headed towards a thicket. Here he lay panting 
while the dog sniffed up and down beside
the stream. Lep had run a little way through the shallow water, and at that 
point the dog had lost the scent. He was
not far from Lep, but he seemed at a loss to know which way to turn. Lep 
lay low among the bushes, waiting.
The dog was growing a little bored, the zest of the chase was gone, and in 
another minute he might have left the
wood; but at that moment a jay, the tell-tale of the wood, chose to make a 
great commotion about Lep's presence in
her own special thicket. Her harsh cries at once aroused the dog's 
interest, and he made a dash for the bushes, so
that Lep was driven out into the open again.
Never before had Lep been in such deadly peril. This new dog, keen of 
nose and fleet of foot, was an enemy to strike
terror into the heart of even a big hare, and Lep was still a mere 
youngster. But he was game. He ran as he had never
run before. Something told him that it was useless to seek cover - this dog 
would rout him out; so he relied only on
speed. Swiftly he crossed the moor, climbing once again the slope to the 
ridge - up, up, up - and again and again looking
at the trail behind. Beyond the ridge the ground fell away suddenly; Lep 
shot over the bank and landed in a sand-pit,
then began to rush down the rough hillside. The going was bad, and he 
slipped and slithered rather than ran, and the
dog did not like it either, and sometimes took a zigzag path to avoid the 
headlong plunge.
At the bottom Lep had gained ground, but the dog was far from ready to 
give up the hunt. Ahead of them lay rolling
pasture-land and another ridge, and on the grass they made good speed. As 
they breasted the ridge the dog lost
ground again, and Lep paused for an instant to look about him. He had 
never been so far before, and a strange sight
met his eyes - a low cloud of mist lying in the hollow beneath him, 
shutting out the view. New smells came to him,
too.
The dog barked, and Lep bounded forward again, down into that white 
cloud. Lost in the mist the two animals dashed
on. The dog rarely saw the hare, but the scent was clear, and to Lep the 
sound of the dog's barking came louder and
louder, and soon he heard its very breathing. He did not look back now, but ran on, head pressed well back between his 
shoulders, eyes 
staring but seeing nothing. Every limb
ached, and his heart was, pounding as though it would burst. The turf 
beneath his feet gave place to sand, and the
strange smell grew stronger and stronger. Lep was too numb with fatigue 
to know any new fear, and could only run
blindly on.
Swish! Swish!
Straight into the sea went Lep, and was gasping and spluttering 
helplessly when the sea flung him back on the
shore. He was utterly spent, and he lay there panting feebly with the 
noise of the waves blurring everything else in his
tired little brain. The dog, the chase, everything was blotted out . . .
Long afterwards Lep opened his eyes. The mist was gone; the calm sea 
sparkled in the sunshine; and the sands
were golden. Lep got up and lolloped towards the green downs. There was 
no sign of any dog. It was very peaceful.
He wandered to and fro, inspecting hiding-places and sampling the grass. 
He liked the taste of salt. He would climb
that mound soon and see what lay beyond, but just now he would stay where 
he was among the sun-warmed
grasses - and sleep.
-Slightly adapted from "Rovers and Stay-at-Homes," by MARIBEL EDWIN. 
(Dent.)

JANE'S LITTLE WAYS.
When Jane Bargery went to school she soon learnt to read and to write; and 
she liked doing lessons - unless they happened to be sums. Sums used to bore her. Besides, she seldom got them 
right. There did not seem to her to be
much sense in some of the questions she was asked.
This was one of them, for instance: How many pounds of cheese at tenpence a 
pound can you buy for five shillings? If
she had five shillings and wanted to buy cheese with it - which she felt sure 
she never would, as she hated cheese - she
could easily ask her father, who kept a small shop, how much she could get. 
That, she thought, would be much
simpler than working such a difficult sum in her head.
Now, if the question had been about chocolates, she thought, there would 
Have been much more sense in it. Chocolates were so much more interesting than 
cheese; and at this point her mind
wandered right away from sums and busied itself with chocolates.
She recalled the time when a kind uncle had given her chocolates - not 
chocolate, but chocolates - not a thing in slabs
or chunks that cost a ha'penny or a penny, but real chocolates of the 
proper shapes and sizes, some wrapped in
silver paper, some in gold,
and some left in their natural brown, and all arranged in rows in a 
beautiful box. What delicious chocolates they were!
One in particular had strongly taken her fancy, and luckily it was near the 
edge of the box. When she handed the box
round to the family in order that they might have first choice, she was 
able to keep her thumb on the chocolate she
wanted. The only person that saw the trick was Henry. " If you don't mind," he said, " I'll have the one under your thumb."
After a second she handed it to him. He held it for a moment between his 
thumb and finger; then he winked at Jane,
handed it back, and took another instead.
Jane's brothers and sister were not the only ones that shared her 
chocolates. School friends were also made aware of
the fact that Jane had both a kind uncle and a kind heart.
Jane was quite old, nearly eight, when she went to her first party. For 
the postman to bring her a letter was in itself an
event; but for the letter to contain an invitation to a party was an 
event of tremendous importance. It put her in a state
of great excitement. She pictured to herself the fun and the 
frocks - especially the frocks. She could see all the little
girls dressed so prettily and playing so happily.
Then she suddenly remembered that she had no pretty frock herself. 
Looking down at her own plain work-a-day
garment, she saw at once that it would never do for a party; and her 
heart sank at the thought that she couldn't go to
the party after all. " Cheer up, Jane! " said her mother; " you shall go 
to the party, and go properly dressed, too."
She went to the party in a beautiful blue dress, wore a blue ribbon in 
her hair, enjoyed herself very much, and came
home tired and happy. She did not know that night after night her mother 
had sat up late making her that dress, nor
that her mother had gone without certain things she badly needed in order 
to buy the material of which the dress was
made.
It is said that a girl can sharpen a lead pencil if you give her enough 
time - and enough pencil. Jane, in an attempt to
sharpen her pencil at school, cut not only the wood, but her finger as 
well. Her teacher took her to the water tap, let
the water wash away all the dirt from the cut, and then put some iodine on 
it. In a day or two the finger was quite
healed.
Jane was greatly interested. There was nothing she liked better than 
nursing people and trying to cure their pain, and
here was a liquid that seemed to be a miracle healer. She spent the only 
sixpence she had on a small bottle of iodine.
Her first victim was Henry, who could always show a rich collection of cuts 
and bruises. It was a new experience for
him to have his wounds - mere scratches, really - attended to with so much 
kindness and care. The novelty, however,
soon wore off, and he told Jane that he couldn't be bothered with any more 
of her iodine. Not meaning to, he knocked
the bottle out of her hand. It fell to the ground and was broken, but not 
before it had spilled its contents over Jane's
frock and legs. Jane began to cry.
" You shouldn't be so silly," said Henry, and he rushed out of the house to 
join some boys who were playing in the
street. But he wasn't happy. He couldn't get the thought of the iodine out 
of his head, couldn't help feeling what a
brute he had been.
At last he went back to the house and up to his bedroom. There he took down his money-box and by means of a knife extracted 
certain coins, which he had been saving up with the idea of buying a bicycle. The total amount was three shillings 
and sixpence. Doing a sum on a piece of
paper, he found that at the rate at which he had been saving he would have 
to wait ten years for his bicycle. So he
said, " Bother the bicycle," and took the money with him to a chemist's 
shop. There he bought a neat little outfit in a
box. It contained a bottle of iodine, a little brush, and a roll of lint. 
He carried it
home with a light heart, and he found Jane in the sitting-room.
" I'm awfully sorry, Jane," said Henry. "Will you forgive me?"
"Of course I will," said Jane, who was ready to forgive Henry anything if he 
said he was sorry.
Then Henry produced the box from behind his back and handed it to Jane. He 
not only said he was willing to have his damaged knee painted with iodine, 
but offered to go out into the yard and damage
the other one as well.
Jane could not understand why tears came into her eyes, for she was not 
in the least unhappy.
-Adapted from "The Bargerys," by P. B. BALLARD. (University of London 
Press.)

TOM BROWN IS TOSSED.
Tom Brown was a new boy at an English school called Rugby. He had quickly 
made friends with another boy, East,
whose nickname was Scud.
" I say, were you ever tossed in a blanket? " asked Scud.
" No," said Tom. " Why?"
" Because there'll be tossing to-night before the sixth come up to bed. 
So if you funk, you just come along and hide,
or else they'll catch you, and toss you."
" Were you ever tossed? Does it hurt?" asked Tom.
"Oh, yes, bless you, a dozen times," said East, as he hobbled along by Tom's side upstairs. East had injured his
foot  in a game of football. "It doesn't hurt unless you fall on the 
floor; but most fellows don't like it. "
They stopped at the fireplace in the top passage, where a crowd of small 
boys were whispering together, and
evidently unwilling to go up into the bedrooms. In a minute, however, a 
study door opened and a sixth-form boy came
out; and off they scuttled upstairs and into their different rooms. Tom's 
heart beat rather fast as he and East reached
their room, but he had made up his mind.
" I shan't hide, East," he said.
" Very well, old fellow," replied East, evidently pleased; " no more shall 
I. They'll be here for us soon."
The room was a large one with a dozen beds in it, but not a boy that Tom 
could see. East pulled off his coat and waistcoat, and then sat on the bottom 
of his bed, whistling and pulling off his boots.
Tom followed his example.
A noise and steps were heard in the passage, a door opened and in rushed 
four or five great fifth-form boys headed by
Flashman in his glory. Tom and East slept in the farther corner of the 
room, and they were not seen at first.
" Gone to ground, eh? " roared Flashman. "Push them out then, boys! Look 
under the beds! " and he pulled up the
little white curtain of the one nearest him. " Who-o-op! " he roared, 
pulling away at the leg of a small boy, who held on
tight to the leg of the bed, and sang out for mercy.
" Here, lend a hand, one of you, and help me pull out this young howling 
brute. Hold your tongue, sir, or I'll kill you."
"Oh, please, Flashman, please, Walker, don't toss me! I'll do anything, 
only don't toss me."
" You be hanged," said Flashman, lugging the wretched boy along. " It 
won't hurt you. Here he is, boys. "
" I say, Flashey," called out Walker, "drop that; you heard what old Brooke said to-night. We're not to toss anyone against his 
will - no more bullying. Let him go."
With a kick, Flashman let go his prey, who rushed headlong under his bed 
again, and crept under the other beds, till
he reached that of a sixth-form boy, which he knew they daren't disturb.
"There are plenty of youngsters that don't mind it," went on Walker. "Here's
Scud East - you'll be tossed, won't you, young 'un?
"Yes," said East, " if you like; only mind my foot."
"And here's another that didn't hide. Hallo, new boy, what's your name, 
sir?"
"Brown. "
"Well, Whitey Brown, you don't mind being tossed? "
" No," said Tom, setting his teeth.
" Come along then, boys," shouted Walker; and away they all went carrying 
along Tom and East, to the great relief of
four our or five other small boys, who crept out from  under the beds and 
behind them.
"What a trump Scud is!" said one. "They won't come back now. "
"And that new boy, too; he's plucky."
" Ah! wait till he has been tossed on to the floor; see how he'll like it 
then! "
Meantime the procession went down the passage to Number 7, the largest 
room, and the scene of tossing. Here they
joined other parties of the bigger boys, each with a captive or two, some 
willing to be tossed, some sullen, and some
frightened to death. Walker said, however, that all that were afraid were 
to be let off , in honour of Brooke.
Then a dozen big boys seized hold of a blanket. " In with Scud, quick, 
there's no time to lose! " East was thrown into
the blanket. " Once, twice, thrice, and away! " Up he went like a 
shuttlecock, but not quite up to the ceiling.
" Now, boys, with a will," cried Walker, "once, twice, thrice, and away!" 
This time he went right up, and kept himself from touching the ceiling with his hand; and so again a third time, when he was 
turned out, and up went another boy.
Then came Tom's turn. He lay quite still on East's advice, and didn't 
dislike the "once, twice, thrice "; but the "away " was not so pleasant. The big boys were in good wind now, and sent 
him slap up to the ceiling, against which
his knees came rather sharply. The moment's pause, however,
before coming down, was the rub, the feeling of utter helplessness and of 
leaving his whole inside behind him sticking
to the ceiling. When Tom found himself back in the blanket, he was very 
near shouting to be set down, but he thought
of East, and did not. He took his three tosses without a kick or a cry, and he was called a young trump for his pains.
He and East, having earned it, stood now looking on. No accident took 
place, as all the captives wore cool hands and did not struggle. This did not suit 
Flashman. What your real bully likes in tossing is
when the boys kick and struggle, or hold on to one side of the blanket, 
and so get pitched bodily on to the floor. It's
no fun for him when no one is hurt or frightened.
" Let's toss two of them together," said Flashman.
"What a bully you are, Flashey!" answered Walker. " Up with another one!"
But then there was a cry that someone was coming, and all scattered to 
their rooms; and Tom was left to turn in,
after his first day's experience at a public school.
-Adapted from "Tom Brown's School Days," by THOMAS HUGHES.

Henry Breaks A Window
It was no unusual thing for Henry Bargery to get into a scrape; but he seemed to get out of it almost as easily as he got into it. 
Once, however, it did not so happen. This is the story.
One of the streets near Henry's home was so quiet and had so little traffic passing through it that the bys living near sometimes 
used it for playing games. Henry, however, was forbidden by his parents to do so. One day, seeing some of his friends kicking a 
football about in that street, he forgot the warnings he had received and joined in the game. His first kick sent the ball smashing 
through a window. Out came the owner, a crotchety old fellow named Brister. He made a wild rush for the boys, but Henry had 
disappeared round the corner, and the only boy caught was Jack Willett.
"Please, Mr. Brister," said Jack, "I didn't do it."
"Then who did?" asked Mr. Brister. But Jack was too good a sport to tell. As for Henry, he thought it wise to stay indoors for the 
rest of the evening.
Next morning Mr. Brister called at the school and saw the headmaster in his private room. Jack Willett was called in and 
questioned. Again he denied that he had broken the window, but admitted that he was playing football in the street. The master 
saw that Jack was anxious not to betray his friends, and he did not ask him any more questions. He had, however, something to 
say to the school that morning about Safety First and about Playing the Game.
Henry went home feeling very unhappy. He told his father all about it and 
asked his advice. " Well, Henry," said his father, "you know as
well as I do what is the right thing to do." In the afternoon Henry made a 
clean breast of it. He told his headmaster exactly what had
happened, and said he was sorry. He went on to say that he thought Jack 
Willett a brick, and that he was quite willing to pay Mr. Brister the
full cost of mending the window.
Henry made this promise without having any idea of what the window would 
cost. When he heard that it would cost three and sixpence he
was a little upset, for he had only a shilling in his money-box and nothing 
whatever in his pocket. It is true that he received sixpence pocket-money from his father every Saturday afternoon, but, even if 
he gave it all 
to Mr. Brister, it would take five weeks to pay his debt. Five weeks
without a farthing to spend! Not very pleasant! He talked it over with his 
father in the faint hope that he would come to the rescue, but his
father only said, " You have done wrong, Henry, and you must bear your 
punishment like a man. "
From Jane and David he got more sympathy. Jane offered him the two 
shillings she had in her money-box, but he refused to take it, because
he knew that Jane was saving up to buy a new doll. Then Jane and David both 
offered to share their pocket-money with him.
" No," said Henry loftily, " I will take no money from the needy. " (He 
had seen this remark in a story book.)
On the Saturday evening he paid Mr. Brister one and sixpence, and promised 
him another sixpence on the following
Saturday. The next week was not a pleasant one for Henry. He wanted 
pennies for all sorts of things, but there
were no pennies to be had. When, therefore, he took his next sixpence to 
Mr. Brister, he felt very gloomy. To his
surprise, Mr. Brister refused to take it.
"That's all right, Henry," said Mr. Brister, " the window's all paid for now."
" Paid for! " said Henry. " Who paid for it?"
" Ah! that's a secret," replied Mr. Brister.
So Henry went home with a load off his mind, wondering all the time who 
could have paid his debt. He thought at first
it must have been his father; but his father flatly denied it; so did his mother. Then an idea struck him. Rushing upstairs to Jane's 
room he took her money-box from the 
mantelpiece and shook it. It was empty.
Then he knew who had paid Mr. Brister.
-From "The Bargerys," by P. B. BALLARD. (University of London Press.)

THE ILLNESS OF CLARE.
Two doctors came to see Clare when she was ill. This was more or less an 
accident, but Clare thought it very
suitable. She was supposed to have many talents in the making, but one at 
least she possessed already-she knew how to be ill.
None of your curling up with face turned away for Clare. Propped up on 
her pillows, she smiled wanly at you, or as
wanly as one can, when it happens to be measles. You yourself might have 
suffered, perhaps, with some illness in
the past, but never as Clare was suffering now. Sometimes she was almost 
too ill to notice that any one had come
into the room at all. Then after a moment she would turn her head 
languidly with a faint, resigned smile.
Most patients have their whims. Clare's was to have the positions of all 
the pictures in the room altered - rhyme-sheets and prints and tear-off calendar, which had not only the picture of a kitten on it, 
but also a motto for every day in the year.
Clare had a table beside her bed on which were placed a box of chalks, 
strips of toast to take after medicine, writing
materials, a cup of orangeade, and a bottle of lavender water. Only the 
best loved and thoroughly soiled of the stuffed
animals were allowed to catch the measles and share her bed. They were 
warned, of course, that they would have to
be disinfected afterwards.
On the first day Clare was well enough to draw, and she made a picture of "The Bad Eggs at School." All very lively
eggs they were with comic noses and eyes, in a room with school diagrams on 
the wall and a neat red-and-blue
check duster for the blackboard, exactly the same pattern as the neat 
red-and-blue check window curtains. There
was a whole row of books on a shelf in the schoolroom called " Studies for 
Young Eggs from Six to Fourteen, Parts I
to X" Outside the window was a green tree and a view of a distant hill. It 
was altogether a very clever piece of work.
On the second day Clare became much too ill for art. She spoke of " The Bad 
Eggs at School " as one might speak
of a life-work of which one feels: what an artist I was when I did that! I 
shall never be able to do anything so beautiful
again! " I will pinken the walls and the books a little, " said Clare, in a 
feeble voice; " but I won't draw any more."
When it was quite certain that it was measles, Clare took the shock nobly.
" Do people often die with the measles?" she asked.
" Good gracious, no! " said her mother.
" I think I am going to," she said firmly.
Luckily this mood did not last long. She became content with having 
measles rather worse than Charles had had
them, and with having a slightly higher " tempacher. "
On the second day of the illness only one of the doctors came. He was much younger than his partner, and Clare felt that she had 
been slighted. " Why did that doctor come! " she said. " I scarcely trust him. He's only learning, isn't he? I'm used to the old 
doctor, and I like him better." For some time she refused to drink, the young doctor's medicine. When her unwillingness was at 
last overcome, she was pleasantly 
surprised.
" It's gone down just exactly where the cough is," she announced. " I feel 
better already. He does send clever
medicines,
doesn't he? " I
 Now that she trusted her doctor, she
began to take the upward turn. Sometimes
she would cry at the thought of the medicine
to come, and of how terribly nasty, in spite
of his cleverness, it was going to be. For
the most part, however, she lay looking
interesting, and often with her eyes shut,
inhaling steam from the steam-kettle with
friar's balsam in it. She looked really pale
now, the marks of her illness having travelled rapidly downwards.
On the fifth morning she was caught in an unguarded moment, after washing 
was over and the first medicine of the day had been overcome.
" What would you like for breakfast?" asked her mother.
" Anchovy eggs, muffins, crumpets, and champagne," she said, gurgling with 
joy over her happy idea, and quite
forgetful of the part of the invalid that she should have been playing.
"Why, I do believe you must be ever so much better! " said her mother. A 
shadow of pain passed over Clare's face. "Oh, no, not better," she corrected. " I can't really eat anything. I only made that joke to 
cheer you up "; and once more her face wore the look of the interesting invalid.
-From " Gorgeous Times,'' by E. V. KNOX. (Methuen.) (Slightly altered.)

RHYMING INK.
Once upon a time there was a good man called Simon Smug; his wife was 
called Sarah; and they kept a shop. Every
evening, when Simon locked up the shop, he would say, " Now I'm going to 
enjoy myself." Sometimes he enjoyed
himself by sitting with his feet in the fender, reading the paper to 
Sarah; sometimes he enjoyed himself pottering
about the backyard or sowing Virginian Stock in the rockery; and 
sometimes he enjoyed himself by falling asleep in
his chair.
Then one day he decided to become a poet. " You'd be surprised at the 
thoughts that come into my head, Sarah,"
said he. "I'm going to put them into poetry and become famous." He got a very large 
sheet of paper and a very large pen and a
very large bottle of ink, and sat down at the kitchen table. He began to 
write as fast as he could.
"Just listen to this, Sarah," he said, "and tell me if you ever heard so fine a beginning to a poem:
Some poets praise the hairy lion, I praise the hippopotamus …"
"And what comes next! " asked Sarah.
"I don't know yet," said Simon, I haven't had time to find a rhyme."
He sat at the table and thought and thought and thought. He bit the end 
of his pen to shreds, he found a box of nibs
and tried them all, he rumpled his hair and inked his face, and made 
scribbles and patterns all round the edge of the
paper; but it was of no use. " I don't believe there is a rhyme to 
hippopotamus," he groaned.
"Why not start with something easier?" suggested Mrs. Smug.
So Simon began again. He began a dozen poems at least, but he could not 
finish one.
" Is anything wrong, my dear? " asked Sarah.
" Wrong! " echoed Simon. "I should think there is! There's not a single 
rhyme to any word I've used, and I can no
more make poetry without rhymes than you can make an omelette without 
eggs! I shall never be a poet at this rate."
Simon grew thin and ill-tempered with worry; he lost his appetite, he 
lost his sleep, he was impatient with customers
and made mistakes in his orders. Wherever he was, and whatever he was 
doing, he was muttering scraps of poetry to
himself and trying to find the words he wanted.
" Things can't go on like this, " thought Mrs. Smug. Then she saw an 
advertisement for Rhyming Ink. " Just dip your
pen in Rhyming Ink," it said, " (only ten shillings a bottle), and you 
cannot help writing Poetry."
" That is exactly what Simon wants! " she cried; and she sent for some 
ink at once. She washed out Mr. Smug's
inkpot and filled it with the wonderful ink.
"Now perhaps we shall have a little peace," she said to herself.
Presently Simon came in, gave a great sigh, and sat down at the kitchen 
table to write poetry, as usual. He sighed
again as he took a clean sheet of paper, chose a new nib, and opened the 
inkpot, for he supposed that, as usual, in
five minutes he would be rumpling his hair and rolling his eyes in his struggles to find a rhyme. 
And he had thought of such a beautiful beginning for a poem!
I would that in the summer sun I flitted as a butterfly.
He wrote that much quickly; then the surprising thing happened. The pen 
went right on and finished the verse!
But then before the day was done, Perhaps I'd in the gutter lie!
"I've done it," shouted Simon Smug. "I've written a poem."
"There now; just fancy that!" said Sarah.
" I wonder if I can finish the hippopotamus one," said Simon. He dipped his pen in the ink and wrote:
Some poets praise the hairy lion, I praise the hippopotamus.
And once more his pen went gliding on: He's got a mouth with teeth like 
iron If he should nip, Oh! What a fuss!
"I've done it again," cried Simon. " I can write it as easily as signing my 
name." He scrawled Simon Smug across the
paper, and then gave a gasp, for under his name he had written, Oh! What 
a mug!
"I've made a poem even of that," he said in astonishment. " I'm a poet at 
last. I shall write poetry all day long now,
and not waste time serving in the shop any more."
Mrs. Smug had to attend to the shop now, and, although this gave her a lot 
of work, she enjoyed telling the
customers that her husband had taken to poetry. After a few days, however, 
she almost wished she had never bought
the rhyming ink. The kitchen table was smothered in papers; poems fluttered 
to the ground with every opening of the
door; they got into the wash-tub and the gravy and the flour bin and the 
coal scuttle. If she had a moment to sit down
and rest, Simon would read his favourite pieces to her. What with the worry 
of so much poetry in the kitchen and so
little help in the shop, she began to feel worn out.
The trouble came to a head when, having lost her pencil, she used the 
rhyming ink herself. In her hurry, without
thinking, she wrote bills and receipts, and presently the customers 
returned, red-faced and angry.
" What do you mean by putting down white mice on my bill?" cried one. 
" I ordered a pound of rice, and you
have charged me as well for three white mice."
"And I ordered a pot of jam," said another, " and you have written 
underneath to boil with ham."
"And just look at this receipt!" said another.
"Received with thanks, dear Mrs. Banks, One pound and four-you owe me more - A 
kiss and a hug from Sarah Smug."
"It's that rhyming ink," cried poor Sarah. "Nothing's gone right since I bought it!" And she rushed into the kitchen.
"I've written another poem since you brought me the ink back," said Simon; " 
it begins- "
"I don't care how it begins! " cried Mrs. Smug, and she seized the bottle 
and emptied the ink out of the window all over
the rockery.
"You'll just clear away all those papers and go and look after the shop as 
you used to do. I've had more than enough
poetry and that's the end of it."
Simon was not altogether sorry to be back behind the counter, but Sarah was 
wrong when she thought that emptying
the bottle out of the window was the end of the matter. The Virginian Stock 
began to behave most strangely; instead
of being miserable and straggling, it grew and blossomed as if ink was its 
favourite fertilizer.
"What a charming backyard you have," exclaimed all Simon's visitors. "Your 
rockery is as pretty as a poem! "
Which shows what rhyming ink can do-at least the kind at ten shillings a bottle.
-Adapted from "Fifteen Tales for Lively Children," by MARGARET BAKER. 
(University of London Press.)

OLIVER TWIST ASKS FOR MORE.
[Oliver Twist was an orphan boy, who had been put to live in a workhouse in 
England, about one hundred years ago.
In those days, not so very far distant, poor orphan children were treated 
with very little care or kindness.]
The room in which the boys were fed was a large stone hall, with a copper 
at one end, out of which the master,
dressed in an apron for the purpose, and assisted by one or two women, 
ladled the gruel at meal-times. Of this festive
dish each boy had one porringer, and no more, except on days of great 
public rejoicing, when he had two ounces and
a quarter of bread besides.
The bowls never wanted washing. The boys polished them with their spoons 
till they shone again; and, when they had
finished this operation (which never took very long, the spoons being 
nearly as large as the bowls), they would sit
staring at the copper with eager eyes, as if they could have devoured the 
very bricks of which it was composed.
Meanwhile they employed themselves most busily in sucking their fingers in 
order to catch up any stray splashes of
gruel that might have been cast on them.
Oliver Twist and his companions suffered the tortures of slow starvation 
for three months. At last they became so
desperate and wild with hunger that one boy, who was tall for his age, and 
had not been used to that sort of thing (his
father had kept a small cook-shop), began to make dark hints to his 
companions. He said that unless he had another
basin of gruel a day he was afraid he might some night eat the boy
 sleeping next him, who happened to be a
 weakly little fellow. The tall boy had a wild,
 hungry eye, and the others all believed him.
 A meeting was held. Lots were cast for who
 should walk up to the master after supper
 that evening and ask for more. The lot fell
 to Oliver Twist.
 The evening arrived; the boys took their
 places. The master, in his cook's uniform,
 stood at the copper; his assistants ranged
 themselves behind him; the gruel was served
 out; and a long grace was said over the short commons. The gruel disappeared; the boys whispered to one another and winked at 
Oliver; while his next neighbours nudged him.
 Child as he was, he was desperate with hunger
 and reckless with misery. He rose from the
 table, and advancing to the master, basin and
 spoon in hand, said, somewhat alarmed at his
 own daring:
 "Please, sir, I want some more."
 The master was a fat, healthy man; but
 he turned very pale. He gazed in blank
 astonishment on the small rebel for some
 seconds, and then clung for support to the
 copper. The assistants were struck dumb
 with wonder, the boys, with fear.
" What?" said the master at length, in a
 faint voice.
 " Please, sir," replied Oliver, " I want
 some more."
 The master aimed a blow at Oliver's head
 with the ladle. He then held him fast in his
 arms and shrieked aloud for Mr. Bumble, the
 beadle.
The workhouse managers were at a meeting when Mr. Bumble rushed into the 
room in great excitement, and said to
the gentleman in the high chair, " Mr. Limbkins, I beg your pardon, sir! 
Oliver Twist has
asked for more! " There was a general start. Horror was depicted on every 
face.
" For more? " said Mr. Limbkins. " Compose yourself, Bumble, and answer me 
distinctly. Do I understand that he
asked for more, after he had eaten the supper allowed by the rules?"
"He did, sir," replied Bumble.
"That boy will be hanged," said a gentleman in a white waistcoat. "I know that 
boy will be hanged."
An excited debate took place. Oliver was ordered to be at once shut up by 
himself. Next morning a bill was posted
on the outside of the gate, offering a reward of five pounds to anyone who 
would take Oliver Twist off the hands of the
parish. In other words, five pounds and Oliver Twist were offered to any 
man or woman who wanted an apprentice to any trade, business, or calling.
-Slightly adapted from " Oliver Twist," by CHARLES DICKENS.

RATA'S CANOE.
A Maori youth named Rata wished to make a long sea journey, for which he 
would need a large canoe. He therefore
went into the forest and, choosing the tallest and straightest tree he 
could find, he set to work to fell it. Before the day
was done the tree had fallen, and its noble branching top had been hewn 
off. Rata went home to his village, tired but
satisfied and full of plans for the morrow, when he would begin to shape 
his boat from the great tree trunk.
Early next morning Rata returned to his work, but, when he reached the 
place of his labours, the tree trunk was not there. He searched all round and then glanced up at the tall tree standing above him. 
Surely that was the very tree he had felled 
the day before! There it stood, with every
branch, twig, and leaf in place as if it had never been touched.
For a few moments Rata gazed in astonishment. Then taking up his good 
stone axe he began to chop the tree down
again. He worked hard all day, and by sunset he was hollowing out the 
canoe and beginning to shape its prow and
stern into their gracefully curved forms. Darkness fell and he went home.
The following morning, when Rata came back to work, no half-made canoe 
awaited him. Instead, the noble tree once
more stood untouched and just as he had first found it. Nothing daunted, 
the determined young Maori, for the third
time, attacked the tree trunk.
When the giant tree came crashing to earth Rata made as if to go home. He 
then stole back and, hiding in the
undergrowth, kept watch on the fallen tree. Presently he heard a 
murmuring and then the sound of many voices
singing a chant. He watched and saw a great band of wood-sprites, the children of Tane, God of the Forest, all come
flocking round the fallen tree.
They set to work, putting every chip and shaving back in its place in the 
tree trunk, replacing branches, twigs, and
leaves. As they worked, they sang to the tree, bidding it become whole 
and stand upright once more. When
everything was in place, the great tree rose slowly from the ground and 
stood tall and straight and beautiful.
Rata was amazed at this magical performance, but he was also very angry at seeing all his work 
undone. He sprang
from his hiding place and managed to catch some of the wood-sprites as they tried to run from him.
" Ha, ha! " cried he. " It is you, is it then, who have been using your magic on my tree? "
" Your tree, indeed! " replied the sprites. "Who gave you the right to fell one of the noblest trees of the forest? "
Then Rata knew that he had done wrong. He knew that he should first have taken offerings to Tane and asked the god to allow 
him to cut down the tree. He hung his head in shame, and the children of Tane saw he was sorry for what he had done.
" Go home, Rata, " they said. " We will make you a canoe. "
 When Rata returned to the forest the
following day, his fairy canoe lay before his
eyes, beautifully made and complete in every detail, such a canoe as no human hands
could fashion. The delighted youth brought his friends to see the magic work, and
together they hauled the canoe to the water ready for Rata's journey.
 
THE TWO MATCHES
One day, in the dry season, when a strong wind was blowing, a traveller rode through the forest in 
California. He had
come a long way and was tired and hungry, and he dismounted from his horse to smoke a pipe. When he 
felt in his
pocket he found two matches. He struck the first, and it would not light.
" Here's a pretty state of things! " said the traveller. " Longing for a smoke, only one match left, 
and that certain to
misfire! Was there ever so unfortunate a creature? "
" And yet," he thought, " supposing I light this match, and smoke my pipe, and shake out the ash 
here in the grass.
The grass might catch fire, for it is as dry as tinder, and, while I snatch out the flames in front, 
they might run behind
me and seize upon yon bush. Before I could get it, that would have blazed up. Over the bush I see a 
pine hung with
moss. That too would fly at once in fire to its topmost bough; and how the wind would take and 
brandish that low
torch of flame through the dry forest!
" I hear this dell roar in a moment with the joint voice of wind and fire. I see myself gallop for my 
soul, and the flying
flames chase and outflank me through the hills. I see this pleasant forest burning for days, and the 
cattle roasted,
and the springs dried up, and the farmer ruined, and his children homeless. What a world hangs upon 
this moment! "
With that he struck the match, and it misfired.
" Thank goodness! " said the traveller, and put his pipe in his pocket.
-R. L. STEVENSON. (Adapted.)

MORE ABOUT JANE.
Jane had other hobbies besides healing Henry's sores. Cooking was one of 
them. Even when she was a little girl of three,
she loved to toddle about the kitchen and watch her mother making cakes; 
but she was not content with watching.
" Let me make some, Mummy," she would say.
One afternoon she got her way. She was allowed to take some of her mother's 
pastry in her podgy little hands and mould it,
as though it were plasticine, into small round lumps. These she put in the 
oven side by side with Mother's big cakes.
When Jane's cakes were placed upon the table, everybody praised them, but 
nobody ventured to eat them. Their grey colour
put the family off. Jane's face looked so blank, when she saw how her cakes 
were being treated, that her daddy ate up the dirty little things as though he enjoyed them.
He did not like to see his little girlie's feelings hurt. That was true 
politeness.
Jane improved as she grew older. One day, when she was about eight years 
old, she was allowed to make a cake all
by herself -a proper cake with sugar and currants and lemon-peel. Jane 
felt quite proud of it as it stood firm and round
and brown in the middle of the tea table. Henry had the first slice. He 
usually did because he was always the
hungriest. No sooner had he tasted it, however, than he made a wry face.
Then the others tasted it. There was no doubt about it: it was horrible. 
Jane had by mistake used salt instead of
sugar. When the discovery was made, she grew red in the face and was on 
the point of crying. David told her to cheer
up, and said it was a jolly good cake in spite of the salt. And he ate 
his piece though it nearly choked him.
For some weeks after that it was Mrs. Bargery that made the family cake. 
One day there was a fine-looking cake on
the table. Henry, who was as usual the first to taste it and regarded himself as a good judge of cake, said it was the best cake 
he had ever eaten.
" Who do you think made it? " asked David, who was in the know.
"Why, Mother, of course," replied Henry.
"You are wrong," said Mrs. Bargery; "it was Jane. "
When Jane was ten years old, she had reached the top class in the junior 
school. She had long got over her dislike of
sums. So thoroughly had she learnt her tables that she found it quite easy 
to do straightforward sums. As for
problems, she liked them well enough if they were not too hard.
What she liked best, however, was reading. She revelled in reading, story 
books in particular, and especially if they
had pictures in them. Her favourite position was on her stomach. Lying flat 
on the floor with a book in front of her, she
would be lost to the world and carried away to the fairyland of the story. 
She could not, of course, read like this at
school, but she could at home. Even at home it would have been unwise to 
lie on the floor unless the floor had been
perfectly clean; but Mrs. Bargery's floors were perfectly clean.
Jane did not do only her reading on the floor, but her writing as well - a 
little weakness of which she tried to cure
herself, for there were other dangers besides those that might come from 
draught and dust. Tim, the dog, for
instance, would sometimes come along, and upset the ink; and Niobe, the 
cat, would walk on her exercise book
when the writing was still wet, and leave behind her
a trail of smudges. Jane found this rather trying, but, as she was a 
good-tempered girl, she would merely say, " Oh,
bother! " and then set about to repair the damage.
Jane was very much liked at school. She was one of the best scholars in the 
class, but she would not have believed it
had you told her so. On the first of May, it was the custom at her school 
to choose a May Queen. Every girl in the
class had a vote. She had to put down on a piece of paper the name of the 
girl of her choice. Jane voted
for her friend, Elizabeth Jarvis, who was really a prettier girl than Jane, 
and, as Jane thought, looked much more like a
queen.
When the votes were counted Elizabeth was fairly low down on the list. The 
name at the top was that of Jane
Bargery. When it was read out to the school, Jane blushed and looked 
uncomfortable, and thought there must be
some mistake. But there was no mistake. The school had chosen Jane for its 
May Queen.
-From " The Bargerys," by P. B. BALLARD. (-University of London Press.)

AN ADVENTURE OF BARON MUNCHAUSEN.  
[Baron Munchausen was a Hanoverian soldier who lived in the eighteenth century. He was noted for his " tall " stories about 
adventures that were supposed to have happened to him. This is one of them.]
One day, when I was out hunting in the forest, I found all at once that I 
had used up all my shot. There was still,
however, plenty of powder in my powder-horn. At this very moment I caught 
sight of a stately stag standing beneath
a large oak. He seemed to know that I had used up all my shot.
I at once charged my gun, however, with powder, and began to feel in my 
pockets. There I came upon a handful of
cherry-stones, for I had passed an orchard during the day,
and had picked some of the cherries to eat as I went along. Being a tidy 
man by nature I had slipped the stones,
without thinking, into my pocket.
I now poured the cherry-stones into my gun, and with it thus charged I let 
fly at the stag. My aim was true, for or the
charge struck him in the middle of the forehead just between the antlers. 
The stones, however, were not hard enough,
and though they stunned him so that he staggered, he soon recovered and 
made off as fast as he could.
A year or two later, being with a hunting party in the same forest, I 
beheld all at once a noble stag. From between his
antlers there rose a fine cherry tree, at least ten feet high. I immediately remembered my earlier adventure and made up my mind 
to have that stag for myself. I had plenty of lead this time, so I fired, and he fell at the first shot.
I took the animal with me to the inn at which I was staying. He made me a 
wonderful supper that night, a supper of
venison and cherry sauce. The tree on his head was covered with the richest 
fruit, the like of which I have never
tasted before or since.

GATO, THE HORSE, TELLS A STORY.
We were now in a country called Peru. It was very cold up in the high 
mountains, and the trails were often very bad
and dangerous. Here and there they were cut out of mountain walls, and 
were so narrow that if two animals should
have met, they could not have passed each other, and it would have been 
equally impossible for them to turn round.
Luckily there are only a few of these death traps, and, when men come to 
them, they dismount and go afoot  to see if
anybody is coming in the opposite direction.
One morning I was picking my way along a narrow trail. On my left was the 
solid wall of the mountain, and on my
right, a steep incline which ended abruptly at the edge of a frightfully 
deep precipice.
Suddenly, a piece of rock under my right leg gave way, and before I knew 
what was happening I shot down the incline
towards the gaping chasm. I had already closed my eyes so as not to see 
the giddy height down which I was about
to fall to certain death, when I hit a tree which stopped my rapid slide. 
For a moment I thought the trunk would snap,
but luckily it was strong enough to support my weight.
From my perilous position I could not see the trail above, but I heard 
Master's voice and Mancha's calls of fear. I
neighed till I saw Master come clambering down the incline. Knowing that 
I was more or less safe as long as I did
not move from the little tree against which I was still leaning, I stood 
quite still while I watched Master come nearer
and nearer.

THE MASTER WITH MANCHA AND GATO.

After what seemed an eternity some kindly Indians arrived on the scene 
and at once helped to save me. Master tied
ropes round me, and when all was ready gave a signal, whereupon the 
sturdy Indians above pulled as hard as they
could, and thus helped me to climb up.
When I was once more on the narrow trail, Mancha sniffed me affectionately, 
while the Natives stroked my trembling
body. I was so glad to be alive that I forgot all about poor Master, who 
was still down below rescuing the saddle and
other things he had taken off me. At last he appeared on the trail, 
perspiring so much that one might have thought he
had come out of a river. He slapped his big hat on the ground, and seating 
himself on a rock had a good laugh.
In those parts the mountains look as if they had been split and cracked by 
gigantic thunderbolts, and some of the
precipices and canyons are several thousand feet deep. More than once our 
trail led straight towards terrible chasms,
across which the Indians had built frail hanging bridges. The sight of the 
first of these made me quite giddy and ill,
and, when Master went to inspect it and even walked to the other side, I 
thought he must have gone crazy. Imagine
my surprise when he came back, and, after tying me to a stone, led Mancha 
towards the bridge! My pal seemed to
be as greatly surprised as I was, for when he saw that Master was not 
joking, but really wanted him to cross the
giddy swinging bridge, he sniffed it and tested its strength by stamping on 
it with one foot. Master kept telling Mancha
that it was all right, and asked him to be a good boy and just follow him 
quietly.
I felt cold ripples run down my back when I saw them both step on to the 
bridge, which sagged terribly in the middle
and swung to and fro like a hammock. I wondered if it was strong enough to 
bear the weight of the two, and I was
afraid that the flooring of sticks and twigs would give way. Looking at the dreadful drop down to the river 
below made me feel quite sick. In despair, I
neighed, but Mancha was far too busy to answer, for now, step by step, he 
was picking his way. I could have yelled
with joy when my dear friends safely reached the other side, but at the 
same moment it dawned on me that it would be my turn next.

A PERUVIAN BRIDGE.

As soon as Mancha was on solid rock, he looked across the chasm and called 
loudly, " Did you watch me? Now let us see what you can do!"
Although I was sick with fear, I shouted back, " All right, old chap. Keep 
your eyes open and you'll learn something! "
Master led me towards the bridge, and, trying to look brave, I did not 
even halt to sniff or test its strength, but I just followed Master; and soon reached 
the middle of the bridge. The horrid thing
sagged so much with our weight that we were down in a deep hollow, where 
we swayed from side to side till I
thought we would fall down. I had made up my mind not to look into the 
depth below, but when the bridge swung so
much that we had to stop, I got a glimpse of the river far below us. For 
a moment I thought my knees were about to
give way, and I felt as if I were being pulled over the edge. Luckily, 
just then Master spoke to me and patted my
neck. When he moved on again, I followed without knowing what I was 
doing, for my head was swimming and I felt
as if I were walking upside down.
Once we had passed the sagging middle of the bridge, we had to go uphill, 
which made progress much easier.
Feeling that I was nearing safety, I hurried so much that my weight made 
the bridge bob up and down violently, and
Master had to hold on for all he was worth to save himself from falling 
overboard.
At last, puffing and panting with fright and excitement, I reached 
Mancha, who said, " I thought you were going to
teach me something, but it strikes me that you didn't see the joke when you reached the middle of the bridge. The way you 
hurried off it makes me think that you're very
glad to be over here on solid rock once more! "
"Oh," I replied, " when I stopped I just wanted to look down to see what 
could have frightened you, and I only hurried to
come to tell you how much I enjoyed the fun! "
-Adapted from "The Tale of Two Horses," by A. F. TSCHIFFELY. (Heinemann.)

SEASHORE WIRELESS.
This is the Seashore General Broadcasting Station. Before giving the News 
Bulletin, we have an inquiry to make:
"  Missing from his seaside residence a good-looking young starfish of 
the well-known Five-Finger family, last seen
taking a slow stroll along the shore, propelled by his several hundred 
sucker legs, which he has a habit of drawing up and concealing inside his body when inactive.
" It is feared that some calamity may have befallen Five-Finger as, in 
spite of his innocent appearance, he has many
enemies on the beach. This is doubtless owing to his somewhat unfriendly 
habit of devouring many of his shellfish
neighbours. It is indeed said that the oysters recently held a sea-bed indignation meeting, and demanded that Five-Finger be 
deported from this 
coast.
" The missing starfish has a double, who came into existence only a few 
weeks ago in the strange way common to
the family. It happened thus. Our missing friend was cut in half in an 
accident, and the two halves at once set about
throwing out new rays, thus forming two perfectly good starfish in place of 
the damaged one.
" Will anyone knowing anything of Five-Finger please report to his cousin, 
Brittle Starfish? This branch of the family
should, however, be approached very gently, for they all have the somewhat 
alarming habit, when startled, of giving
one big shudder and then falling entirely to pieces, leaving only their 
central round disc! Fortunately, however, five new
buds soon appear on this disc, shooting out into new rays in a few weeks. 
Thus Brittle Starfish becomes whole again,
without any suffering, either."
We are sorry that there is no time now for the News. You are next to hear 
Mr. Shore Crab in a talk.
" Good-morning, everybody! This is the first time I've been called to the 
microphone, so I hope my voice will not be
too crabby from sheer nervousness. As I have been allowed only a very short 
time for my talk on ' How Crabs Grow,' I
had better begin on my subject at once.
" Well, unlike the oyster and many similar creatures, our shells do not 
grow with us, so, when they feel too tight, we
just wriggle about inside till our bodies become loosened from their hard 
covering. Then, suddenly, crack! the shells split open, and out we leap. Next a strange thing 
happens: the old cases join together again and
look like perfect crabs once more, empty though they are.
" Meanwhile, the live part of us (now an unprotected, soft lump of flesh) 
hides behind the rocks, away from possible
enemies, and don't we feel tired after our cramped gymnastics! Knowing, 
however, that this is our only chance for
nearly a year, we at once begin to grow as fast as ever we can. It's a 
race, I can tell you, for in one day our new shells begin to form on us, and by that time we have usually managed to grow twice 
as big as we were when we left the old shell.

CRAB AND OLD SHELL.

"In two days, we face the world in our new suits, which last us for 
about another year. Then we go through the same
performance all over again.
I've just been warned by the announcer that I'm exceeding my time 
limit-so good-bye, everybody, good-bye!
-Adapted  from "Sea-Shore Wireless," by
 E. M. HASKINS. (Macmillan. Publishers' price, 4d.)

THE BEETLE AND THE THREAD.
Sila, an Eastern king's chief adviser, refused to obey his master, who 
had ordered him to do something mean and shameful.
" Seize him," cried the king in a rage,
and take him to the top of the highest tower. Let him stay there without 
food or water, and we shall see whether
hunger and thirst and the heat of the sun will make him change his mind."
Sila knew that on the high lonely tower he would either die or give in 
to the king's demands. He therefore set his wits
to work upon a plan of escape. The only person he could really trust was 
his wife, Buddhi. One of the guards
promised to tell her what had happened, and, when darkness fell and Sila 
looked down from the tower, there at the
foot stood his wife.
"Run home," he called, "and fetch me these things: a beetle, sixty yards 
of the finest silk, sixty yards of thin, strong
cotton, sixty yards of good stout twine, sixty yards of rope strong 
enough to bear my weight, and lastly, one drop of
honey."
Buddhi hurried home and, without a word to anyone, looked until she found 
all she needed. Finding the beetle gave
her the most trouble. It was still dark when she returned to the tower. Her 
low, soft call was at once answered from
the top, and Sila told her what to do.
"First of all," he said, "tie one end of the fine silk to the beetle, and 
smear his nose with the honey. The beetle will
smell the honey but, not knowing it is on himself, he will think the hive 
is in front of him. If you put him on the wall of
the tower with his nose pointing upwards, he will climb and climb to reach 
the hive."
Buddhi did as Sila had directed, and, just as he had said, the beetle began 
to climb.
" Now," went on Sila, "as the beetle comes up, gently unroll the silk 
thread, so that the weight of it will not check
him in his climb. Keep tight hold of your end, though, for that thread, 
fine as it is, is my only hold on life."
Up and up climbed the beetle until, at last, just as the day began to dawn, 
he reached the top of the tower. Joyfully
Sila picked him up and seized one end of the silk.
"Quick, Buddhi," he called, " tie the cotton thread to your end of the silk." The wife did so, and Sila gently pulled up
the silk until he could grasp the end of the cotton.
" Now the twine! " he called. " Tie it to the cotton! " And so the twine in 
turn was pulled up. Before Sila had seized the
twine, Buddhi had already tied the other end to the rope, for now she 
understood her husband's plan.
Up went the rope, and in a few moments Sila almost gave a shout of triumph, 
for he had in his hands the means of
escape - a good   stout rope. He tied it securely to a pillar of the tower 
and, when he was sure it would bear his weight
without slipping or breaking, he climbed over the parapet and quickly slid 
down the rope. In a minute he was standing
on the firm earth, a free man, with Buddhi half laughing and half crying 
beside him.
-Adapted from " Hindu Tales," by S. M. MITRA.

THE PEDLAR.
The pedlar sat down wearily under a hedge. He was old and ragged and 
dusty. His feet were sore, and his shoes
broken and worn. He was hungry and sad. All the day he had been walking 
from village to village under the hot sun,
trying to sell the goods in his pack. No one, however, wanted his gay 
ribbons, his rosettes, or the flowers he had
made so carefully from odds and ends of silk or suede.
He took off his battered hat and wiped his forehead. He leaned against 
the hedge and sighed. Then a little smile
began to peep out of his eyes, and his lips trembled into a soft laugh. 
He took a flute from his pocket and began to
play a merry tune. He played on and on, forgetting his sorrow, his 
hunger, and his weariness. He closed his eyes
happily and still played on.
The sound of nearing hoofs and wheels roused him. Opening his eyes, he 
saw a gig approaching, with a plump well-dressed farmer flourishing a whip over a smart, high-stepping horse. The driver 
stopped his gig and looked down at the flute
player.
"Hey ! what are you playing that for, with none to listen? " he asked.
The pedlar removed the flute from his lips.
"I'm listening," he said with a smile.
" It's a daft audience you have then," chuckled the farmer. "Is that all you do for a living? "

NO ONE WANTED ANYTHING.

" Oh no, " said the man, " I'm a pedlar, but business is very bad. Can I sell you anything ? "
"No, thank you," replied the farmer. "You want to bustle round and show your goods. Fancy mooning about under a hedge and 
playing a tin whistle! "
" It's a flute," smiled the pedlar.
"They're all the same," went on the farmer. " Now, if you take my advice, 
you'll throw away that trumpet-"
" It's a flute," laughed the pedlar.
"No matter," continued the farmer, " they are much of a muchness. You throw 
it away, and you'll find that business will
improve. Gee-up, old horse!" and away he drove.
Shaking his head, the pedlar put his flute in his pocket. "If I threw you 
away, my best friend would be gone," he
said. Then he shouldered his pack and once more set out along the road. 
Late in the afternoon he came to a village
green, where all the villagers were gathered round a broken barrel-organ. 
Their faces were glum and, as the pedlar went among them offering his wares, they snapped at him and told him to be off.
" Here's a fine thing," the pedlar heard one say to another, " we're all 
here for the dancing, and the barrel-organ won't
play."
The pedlar put his pack upon the grass and, seating himself upon it, took 
out his flute and began to play a merry jig.
In a moment all the men and women, and the lads and lasses, and the little 
boys and tiny girls were footing it on the
grass with the greatest jollity.
When they stopped for breath, the pedlar opened his pack and displayed his 
goods. In a moment the men and the
lads and the little boys were pinning his rosettes to their jackets; while 
the women and the lasses and the tiny girls
tied his gay ribbons and plumes to their dresses, and fastened the flowers 
he had made in their hair. Again and again
the pedlar played, and the gay crowd danced until the night fell, and a big 
moon sailed over the trees. When they
were all tired, they gathered round the pedlar and filled his old hat with 
coins.
The next morning the pedlar sat by the roadside a few miles out of the village. He was chuckling to himself and counting his 
money. Presently the plump well-dressed farmer came rolling along in his gig.
" Hallo, pedlar! " he shouted, " what are you doing ? "
" Counting money, " replied the pedlar.
" Fine! " laughed the farmer; " have you sold all your goods?"

THE GAY CROWD DANCED.

"Every one of them," said the pedlar gaily.
"Splendid! " said the farmer. "Then I'll be bound you took my advice and 
threw away your old bugle."
" Flute! " said the pedlar.
" There's no difference," grinned the farmer; " but you did, didn't you?
When the pedlar told the farmer what his flute had done for him, the 
plump old fellow  was so surprised that he drove off without
a word; and he was six miles away before he
thought of something he might have said.
-STEPHEN SOUTHWOLD, in "The Old Brown Book." (University of London Press.)

"INVICTA," THE IRON HORSE.
"That will be very agreeable, Papa! Oh, what a fortunate girl I am! " A 
little girl goes quickly upstairs to put on her new
dress of sprigged muslin, her scarf and gloves, her straw hat trimmed with 
wide blue ribbon. To-day her father is
taking her into the City of Canterbury to see the opening of the railroad, 
and to ride in a carriage behind an iron horse.
Just as the steam in a kettle raises the lid, so the steam in the boiler of 
an engine pushes its machinery, as Mr.
James Watt discovered. Papa explains this, and Susan tries to understand.
Soon she and her father and uncle are in their pony chaise trotting along 
the roads of Kent to Canterbury, passing
blossoming orchards, tidy hop gardens, and woods full of bluebells. With a 
blast from the guard's long horn, the Deal-to-London coach sweeps past, its four fine horses clattering over the dusty white road 
at ten or twelve miles an hour.
"Your railroad won't beat that," grunts Susan's uncle, who is curious to 
see the iron horse, although he dislikes
everything about railways. He distrusts steam engines, even stationary 
ones - nasty dangerous things that might blow
up any minute! It would have been better to cut more good canals, he 
says, or to have deepened the river so that big
ships might have sailed right up to Canterbury.
" I believe in moving with the times," says Susan's father, " like the 
iron horses."
" Moving with the times," grumbles the uncle. " They move too quickly for 
me. And pray, why should we move ? "
As the chaise enters the city, the clocks are chiming half past ten. The 
pony is put up at the King's Head, and the
party hurries to the new station. Flags are flying on many buildings as 
well as on the station and the railway coaches,
and the bells of the Cathedral peal merrily in the sunshine.
Susan is delighted when she sees the crowds, the gaily decorated vans, as 
the open passenger coaches are called,
and the conductors with crimson ribbons round their hats, printed with 
the word " Railway." Here comes the Mayor of
Canterbury. He is a director of the railway company, and will probably 
ride with his fellow-directors in the front van,
which is decorated with oak branches. Other members of the City Council 
go in the second one. Susan's father says
he must join a friend and travel in one of the last coaches. Susan is to 
go with an aunt in one of the ladies' vans,
number three. A band, to make music, follows in the fourth.
At a quarter past eleven all is ready. A signal is given, guns are fired, 
and two processions of vans, with no engine
attached as yet, move one after the other out of the station.
" Hip! Hip! Hurrah! " shout the crowd, as the vans glide past them, and 
then into the black tunnel.

THE IRON HORSE OF KENT.

Susan laughs delightedly, and the bolder spirits cheer 
until the sound echoes through the darkness.
Some of the passengers are terrified by the faster pace and the noise, 
but all agree, on coming out into daylight again, that the experience has been " novel and striking."
So far the train, which is in two parts, is being hauled by a rope cable 
which runs underneath between the rails. This
is being pulled by a stationary steam engine in the engine house now being 
approached, where the rope is wound
slowly round a large drum. " Tyler's Hill Engine Station," the conductor 
announces, and the train slows down until the
rope is unhooked. A fresh one is attached which will pull the train to the 
next stop at Flower's Wood. The coaches are
all made into one long train, and the journey through the wood is begun.
Susan is impatient to see the iron horse - the locomotive "Invicta," which 
was brought all the way from Newcastle by sea. A locomotive, her father has told her, is a moving steam engine, not a fixed one; 
it is a real iron horse which can move backwards and forwards along the rails. "Invicta " is made in the 
same style as Mr. Stephenson's famous "Rocket," which won the prize at Liverpool last year.
Here is the next engine station, Flower's Wood. The rope is unhooked, but 
no fresh one is put on, leaving the
stationary engine chugging away as it finishes winding up the cable. The 
train runs downhill by its own weight,
checked slightly by brakes, until it reaches Bogshole. And there, black and 
snorting, her tall chimney puffing busily,
her stoker in the tender shovelling coal into her furnace, her 
engine-driver in his tall hat perched high on her back,
stands " Invicta," the iron horse of Kent.
It is tedious waiting until the train is attached, but at last it is safely fastened behind her, and " Invicta " sets off to cover the last 
two level miles.
How gay and excited the people look as the train glides proudly into 
Whitstable! In spite of the delays at the railway
stations, it has taken only forty-one and a half minutes to cover the 
distance of more than six miles from Canterbury.
" Think of it," says Susan's father, " from to-morrow, when the line is 
open to the general public, passengers will be
able to journey from Canterbury to Whitstable for ninepence each, and 
children for sixpence! "
In the late afternoon the happy travellers take their seats again for the 
return journey, and, as the newspaper of the
day says, the first passenger train in Kent glides " rapidly and 
majestically into Canterbury at six o'clock, greeted by an even larger crowd of spectators than had watched the outset. Not the 
slightest accident took place."
Thus came the iron horse " Invicta " to Kent, and made its first 
railway journey on Monday, 2nd May, 1830.
-Adapted from " The Magic Bookshelf," by  MASEFIELD and MAGRAW. (G. Bell.)

THEY ALSO SERVE.
 It was late spring. Down at the
 bottom of the little walled garden a busy scurrying Ant darted here and there over the dry clods.
 Presently, as her way brought her close to the greying sun-baked wall,
 she looked up, and there above
her she saw a Chrysalis fastened to the brickwork by a silken pad.
The busy restless Ant paused a moment and stared at the brown giant. Then, 
running up the side of the wall, the Ant
touched the shiny monster with her fore-feet. A little shiver seemed to 
pass over the body of the Chrysalis, and its
ringed and pointed tip moved slowly and blindly.
" Who disturbs my rest?" said the Chrysalis in a slow drowsy voice.
" Why don't you rouse yourself and do things? " asked the Ant scornfully. "Fancy lying there like a clod when there is so much to 
do in the world! "
" Well, what is there to do ? " asked the Chrysalis.
" Do! " snapped the Ant, " why bustle and hurry and dash and rush about! "
" Why? " asked the Chrysalis, becoming perfectly still, and speaking more 
sleepily than before.
"Why?" replied the Ant, "why, eh? To get things done; to make the world go 
round."
"What do you get done?" drawled the Chrysalis.
" Work, " answered the Ant proudly. " I am one of the world's busiest 
workers. I am never still; I do not rest; I labour unceasingly. The dawn finds me at 
my tasks, and night hides me ere they are
done."
 "Why do you do it?" asked the Chrysalis.
 "It is my duty," rejoined the Ant, " and besides it is a fine and splendid thing to
know that you are helping the world along. "
 " You like it, then, this bustle and haste and ceaseless
scurrying and rushing and dashing about?" asked the Chrysalis.
" Like it! " exclaimed the Ant. " Why, I love it."
" Then, why boast about it? " chuckled the Chrysalis. "If you love it 
you are just enjoying yourself all day long."
"Moreover," continued the Ant hastily, "I do it because that is what I was 
made for; it is my life work."
"Well," said the Chrysalis, "I lie here still and quiet because that is 
what I am for."
" Nonsense! " cried the Ant, " that is a mere excuse for idleness. No 
creature was ever born into the world just to lie
still in the sunshine and no more."
" You're very clever," giggled the Chrysalis, " but you don't know 
everything. You scurry about because you must. I lie
here because I must. I have no doubt you do wonderful things by your 
untiring motion, but perhaps I do just as
wonderful things by complete stillness. Away with you. I want to sleep. "
"Sleep ! " sneered the Ant, " do you think anything was ever done by 
sleeping? "
" Dreaming," chuckled the Chrysalis.
" Yes, dreaming! " sniffed the Ant, and what good ever came of dreaming? "
" Good!" said the Chrysalis. " I don't know what you mean by good; but a 
wonderful dream of beauty I had made me
very happy."
"Beauty! " scoffed the Ant. " You are a fine one to talk of beauty; you 
are as ugly as a dead leaf."
"But I dreamed of beauty," went on the Chrysalis in a whispering voice. "I came out of the darkness into the light. I
was clothed in the colours of all the flowers. I spread wings of flame 
and soared upward to the sun." His voice died
away.
"You're daft!" jeered the Ant. The Chrysalis made no reply. The Ant 
touched him, but he did not move. " Ugly great
dolt! " said the Ant to herself as she dashed away down the wall. " He 
and his dreams and his colours and his wings
of flame! " And bursting into scornful laughter, she once more scurried 
over the clods of dry earth; here and there,
hither and thither, ceaselessly, untiringly.
The days slipped away and, although now and again the busy Ant came to 
look at the Chrysalis, he moved no more,
nor could all her mocking words win a reply from him. Then one day, when 
she came, the Chrysalis was broken open
and was no more than an empty husk.
"H'm, full of nothing, as I thought!" muttered the Ant. "Dream of beauty! 
Wings of-"
A faint whisper above her made her look up. Upon a twig was poised a 
beautiful butterfly. All the colours of the flowers flamed upon his outstretched wings.
" Er-er-did you speak? " asked the Ant, abashed before the splendour of the 
stranger.
"I said 'Hallo!'" laughed the butterfly.
"Oh yes, of course, hallo to you ! " stammered the Ant; " but I do not know 
you. I am honoured, all the same, to meet
you."
"We talked some time ago," said the butterfly, " about work and duty, and 
sleeping and dreams, and rushing and
scurrying. Don't you remember? "
" I talked with that about those things," replied the Ant, nodding towards 
the husk of the Chrysalis, "but not with you."
" Indeed you did! " chuckled the Butterfly, slowly beating his wings of 
fire. " I was the Chrysalis and the Chrysalis is
I."  And with that he soared upward toward the sun.
" What a dreadful thing it is," muttered the Ant to herself as she bustled 
away, "that such a beautiful creature cannot speak the truth! "
-STEPHEN SOUTHWOLD, in " Forty More Tales." (Collins Clear-type Press.)

BRINGING UP KARI.
Kari, the elephant, was five months old when he was given to me to take 
care of. I was nine years old, and I could
reach his back if I stood on tiptoe. He lived in a pavilion, with a 
thatched roof which rested on thick tree stumps, so
that it would not fall in when Kari bumped against the poles.
Every morning I used to take him to the river for his bath. He would 
lie down on the sandbank while I rubbed him
with the clean sand of the river for an hour. After that he would lie in 
the water for a long time. When he came out,
his skin would be shining like ebony, and he would squeal with pleasure as 
I rubbed water down his back.
Then I would take him by the ear, because that is the easiest way to lead an elephant,
and leave him at the edge of the jungle, while I went into the forest to 
get some juicy twigs for his dinner. Kari did not
eat much; nevertheless he needed forty pounds of twigs a day to chew and 
play with. One needs a very sharp hatchet
to cut these twigs, and it takes half an hour to sharpen the hatchet. If a 
twig is bruised, an elephant will not touch it. I
had to climb all kinds of trees to get the most delicate and tender twigs.
Kari was like a baby. He had to be trained to be good, and, if you did not 
tell him when he was naughty, he was up to
more mischief than ever. For instance, one day somebody gave him some ripe 
bananas, and he soon became very
fond of ripe bananas. We used to keep large plates of fruit on a table near 
a window in the dining room. One day all
the bananas on that table disappeared, and both the servants and I were 
blamed for taking the fruit. This happened
many times, and then, one day, as I was sitting in the dining room, a long 
black thing like a snake suddenly came
through the window and disappeared with all the bananas. I was very 
frightened, because I had never seen snakes
eat bananas, and I thought it must be a terrible snake that would sneak in 
and take fruit.
I ran outside, and I saw Kari going towards his pavilion; I followed him 
and found him there eating bananas. The
bananas were strewn all round him, and he stretched out his trunk to reach 
one at some distance from him. That
instant the trunk looked like a black snake, and I knew that Kari had been 
the thief.
I pulled him out by the ear, and joyously showed my parents that it was 
Kari, and not I, that had been eating the fruit
these many weeks. Then I scolded him and said, " Next time you steal 
fruit, you will be whipped." He knew that we
were all angry with him, and his pride was so hurt that he never stole 
again from the dining room. If anyone gave him
fruit, he always squealed as if to thank them.
An elephant is willing to be punished for having done wrong, but if you 
punish him for no reason he will remember and pay you back in your own coin. One day, as Kari was coming out from his 
bath in the river, a boy named Sudu hit
him three or four times with his whip. Kari squealed and ran away, and I 
had to bring him home.
The next summer, Sudu again happened one day to be on the river bank near 
Kari while I was having a bathe with
some other boys. Without warning, Kari rushed at Sudu like a mad bull, 
threw his trunk around the boy's neck, flung
him into the water and held him there. When Sudu was at last pulled out 
of the water and stretched on the ground, he was nearly senseless.
Sudu wanted me to punish Kari, but I said, " Don't you remember about a 
year ago you whipped him for no reason at
all, almost on the exact spot where he has now punished you? " By the 
next day the elephant and Sudu were friends
again, and when we went to the jungle for a picnic, Kari carried Sudu on 
his back.
An elephant must be taught when to sit down, when to walk, when to go 
fast, and when to go slow. If you say " Dhat " and pull him by the ear, he will 
learn to sit down; if you say " Mali " and pull his
trunk forward, he will soon learn that that is the signal to walk. Kari 
learned " Mali " in three lessons, but it took him
three weeks to learn " Dhat."
An elephant should be taught to sit down, because he grows taller and 
taller than you, who take care of him, so that
when he is two or three years old you can reach his back only with a 
ladder. It is therefore better to teach him to sit
down, for who wants to carry a ladder everywhere?
The most difficult thing to teach an elephant is the master call. He 
usually takes five years to learn it properly. The
master call is a strange hissing, howling sound, as if a snake and a 
tiger were fighting each other; and you make that
noise in his ear.
If you are lost in the jungle and there is no way out, and everything is 
black except the stars above, you dare not stay
very long anywhere. Then you give the master call, and at once the 
elephant pulls down the tree in front of him with
his trunk. This frightens all the animals away. As the tree comes 
crashing down, monkeys wake up and run from
branch to branch. You hear the growl of the tiger in the distance; even 
he is frightened. Then the elephant pulls down
the next tree, and the next, and the next; and soon he makes a road right 
through the jungle straight to your house.
-Adapted extracts from " Kari, the Elephant Boy," by DHAN GOPAL MUKERJI.

SAM: THE SHETLAND PONY
" I do wish I had a pony, Dad," said Rob. "Wouldn't it be fun to ride to 
school ? "
Rob had to walk a long way to and from school across the rugged island 
which was his home. Not that he minded the
walk over the moor in the least. His real wish was to have a pony that 
would be a friend.
" Well," replied his father, " all you have to do is to tame one of those 
wild ponies out there."
This was only a joke, but Rob thought his father meant it. Then and there 
Rob made up his mind to make friends with
the " Shelties," the small herd of Shetland ponies that roamed at will 
over the island. From a favourite perch on a flat-topped rock, he often watched them racing over the moor and along the beach. 
They were wayward little animals.
Sometimes they came close to the rock and gazed at him; at other times 
they whinnied and turned away. With tails
and manes streaming in the wind, they would speed up the hillside or into 
the boggy heart of the moor, where Rob
dared not follow.
There was one high-spirited pony that Rob liked best of all. He named him 
Sam; and Sam it was that he meant to tame and have for his very own. Like the other 
ponies, Sam was short-legged and
stocky, yet he was alert and nimble and full of grace. Like them he had a 
rough coat and a tail so long that it nearly
swept the ground. But he had ways of his own that would have made it easy 
for Rob to pick him out, even if he had
not been the only sooty-black pony in a herd which was mostly 
chocolate-coloured. Sam was an adventurer.
The other ponies liked to keep together; but, though Sam ran races with 
them, and beat them all, he used to go
tearing off by himself, capering along the shore close to the waves, or 
clambering up the craggy hillside till he could
stand on the very top. He was a wild, joyous sprite, that pony !
Rob met him suddenly one day on the hilltop. The boy and the pony were very 
much surprised to see each other.
" Hallo, Sam " laughed Rob.
The pony started nervously, then stood still. For a long moment his dark 
brown eye gazed with friendly curiosity at
the little boy. Rob held out his hand; but that was too much for or the 
wild pony. With a snort he turned tail, kicked up
his heels and plunged down the slope. All the same, that was the beginning 
of their friendship. After that the pony
watched the boy, just as the boy watched him, only more warily.
All the autumn, wherever Rob went, he carried with him a crust of bread, an 
apple, or a lump of sugar, in case he met Sam. Little by little the two made friends. Sam would not feed from the 
boy's hand, nor allow
himself to be patted, but he no longer shied and kicked when Rob approached 
him.
Just when success seemed near, Rob's hopes were dashed to the ground. One 
day in early winter, a strange flat-bottomed boat appeared in the bay, and Rob's father told him that the owner of the island was 
taking the ponies away.
" Taking-the-ponies-away?" whispered Rob, and his father did not turn to 
see his pale face and startled eyes. He was
going to lose Sam ! It was more than he could bear. Choking back his sobs, 
Rob dashed up the hill, where the mist
after a little hid the shore from his eyes. He did not see the last 
boatload leave for the ship anchored off the island. He
did not want to see it, for he guessed that Sam would be one of the ponies 
in that boat.
" He would be the very last they would manage to round up," thought Rob.
All of a sudden a dark shape loomed out of the mist.
"Sam! " gasped Rob. " Oh, Sam!" He was laughing and crying at the same 
time. " Sam, you've missed the boat.
You're going to stay with me."
The pony did not run away. Instead he lowered his shaggy head and began to 
snuffle round Rob's pocket, which
bulged with the small apples his mother had said were not worth cooking.
For weeks Rob kept his secret. Everyone thought all the ponies had gone. 
Only Rob knew that among the boulders
and bracken of the rough hillside still lurked one pony that had kept his 
freedom. He became more and more friendly with Rob, and after he had eaten his sugar would follow 
the little boy back towards the cottage. One
day Rob's father saw the pony, and the secret was out.
" He's quite tame now, Dad," said Rob. "I tamed him, so he's mine." But 
Rob's father looked grave, and he said that
the pony really belonged to the owner of the island. Winter, however, had 
set in, so that Sam would have to stay with
them till the spring. Sam settled down to be a contented, good-tempered, 
and affectionate playmate as well as an
excellent worker, and in the meantime Rob was very happy. He dreaded, 
however, the day when his father would have
to tell Sam's real owner where he was.
Then Rob began to plan. Suppose he could get work to do on Saturdays and 
save his pennies-would he be able to
buy Sam? Rob's father had had the same bright idea, and he was able to 
save money more quickly. On Rob's
birthday he gave him a letter. It had just come from the owner of the 
island, who had been so deeply touched by the
story of the boy's friendship with the pony that he had made the price 
very low.
" There you are, Robbie, Sam's yours for keeps now," said his father.
When Rob had taken in the good news and thanked his father, he dashed 
outside to give Sam a hug.
" My very own pony," he whispered happily. And Sam seemed to understand. 
At any rate, he lifted his dark head and
blew a long, tickly breath down Rob's neck, making the boy laugh and hug 
him all the, more.
-Retold from the story by MARIBEL EDWIN, in "Child Education." (Evans.)

FIRE AND WIND.
Once upon a time, two sisters in Japan were in sad trouble. They had been 
forbidden to return to their home unless
they each took their father a certain gift. The elder had to take him fire 
wrapped in paper, and the, younger one, wind
wrapped in paper.
Where were they to find two such strange things! They asked one wise man 
after another, but they were always told,
" There is no paper in Japan that can hold either fire or wind. "
Sad and weeping, the sisters wandered into the forest, where suddenly they 
heard a voice which said, " Please do
not cry here. My trees do not thrive in salt water. What is the matter ?"
The sisters told the voice their trouble, and the answer came: " It is easy 
enough to wrap fire in paper. Watch!"
They looked, and saw the strangest sight. A large piece of coloured paper 
came fluttering from the sky and lay on the
ground before them. Then it folded itself round into a pretty Japanese 
lantern.
" Now, put a lighted candle inside that," said the voice, and you have 
fire wrapped in paper.
What more do you want ? "
The elder sister was delighted, but the younger one's problem was still not 
solved. Fire, certainly
 could be carried in paper, but 
 what about wind? "Oh," she
 said, " can wind also be wrapped
 in paper?"
 " Yes, more easily than fire,"
 said the voice, " for wind does
 not burn holes. Look! " Another
 piece of painted paper appeared
 on the ground. "Here is the
 paper," said the voice, " and
 there is always plenty of wind.
 Take them to your father."
 " But how? " asked the worried
 little lady.
" This way," said the voice. The paper
folded itself into tight pleats and fastened
them together at one end. Then it opened
itself out into a fan, and waved itself in the woman 's face.
 " You feel the wind, do you not ? " asked the voice, " and is it
not the paper that has brought it?
The lantern carries fire wrapped
in paper, and the fan carries wind wrapped in paper."
 Happily the little Japanese ladies took the
two lovely gifts to their father.

THE ARAB'S MARE.
 Hussein's lonely hut in the desert was
bare and mean. Once his tribe had been rich
in flocks and herds, but all that wealth had
vanished. Hussein's only possessions were
now two mares, Muleykeh, The Pearl, and
her sister, Buheyseh. The Pearl was a
matchless mare; no horse had ever outrun
her; and she was the joy and pride of her
master's heart; to him she was dearer than
anything else on earth.
 Now, one Duhl, a rich Arab, envied 
Hussein his precious mare, and he was
always scheming to get her. Riding one day
up to Hussein's tent, he said " Hussein, I am
going to make you rich once more. They
say that a hundred camels would scarcely
be a high enough price to offer for The
Pearl. I am not going to talk about a
hundred; I will give you half my wealth - a thousand camels - for the mare."
"Your camels are fine beasts," replied
Hussein. " I have often admired the long
caravan winding over the desert; but I love
my mare's white face, and I am far richer
with her than with all your wealth of
camels."
 A year passed, and Duhl, still coveting
the beautiful mare, once more paid Hussein
a visit. This time he meant to use cunning.
" Hussein, " said he, " I know you are a
prince of kindness, and my only son is pining
to death for love of The Pearl. If he dies,
my days will be for ever darkened. Would
you not give the mare to save the lad's life?
For such an act of kindness we know that
God would reward you sevenfold."
"Your son is the light of your life," answered Hussein; "and my mare is the 
light of my life. If The Pearl were to die,
would I beg you for your son to lessen my sorrow ? Of course not; and you 
have no better right to ask me for my
horse. " Duhl had to conceal his wrath, and go his way.
Another year passed and again Duhl came to Hussein's tent. This time he 
came by night as a thief. Peering into the
tent he saw Hussein lying asleep with the two horses
beside him. The Pearl's reins were wound three times round the sleeper's 
wrist, and Buheyseh was saddled ready for
Hussein to mount her and give chase, should anyone try to steal The Pearl.
Gliding like a serpent into the tent, Duhl cut The Pearl's bridle, leaving 
the cut-off strap still round Hussein's wrist.
Then springing on the mare's back, he bounded with her out into the desert. 
The sleeper started up, and leaping on
Buheyseh, in a moment he was in hot pursuit of the robber.
Buheyseh ridden by Hussein gained quickly on The Pearl, who was missing her 
master's tap of the foot and touch of
the bit. She shortened her stride under the strange rider, while Buheyseh 
grew wildly excited at finding herself, for the
first time in her life, gaining on her fleet sister. She ran so well that 
presently the two horses were almost neck and neck.
Then it was that Hussein acted strangely. He found that he could not bear 
to see his beloved mare outrun. At the very
moment when he could have caught the thief, he called out, " Fool! touch 
her right ear and press with your foot her left flank."
Dulil was amazed at these words, but he quickly acted on Hussein's advice. 
The Pearl, too, had heard her master's
voice, and she responded by leaping forward with such a bound that Buheyseh 
was at once left hopelessly behind.
Hussein watched his beloved horse vanish with the thief forever from his 
sight, and broken-hearted he turned back.
When Hussein's friends heard the story of his loss, they thought him crazy. 
" But why help the thief to escape? "
they exclaimed. "You say you had almost caught him, and then you told him 
how to get away."
Yes," replied Hussein sadly, " but if I had overtaken him, The Pearl would 
no longer have been The Unbeaten One. I
loved her too well to be able to bear that."

CHILIQUI'S FIRST EXPEDITION. 
Chiliqui had travelled six miles, sitting in the middle of his little 
canoe and paddling very hard. He was heading for the
edge of the place where the sun went down. He had with him a fishing line 
and hook, a tin pot, a small axe, a flint and
steel, and his sleeping robe. His journey was to be a very different 
thing from having a few shillings in one's pocket
and jumping on a train. He had to catch most of his food, find his way 
in a strange and empty country, if it rained make his own shelter for the night, and, most important, find his way back. 
There would be no use calling for help if things
went wrong. Chiliqui knew this quite well, and was content.
It was mid-day when he reached the end of the lake he was on, and paddled 
up a little stream till he came to some
rapids. Here began a trail leading to the head of the broken water, and 
Chiliqui knew what he had to do. The canoe,
being made of birch bark, was very delicate, and must not be allowed to 
touch a rock. He therefore took off his moccasins, stepped into shallow water, and laid all his kit on the bank. Then he swung the 
canoe upside
down over his head and started very carefully along the trail.
In ten minutes he caught the glint of another lake through the trees. 
Here he swung the canoe to the ground, grunting
with the effort, because it is much harder to put down a big thing gently 
than to pick it up, and went back for the rest
of his kit. Presently he set a rabbit-snare, and made fire with flint and 
steel and punk - dry pith wood - which he carried
in a little bag. Then he caught two trout with hook and line, broiled one 
in a split stick over a fire, and ate, lying on his
stomach and examining the new lake with curious eyes.
Chiliqui had been taught to remember what he saw. For an Indian this means everything, because the only maps
these brown-skinned people have are the ones they carry in their own 
heads. Chiliqui therefore began at once to take
notes, without pencil or paper, chewing at the fish, which was not very 
well cooked, spitting out the bones, counting
the islands in sight, photographing in the back of his head the shape and 
height of the hills, the colour and size of the
rocks, the tracks of animals in the sand,  and altogether observing a 
large number of things that would have quite
escaped you and me,
When he had digested this, as well as the fish, except head and tail, he 
heard the squeal of a rabbit in the snare. He
took the rabbit out, loaded up his canoe, and paddled on as lightly as a 
feather drifts across a pool.
Can you see him - this eleven-year-old Indian boy with his bright observant 
eyes, his copper-coloured skin, his slim
active body, his long rather thin hands, his very white teeth, on the first 
solitary journey of his life?
Chiliqui paddled on. It was a long lake, and night was near when he stopped 
to make camp against an overhanging
rock sheltered from the wind. Opposite the rock he built a small fire, 
because he had heard his father say that the
white man builds a large one and has to stay a long way off, while the 
Indian stays close to a small one. Then he
cleaned the rabbit, dropped it into the pot with his second fish, 
added a little flour, a  pinch of salt, and sat watching the stew bubble, the
happiest boy in the North Country.
When darkness came, Chiliqui rolled himself in the caribou robe, lay on his 
back
tried not to be frightened. Presently beyond fire and in the deepest 
shadow, he saw  three pairs of shining eyes.
They were near the ground and therefore the eyes of animals. He heard a 
sound, which was between a snuffle and a
grunt, and the shadow grew blacker still. With trembling hand he threw a 
stick on the fire. Up shot a little spurt of
flame, and not twenty feet from where he lay, he saw a she-bear and two 
cubs.
The bear came forward and pushed her nose into the stew-pot. As she could 
not reach the bottom she pushed
harder. Still her sharp red tongue came just short of the bottom. Harder 
and harder she pushed with angry little
grunts, while the cubs watched her, greatly puzzled. Then she found that the tin edges of the pot had gripped her head. She sat on 
her tail and 
shook herself furiously. The pot stuck fast. She
began to cry, and the sound coming from inside the pot was so funny that 
Chiliqui began to grin.
The cubs saw that the shape of their mother's head had completely 
changed, and scampered off in alarm. A
moment later she went after them like a thunderbolt, half-blind, banging 
through the forest with a noise like an
earthquake in a tinsmith's shop, bumping into trees and rocks, growing 
angrier and angrier every minute, the queerest-looking, most frightened, and 
worst-tempered bear in North America.
Chiliqui took a long breath, and laughed for about a quarter of an hour, 
and felt much better. The woods were quiet
now, and he was soon asleep. In the morning a strange thing happened. On 
top of the rock not far from the canoe,
he found another pot, which seemed a peculiar thing in a country where 
every cooking vessel is valuable and well
cared for. Chiliqui did not know, and was not to learn for many a long 
day, that his father had followed him on his first expedition, and, had kept the boy in sight the whole time, so that no harm should 
befall him!
-Adapted from " The Training of Chiliqui," by ALAN SULLIVAN. (Philip.).

CHRISTMAS PRESENTS.
It was Christmas Eve. The sitting-room was gay with bright colours. Sprigs 
of holly and mistletoe adorned the walls,
crowded the mantelpiece, and hung from the lights. Henry and Jane Bargery, 
who had spent two busy afternoons
making chains of coloured papers and stringing them in long garlands across 
the room, were now looking with pride
on the result of their labours. Mrs. Bargery had just finished doing 
certain secret and important things in the kitchen,
and was now sitting by the fire, darning socks. The children, tired of 
playing games, were talking eagerly about
Christmas.
" Mother," said Henry, " did you hang up your stocking on Christmas Eve 
when you were a little girl?"
"Of course I did, my dear, " replied Mrs. Bargery, " and so did my mother 
before me, and her mother before her."
" And did you believe in Santa Claus ?" asked David.
"I did when I was very little," replied his mother, " but one Christmas Eve 
I found out by accident who Santa Claus
really was. I was so excited about Christmas, with its fun and presents, 
that I couldn't go to sleep for a long time. I
seemed to have lain awake for hours and hours when I heard the door of the 
room gently open, and saw my father
walk into the room, treading softly and shading the candle with his hand.
" I lay quite still and watched him. He went to the foot of the bed, 
stuffed things into our stockings, and very softly
crept out again. He didn't know that I had seen him,
and I said nothing about it the next morning. I just went on pretending 
like everybody else."
" Did Santa Claus bring you nice things?" asked Jane, who also liked pretending about Santa Claus,
" They were nice enough in their way,"' said Mrs. Bargery, " but all of us 
children had exactly the same things; and
every year was a repetition of the one before, so we always knew what to 
expect. There was always an orange, an
apple, a packet of raisins, a box of dates, a handful of nuts, and a new 
penny. That was all."
" Santa Claus didn't have much imagination," said Phyllis, who had learnt a 
lot of long words at school.
"He has improved since those days," said Mrs. Bargery.
" Then hurrah for to-morrow morning," said Henry.
When Mr. and Mrs. Bargery went into the top bedroom about midnight, they 
first of all made sure that the two boys
were asleep. Their doubts were soon set at rest. The boys were sleeping so 
soundly that nothing short of an
earthquake seemed likely to wake them. The father and mother looked at the 
foot of the bed, and saw on David's side
a long and large stocking - not his own, but his mother's. On Henry's side 
there was no stocking at all, but a pillow-slip, on which was pinned a piece of paper with this message: Dear Santa 
Claus, make no mistake. This is my
stocking. Henry Bargery.
When Mr. Bargery saw it he smiled, and said to his wife, "Henry wants a 
big present. Well, he shall have one."
He went downstairs again and returned in about five minutes with a  large 
brown-paper parcel, which he pushed into the pillow-slip.
Next morning the children came down to breakfast bringing their Christmas 
presents them. Henry had a big parcel
under his arm.
"See what Santa Claws has put in my stocking," he shouted, lifting the parcel so that all could see it.
" He couldn't have got it in," said Jane.
" Ah! " replied Henry, "you haven't seen the stocking."
"Well, hurry up," said Phyllis. "Let's see what's inside. "
Everybody stood round and watched Henry as he undid the parcel. He untied 
the string and removed the wrapper.
Underneath was another brown-paper parcel exactly the same as the first, 
only smaller. Inside that was another
parcel, still smaller. As Henry pulled off one wrapper after another, and 
the parcel became smaller and smaller, his
face grew longer. At last there was only a tiny packet left; and inside 
was the smallest coin of the realm – a threepenny bit.
Everybody laughed except Henry; but after a while Henry laughed too. " Oh 
well," he sighed, "it might have been
worse; there might have been nothing at all inside."
" Never mind, Henry," said Jane, " you may have some of my presents."
Before Henry could reply, Mr. Bargery joined in. " By the way," he said, "Santa Claus called upon me this morning and said he 
had made a mistake about Henry's present. He had been deceived by the size of the stocking. Here is the proper present." And 
Mr. Bargery handed Henry a small packet.
When Henry opened it he found it contained something that he had long wished to possess-a watch. 
-From "The Bargerys," by P. B. BALLARD. (Oxford University Press.)




