Today | News | Books | Recipes Adventure | Science Fiction | Ghost stories | Poetry | Children | History Bookhair, Two arms so fat and bare, Two hands and one wee nose, Two feet with ten pink toes, Skin soft and smooth as silk, When clean, 'tis white as milk. LONG TIME AGO BY ELIZABETH PRENTISS Once there was a little Kitty, White as the snow; In a barn she used to frolic, Long time ago. In the barn a little mousie Ran to and fro, For she heard the little Kitty, Long time ago. Two black eyes had little Kitty, Black as a sloe; And they spied the little mousie, Long time ago. Four soft paws had little Kitty, Paws soft as snow; And they caught the little mousie, Long time ago. Nine pearl teeth had little Kitty, All in a row; And they bit the little mousie, Long time ago. When the teeth bit little mousie, Mousie cried out, "Oh!" But she slipped away from Kitty, Long time ago. BUCKLE MY SHOE One, Two--buckle my shoe; Three, Four--open the door; Five, Six--pick up sticks; Seven, Eight--lay them straight; Nine, Ten--a good fat hen; Eleven, Twelve--I hope you're well; Thirteen, Fourteen--draw the curtain; Fifteen, Sixteen--the maid's in the kitchen; Seventeen, Eighteen--she's in waiting; Nineteen, Twenty--my stomach's empty. [Illustration: "AH, AH! SO THAT'S WHERE HE BURIES HIS OLD BONES!"] #STORIES _for_ LITTLE GIRLS# A PAIR OF GLOVES BY H. G. DURYEE The little girls who lived on Amity Street all wore mittens when they went to school in winter. Nobody's mother ever thought of anything else to keep small hands warm. Some mothers or grandmothers crocheted them, and some knit them with fancy stitches down the back, or put other mark of distinction upon them; but they were always mittens, and were always fastened to a long ribbon or piece of braid or knitted rein, so that they might not get lost, one from the other. This connecting-link frequently gave rise to confusion, for when two little girls put their arms around each other's necks as they walked to school, they sometimes got tangled up in the mitten string and had to duck and turn and bump heads before the right string was again resting on the right shoulder. But as it was possible to laugh a great deal and lose one's breath while this was going on, it was rather an advantage than otherwise, and little girls who were special chums were pretty sure to manage a tangle every other day at least. Clarabel Bradley did her tangling and untangling with Josephine Brown, who lived at the end of Amity Street. They both went to the same school and were in the same class. They waited for each other in the morning, and came home together, and shared each other's candy and ginger cookies whenever there were any, and took firm sides together whenever the school-yard was the scene of dispute. But into this intimacy came a pair of gloves, almost wrecking it. The gloves were sent by Clarabel's aunt, who was young and pretty and taught school in a large city; and they came done up in white tissue-paper inside a box with gilt trimming around the edges and a picture on the center of the cover. Taken out of the paper, they revealed all their alluring qualities. They were of a beautiful glossy brown kid with soft woolly linings and real fur around the wrists, and they fastened with bright gilded clasps. With them was a note which said: For Clarabel, with love from her Aunt Bessie. =Not to be kept for Sundays, but worn every day.= And the last sentence was underscored. Clarabel's mother looked doubtful as she read the message. Such gloves were an extravagance even for best--and mittens were warmer. But when she encountered Clarabel's shining eyes she smiled and gave in. So Clarabel took the gloves to her room that night, and slept with them on the foot-board of her bed, where she could see them the first thing when she waked; and in the morning she put them on and started for school. One hand was held rigidly by her side, but the other was permitted to spread its fingers widely over the book she carried. Both were well in view if she looked down just a little. Passers-by might see; all Amity Street might see; best of all, Josephine might see! But Josephine, waiting at the corner, beheld and was impressed to the point of speechlessness. Whereupon Clarabel dropped her book, and had to pick it up with both hands. The furry wrists revealed themselves fully. Josephine found her voice. "You've got some new gloves," she said. "Yes; my Aunt Bessie sent them." "Aren't they pretty!" "I think so, and they're lots nicer than mittens. I'm not going to wear my mittens again." Josephine looked down at her own chubby hands. Her mittens were red this winter, with a red-and-green fringe around the wrists. Only that morning she had admired them. Now they looked fat and clumsy and altogether unattractive; but she wasn't going to admit that to any one else. [Illustration: "CLARABEL DROPPED HER BOOK, AND HAD TO PICK IT UP WITH BOTH HANDS."] "I like mittens best," she said stoutly,--"for school, anyway," she added, and gave Clarabel more of the sidewalk. "My Aunt Bessie said specially that these were to wear to school." And Clarabel walked nearer the fence. Josephine was hard put to it--Clarabel's manner had become so superior. "I don't think your Aunt Bessie knows everything, even if she does teach school in a big city. My mother says she's too young to--" What she was too young to do was not allowed to be explained; for Clarabel, with a color in her face that rivaled Josephine's mittens, had faced her. "My Aunt Bessie's lovely, and I won't listen to another word against her, not another one--so there!" Then she turned, with a queer feeling in her throat, and ran down the street to catch up with another little girl who was on ahead. Josephine swung her books and walked as if she didn't care. Clarabel overtook the little girl, who was all smiling appreciation of the new gloves, and was overtaken by other little girls who added themselves to the admiring group. But somehow her triumphal progress was strangely unsatisfactory; the glory was dimmed. At recess, Josephine paired off with Milly Smith, who stood first in geography and wore two curly feathers in her hat. Clarabel shared her cookies with Minnie Cater, because it didn't matter who helped eat them if it wasn't Josephine. Neither spoke to the other, and at noontime they walked home on different sides of the street. Perhaps that was why in the afternoon Clarabel lost her place in the reader and failed on so many examples in arithmetic that she was told she must stay after school. Usually there would have been several to keep her company, but on this day there was no one else,--even Angelina Maybelle Remington had got through without disaster,--and Clarabel, wistful-eyed, saw the other girls file out. At another time Josephine would have stayed; she always did when Clarabel had to, as Clarabel did when she was in like need. But to-night she filed out with the rest, and Clarabel, with a sense of desertion, bent over her problems of men |