LITMIR.BIZ

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the boy had had a very good day.

      “And have you learned anything?” asked his father.

      “Yes!” said the boy. “I have learned that our house has windows of gold and diamond.”

      THE COMING OF THE KING

      Some children were at play in their play-ground one day, when a herald rode through the town, blowing a trumpet, and crying aloud, “The King! the King passes by this road to-day. Make ready for the King!”

      The children stopped their play, and looked at one another.

      “Did you hear that?” they said. “The King is coming. He may look over the wall and see our playground; who knows? We must put it in order.”

      The playground was sadly dirty, and in the corners were scraps of paper and broken toys, for these were careless children. But now, one brought a hoe, and another a rake, and a third ran to fetch the wheelbarrow from behind the garden gate. They labored hard, till at length all was clean and tidy.

      “Now it is clean!” they said; “but we must make it pretty, too, for kings are used to fine things; maybe he would not notice mere cleanness, for he may have it all the time.”

      Then one brought sweet rushes and strewed them on the ground; and others made garlands of oak leaves and pine tassels and hung them on the walls; and the littlest one pulled marigold buds and threw them all about the playground, “to look like gold,” he said.

      When all was done the playground was so beautiful that the children stood and looked at it, and clapped their hands with pleasure.

      “Let us keep it always like this!” said the littlest one; and the others cried, “Yes! yes! that is what we will do.”

      They waited all day for the coming of the King, but he never came; only, towards sunset, a man with travel-worn clothes, and a kind, tired face passed along the road, and stopped to look over the wall.

      “What a pleasant place!” said the man. “May I come in and rest, dear children?”

      The children brought him in gladly, and set him on the seat that they had made out of an old cask. They had covered it with the old red cloak to make it look like a throne, and it made a very good one.

      “It is our playground!” they said. “We made it pretty for the King, but he did not come, and now we mean to keep it so for ourselves.”

      “That is good!” said the man.

      “Because we think pretty and clean is nicer than ugly and dirty!” said another.

      “That is better!” said the man.

      “And for tired people to rest in!” said the littlest one.

      “That is best of all!” said the man.

      He sat and rested, and looked at the children with such kind eyes that they came about him, and told him all they knew; about the five puppies in the barn, and the thrush’s nest with four blue eggs, and the shore where the gold shells grew; and the man nodded and understood all about it.

      By and by he asked for a cup of water, and they brought it to him in the best cup, with the gold sprigs on it: then he thanked the children, and rose and went on his way; but before he went he laid his hand on their heads for a moment, and the touch went warm to their hearts.

      The children stood by the wall and watched the man as he went slowly along. The sun was setting, and the light fell in long slanting rays across the road.

      “He looks so tired!” said one of the children.

      “But he was so kind!” said another.

      “See!” said the littlest one. “How the sun shines on his hair! it looks like a crown of gold.”

      SWING SONG

      As I swing, as I swing,

      Here beneath my mother’s wing,

      Here beneath my mother’s arm,

      Never earthly thing can harm.

      Up and down, to and fro,

      With a steady sweep I go,

      Like a swallow on the wing,

      As I swing, as I swing.

      As I swing, as I swing,

      Honey-bee comes murmuring,

      Humming softly in my ear,

      “Come away with me, my dear!

      In the tiger-lily’s cup

      Sweetest honey we will sup.”

      Go away, you velvet thing!

      I must swing! I must swing!

      As I swing, as I swing,

      Butterfly comes fluttering,

      “Little child, now come away

      ’Mid the clover-blooms to play;

      Clover-blooms are red and white,

      Sky is blue and sun is bright.

      Why then thus, with folded wing,

      Sit and swing, sit and swing?”

      As I swing, as I swing,

      Oriole comes hovering.

      “See my nest in yonder tree!

      Little child, come work with me.

      Learn to make a perfect nest,

      That of all things is the best.

      Come! nor longer loitering

      Sit and swing, sit and swing!”

      As I swing, as I swing,

      Though I have not any wing,

      Still I would not change with you,

      Happiest bird that ever flew.

      Butterfly and honey-bee,

      Sure ’t is you must envy me,

      Safe beneath my mother’s wing

      As I swing, as I swing.

      THE GREAT FEAST

      Once the Play Angel came into a nursery where four little children sat on the floor with sad and troubled faces.

      “What is the matter, dears?” asked the Play Angel.

      “We wanted to have a grand feast!” said the child whose nursery it was.

      “Yes, that would be delightful!” said the Play Angel.

      “But there is only one cooky!” said the child whose nursery it was.

      “And it is a very small cooky!” said the child who was a cousin, and therefore felt a right to speak.

      “Not big enough for myself!” said the child whose nursery it was.

      The other two children said nothing, because they were not relations; but they looked at the cooky with large eyes, and their mouths went up in the middle and down at the sides.

      “Well,” said the Play Angel, “suppose we have the feast just the same! I think we can manage it.”

      She broke the cooky into four pieces, and gave one piece to the littlest child.

      “See!” she said. “This is a roast chicken, a Brown Bantam. It is just as brown and crispy as it can be, and there is cranberry sauce on one side, and on the other a little mountain of mashed potato; it must be a volcano, it smokes so. Do you see?”

      “Yes!” said the littlest one; and his mouth went down in the middle and up at the corners.

      The Play Angel gave a piece to the next child.

      “Here,” she said, “is a little pie! Outside, as you see, it is brown and crusty, with a wreath of pastry leaves round the edge and ‘For You’ in the middle; but inside it is all chicken

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