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Here is a story of a little girl and her cat that got
Lost in the Grove
Lucy Lee was a little girl not three years old. She lives with her mother, in a small white house not far from a grove of oak-trees.
Lucy had a black kitten, whose name was Fun. This kitten was so tame, that he would let Lucy hold in her arms for half an hour at a time.
On a hot day in June, Lucy thought she would take Fun in her arms, and go into the grove: for it was cool in the grove; and in the grove she could hear the birds sing, and could see the blue flowers she loved.
Now, Lucy ought to have asked her mother for leave to go into the grove. But Lucy did not do this. She did not tell any one where she was going. In this she was wrong.
On her way, she stopped at the bee-hive to look at the bees. They did not harm her, – – not they! They saw she did not fear them. They did not quite like the kitten. But Fun kept still, and did not put out his paw to catch them. If he had put out his paw to catch the bees, they would have stung him.
When she had looked at the bees long enough, Lucy went on and on, till she came to a fence. She crept under the fence with Fun all the time in her arms. Then she saw the blue flowers in the grass, and knelt down and smelt them.
Fun jumped out of her arms, and ran; and Lucy ran after him. When she caught him, she thought she would turn and go home. But she could not find her way home. She walked and walked, till she grew so warm and so tired, that she sat down on the grass.
“What shall we do, Fun, if we have to stay here all night?” said Lucy. But Fun was so well pleased with his nice seat in her lap, that he only said, “Purr-r-r, purr-r-r!”
“Hark! Is that a wolf, or a lion?” said Lucy, as she heard a step on the grass nearby. It was not a wolf, nor was it a lion. It was Mrs. Gay, a good lady, who was taking a walk in the grove.
Mrs. Gay had a sun-shade in her hand. Lucy sat on the grass with her kitten in her lap, and the fore-finger of her left hand in her mouth. Mrs. Gay wanted to laugh at the sight, but put her hand up to her lips so that she might not laugh out loud.
“Whose little girl are you?” asked Mrs. Gay.
“I am my mother’s little girl,” said Lucy.
“But what is your mother’s name?”
“My mother’s name is mother.”
“And what is your own name, little girl?”
“My own name is Lucy Lee; and my kitten’s name is Fun; and baby’s name is baby; and we have a dog at home: his name is Tiger. The moolly-cow’s name is Norma.”
“And do you mean to stay here all night, Lucy Lee?”
“Oh, no! I want to go home. Take me to my home.”
“Tell me if your home is a white house, or a red house.”
“It is a white house, but the blinds are green.”
“Where does your dog go when he wants to swim?”
“He goes to the brook; and the moolly-cow goes to the brook too: but the moolly-cow goes to drink, not to swim.”
“So there is a brook not far from your house, is there?”
“Yes, ma’am: there’s a brook not far from our house.”
“Well, now, Lucy Lee, if you will jump up, and give me your hand, I will lead you to your home. I think I know where it is.”
So Lucy put down the kitten, and jumped up, and gave the lady her hand, and let the kitten run after them. And the lady led Lucy through the grove to a field, and through the field to a road, and up the road to a gate, and through the gate to the door of a house, and through the door to a room where lucy’s mother sat with a baby in her arms.
“Why, my dear Mrs. Gay, where did you find that stray child?” Said Mrs. Lee. ” I was just trying to learn what had become of her.”
” I found her in the grove,” says Mrs. Gay.
“I shall punish you, Lucy, if you go into the grove without asking leave,” said Mrs Lee.
“It was Fun that led me too far,” said Lucy. “Fun wanted to run away. Fun is to blame, mamma. Fun led me too far.”
“Well, my child, there is another kind of fun that leads folks too far very often. It is not safe to take Fun for our guide. I forgive you this time.
Ida Fay
This next one, like The Great Secret , was missing a page. I found the rest of the story in the same manner as I did the first!
Love is the Best Force
Once two little boys were on their way to school. They were broth’ers, and their names were John and Frank. John was the older of the two, and he liked to rule Frank by sharp words; but Frank did not like to be ruled that way.
“Come on – – quick’er, quick’er. What a slow coach you are!” said John.
“It is not late, and the day is hot,” said Frank.
“I tell you I want to get to school in time to clean out my desk,” said John. “Come! You shall come.”
And then John tried to pull Frank a-long by main force but, the more John pulled, the more Frank made up his mind not to yield.
While this dis-pute went on, they came to a place in the road where a man was try’ing to make a horse pull a great load of stones. The horse had stopped to rest, when the man began to beat him.
This the horse did not like, for he had tried to do his best: so he stood stock still. In vain did the man lay on the lash: the horse would not start. In vain did the man swear at him: the horse did not mind his oaths.
Just then a young man came up, and said to the man with the load of stones, “Why do you treat a good, brave horse in that way? He would pull for you till he died, if you would on’ly treat him kind’ly. Stand a-side, and let me show you how to treat a good horse.”
And so the man stood a-side; and the young man went up, and put his arm round the neck of the horse, and pat’ted him on the back, and said, “Poor old fel’low! It was too bad to lash you so, when you were do’ing your best, and just stopped a mo’ment to take a breath.”
And so the young man soothed the poor beast, by kind words and soft pats with his hand; and then said to him, “Now, good old horse, see what you can do! Come, sir! we have only a few steps more to the top of the hill. Get up now. Show you will do for love what you would not do for hate.”
The horse seemed to know what was said to him; for he start’ed off at a strong, brisk pace, and was soon at the top of the hill.
“There, my good friend,” said the young man to the driv’er, “I hope you see now that love is the best force; that even beasts will do for you, when you are kind, what they will not do you when you are harsh.”
John heard all these words, and they set him to think’ing. At last he said to Frank, “It is a hot day, Frank; and it is not late. Let us walk through the lane to school.”
“No, John,” said Frank, ” I will take the shortcut, and will walk just as fast as you want me to. So, come on.”
“Frank,” said John, “Love is better than hate, – – isn’t it?”
” Oh, a thousand times better!” cried Frank.
As chance would have it, they that day read at school a fa’ble, two thou’sand years old, which I will now tell you.
The North Wind and the Sun had a dis-pute as to which could show the more strength. They a-greed that the one that could strip a man first of his cloak should be the vic’tor.
First the North Wind tried his strength: he blew, and blew, with all his might; but, blow as hard as he could, he could not do much. The man drew his clothes around him more and more tight; he would not let it be torn from him. So at last the North Wind gave up the tug, and called on the Sun to see what he could do.
By look’ing at the two pictures of the same man, you may see what the North Wind could not do, and what the Sun did do. The Sun shone out with all his warmth. The man could not well bear the heat: he soon grew to be so warm that he had to take off his cloak; and so the Sun be-came the win’ner in the tri’al.
Love has more strength than hate.
Emily Carter
What do you think?
