A Jolly Jingle-Book | Page 2

very nicest time?When Alice plays with me.
REBECCA DEMING MOORE.
A PUZZLING THING
Eight of us went to a party--?The nicest ever given.?There was apple fluff, and frosted stuff,?And cake and candy and fruit enough,?But seats for only seven!
Eight of us hurried homeward?After the happy treat,?With run and bound; yet there were found?Only the tracks on the dusty ground?Of seven pairs of feet!
Eight of us got back safely,?And seven told with glee?Of all we'd done, and the feast and the fun--?But one of us was a silent one.?Now, which can that one be?
NANCY BYRD TURNER.
HER NAME
"I'm losted! Could you find me, please?"?Poor little frightened baby!?The wind had tossed her golden fleece;?The stones had scratched her dimpled knees;?I stooped and lifted her with ease,?And softly whispered, "Maybe;
Tell me your name, my little maid--?I can't find you without it."?"My name is Shiny-eyes," she said.?"Yes, but your last?" She shook her head.?"Up to my house they never said?A single 'fing about it!"
"But, Dear," I said, "what _is_ your name?"?"Why, di'n't you hear me told you??Dust Shiny-eyes!" A bright thought came.?"Yes, when you're good; but when they blame?You, little one--it's not the same?When mother has to scold you?"
"My mother never scolds!" she moans,?A little blush ensuing;?"'Cept when I've been a-frowing stones,?And then she says (the culprit owns),?'Mehitabel Sapphira Jones,?What _has_ you been a-doing!'"
THE GAME OF GOING-TO-BED
Says father, when the lamps are lit,?"Now just five minutes you may sit?Down-stairs, and then away you go?To play a little game I know!"
He gives a kiss and pulls a curl:?"Let's play you were my little girl,?And play you jump up on my back,?And play we run!" And clackity-clack,
We both go laughing up the stair!?(If I should fuss he'd say "No fair!")?And then he says, "Night, Sleepyhead."?It's fun, the game of Going-to-Bed.
[Illustration: The Game of Going-to-Bed]
THE BALL
Close cuddled in my own two hands,?My big round ball with yellow bands!?They've filled my playroom up with toys--?Dolls, horses, things to make a noise,?Engines that clatter on a track,?And tip-carts that let down the back;?Arks, just like Noah's, with two and two?Of every animal he knew;?Whole rows of houses built of blocks,?A mouse that squeaks, a doll that talks,?But when the Sleepy Man comes by?And I'm too tired to want to try?To think of anything at all,?Here's my old, dear old, rubber ball.
Close cuddled in my own two hands,?My big round ball with yellow bands.
[Illustration: The Ball]
A VOYAGE
She rowed 'way out on the Daisy Sea,
with a really-truly oar,?Out of a really-truly boat, and what
could you ask for more??Her sea and her boat were make-believe,
but the daisy waves dashed high,?And 'twas pleasant to know if the boat
went down that her frock would still be dry.
She rowed 'way out on the Daisy Sea, with
a really-truly oar,?Past the perilous garden gate where the
fierce white breakers roar,?Past the rocks where the mermaids sing as
they comb their golden hair,?Past an iceberg grim and tall, and a great,
white polar bear.
She rowed 'way out on the Daisy Sea, with
a really-truly oar,?Till she came to an island castle, where she
brought her boat ashore.?She entered the castle boldly, and--wonderful
sight to see!--?She had rowed straight home to the dining-room
and the table spread for tea.
HANNAH G. FERNALD.
APPLE-TREE INN
It stands by the roadside, cool-shuttered and high,?With cordial welcome for all who pass by;?And here's how you enter--you make a quick dash?And scale the steep stair with a bound, in a flash.?You cross the clean threshold and find you a chair.?There's room for all comers and plenty to spare.?You can rock, you can rest, happy lodging you win?Who stop for an hour at Apple-tree Inn.
The walls and the roof and the ceiling are green,?With rifts of light blue that are painted between.?The seats are upholstered in brown and dark gray,?And yet, for it all, not a penny to pay.?Then, when you are hungry, the table is spread?With fare that is dainty, delicious, and red.?Oh, hurry and come if you never have been?A guest in your travels at Apple-tree Inn!
NANCY BYRD TURNER.
AN OUTDOOR GIRL
The wind and the water and a merry little girl--?Her yellow hair a-blowing and her curls all out of curl,?Her lips as red as cherries and her cheeks like any rose, And she laughs to see the little waves come curling round her toes.
The breezes a-blowing and the blue sky overhead,?A laughing little maiden,--and this is what she said:?"Oh, what's the use of houses? I think it is a sin?To take a lot of boards and bricks and shut the outdoors in!"
[Illustration: An Outdoor Girl]
THE BEDTIME STORY-BOOK
There's something very, very queer?About a story-book,?No matter what's the time of year,?Nor where you chance to look;
No matter when it is begun,?How many pages read,?The very best of all the fun?Comes just the time for bed,
When mother whispers in your ear:?"'Tis almost eight--just look!?Now finish up your chapter, dear,?And put away your book."
The minutes almost seem to race?When it