The New McGuffey Fourth Reader | Page 6

and slide when it was frozen over.
Now, the night before, Jack Frost had been busy changing the surface of the pond into beautiful crystals of ice; and when the boys went to school in the morning they found the pond as smooth and clear as glass. The day was cold, and they thought that by noon the ice would be strong enough to skate upon.
As soon as school was dismissed the boys all ran to the pond,--some to try the ice, and others merely to see it.
"Come, George," said William Green; "now we shall have a glorious time sliding."
George hesitated, and said he did not believe it was strong enough, for it had been frozen over only one night.
"Oh, come on!" said another boy: "I know it is strong enough. I have known it to freeze over in one night, many a time, so it would bear: haven't you, John?"
"Yes," answered John Brown: "it did so one night last winter; and it wasn't so cold as it was last night, either."
But George still hesitated, for his father had forbidden him to go on the ice without special permission.
"I know why George won't go," said John; "he's afraid he might fall down and hurt himself."
"Or the ice might crack," said another; "and the noise would frighten him. Perhaps his mother might not like it."
"He's a coward, that's the reason he won't come."
George could stand this no longer, for he was rather proud of his courage. "I am not afraid," said he; and he ran to the pond, and was the first one on the ice. The boys enjoyed the sport very much, running and sliding, and trying to catch one another on its smooth surface.
More boys kept coming on as they saw the sport, and soon all thought of danger was forgotten. Then suddenly there was a loud cry, "The ice has broken! the ice has broken!" And sure enough, three of the boys had broken through, and were struggling in the water; and one of them was George.
The teacher had heard the noise, and was coming to call the boys from the ice just as they broke through. He tore some boards from a fence close by, and shoved them out on the ice until they came within reach of the boys in the water. After a while he succeeded in getting the three boys out of the water, but not until they were almost frozen.
George's father and mother were very much troubled when he was brought home, and they learned how narrowly he had escaped drowning. But they were so glad to know that. he was safe that they did not ask him any questions until he was warm and comfortable again. But in the evening, when they were all gathered together about the cheerful fire, his father asked him how he came to disobey his positive command.
George answered that he did not want to go on the ice, but the boys made him.
"How did they make you? Did they take hold of you, and drag you on?" asked his father.
"No," said George, "but they all wanted me to go."
"When they asked you, why didn't you say 'No'?"
"I was going to do so: but they called me a coward, and said I was afraid to go; and I couldn't stand that."
"And so," said his father, "you found it easier to disobey me, and run the risk of losing your life, than to say that little word you thought so easy last night. You could not say 'No.'"
George now began to see why this little word"No" was so hard to pronounce. It was not because it was so long, or composed of such difficult sounds; but because it often requires so much real courage to say it,--to say "No" when one is tempted to do wrong.
After that, whenever George was tempted to do wrong, he remembered his narrow escape from drowning, and the importance of the little word "No." The oftener he said it, the easier it became; and in time he could say it, when necessary, without much effort.
DEFINITIONS:--Popocatepetl, a volcano in Mexico (sometimes inaccurately pronounced po po cat' a petl). Prounounce, say distinctly. Syllable, one of the distinct parts of a word. Attracted, drawn. Hesitated, paused. Importance, value. Special, particular.

A SONG*
BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear, There is ever a something sings alway: There's the song of the lark when the skies are clear, And the song of the thrush when the skies are gray. The sunshine showers across the grain, And the bluebird trills in the orchard tree; And in and out, when the eaves drip rain, The swallows are twittering carelessly.
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear, Be the skies above or dark or fair; There is ever a song