The Ontario Readers | Page 8

in the woods."
"Of course I don't," said indignant Bobby. "I hate boys who are always
thinking about their clothes."
"Oh, you do!" said the frog. "Now answer me a few more questions.
Have you ever stolen birds' eggs?"
"Yes," said truthful Bobby.
"Have you collected butterflies?"
"Yes," said Bobby.
"Have you taken nuts from the squirrels' cupboards?"
"Yes," said Bobby.
"Do you think we ought to have a very friendly feeling towards you?"

went on the questioner.
"No," said Bobby; "I don't."
"We have shown that you are not only useless, but careless and
thoughtless and ignorant," said the frog. "Is there any very good reason
why we should let you go?"
Poor Bobby racked his brains to think of something that should appeal
to his captors.
"I have a right to live, haven't I?" he said at last.
"Because you are so pretty?" suggested the professor, and Bobby's eyes
fell with shame.
"Any better right than we have?" came a chorus of voices. Bobby was
silent. He felt very helpless and insignificant. There was a long pause.
Then the frog professor smiled broadly at Bobby.
"Come," he said; "I like you. You are not afraid to be honest, and that's
something."
"If you will let me go," said Bobby, "I'll see that the boys don't hurt you
any more."
"I felt pretty sure that we'd converted you," said the professor; "and I'm
going to let you go back and preach to the heathen, as the grown people
say. You can see for yourself how much harm a boy can do if he
doesn't think."
Bobby felt that he was free, and scrambled to his feet, rubbing first one
arm and then the other to take the prickly feeling out of them. The frogs
had vanished; there was only the blue sky, the waving pine tree, and the
quiet pond.
"Well!" said Bobby with a long breath of amazement.
"Kerjunk!" came the warning voice of a frog, somewhere near the

water's edge.
"Yes sir, I'll remember," said Bobby in the meekest of meek tones.
M. A. L. LANE

A SONG FOR APRIL
List! list! The buds confer. This noonday they've had news of her; The
south bank has had views of her; The thorn shall exact his dues of her;
The willows adream By the freshet stream Shall ask what boon they
choose of her.
Up! up! The world's astir; The would-be green has word of her; Root
and germ have heard of her, Coming to break Their sleep and wake
Their hearts with every bird of her.
See! see! How swift concur Sun, wind, and rain at the name of her,
A-wondering what became of her; The fields flower at the flame of her;
The glad air sings With dancing wings And the silvery shrill acclaim of
her.
CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS
[Illustration: ALEXANDRA THE QUEEN MOTHER]

HOW THE CRICKETS BROUGHT GOOD FORTUNE
My friend Jacques went into a baker's shop one day to buy a little cake
which he had fancied in passing. He intended it for a child whose
appetite was gone, and who could be coaxed to eat only by amusing
him. He thought that such a pretty loaf might tempt even the sick.
While he waited for his change, a little boy six or eight years old, in
poor but perfectly clean clothes, entered the baker's shop.
[Illustration: UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO]

"Ma'am," said he to the baker's wife, "Mother sent me for a loaf of
bread." The woman took from the shelf a four-pound loaf, the best one
she could find, and put it into the arms of the little boy.
My friend Jacques then first observed the thin and thoughtful face of
the little fellow. It contrasted strongly with the round, open
countenance of the large loaf, of which he was taking the greatest care.
"Have you any money?" said the baker's wife.
The little boy's eyes grew sad.
"No, ma'am," said he, hugging the loaf closer to his thin blouse; "but
mother told me to say that she would come and speak to you about it
to-morrow."
"Run along," said the good woman; "carry your bread home, child."
"Thank you, ma'am," said the poor little fellow.
My friend Jacques came forward for his money. He had put his
purchase into his pocket, and was about to go, when he found the child
with the big loaf, whom he had supposed to be half-way home,
standing stock-still behind him.
"What are you doing there?" said the baker's wife to the child, whom
she also had thought to be fairly off. "Don't you like the bread?"
"Oh, yes, ma'am!" said the child.
"Well, then, carry it to your mother, my little friend. If you wait any
longer, she will think you are playing by the