Volume I Part 35 (1/2)

”Ah!” begged each silly, pouting leaf, ”Let us a little longer stay; Dear Father Tree, behold our grief!

'Tis such a very pleasant day, We do not want to go away.”

So, just for one more merry day To the great Tree the leaflets clung, Frolicked and danced, and had their way, Upon the autumn breezes swung, Whispering all their sports among--

”Perhaps the great Tree will forget, And let us stay until the spring, If we all beg, and coax, and fret.”

But the great Tree did no such thing; He smiled to hear them whispering.

”Come, children, all to bed,” he cried; And ere the leaves could urge their prayer, He shook his head, and far and wide, Fluttering and rustling everywhere, Down sped the leaflets through the air.

I saw them; on the ground they lay, Golden and red, a huddled swarm, Waiting till one from far away, White bedclothes heaped upon her arm, Should come to wrap them safe and warm.

The great bare Tree looked down and smiled.

”Goodnight dear little leaves,” he said.

And from below each sleepy child Replied, ”Goodnight,” and murmured, ”It is so nice to go to bed!”

Susan Coolidge [1835-1905]

A LEGEND OF THE NORTHLAND

Away, away in the Northland, Where the hours of the day are few, And the nights are so long in winter That they cannot sleep them through;

Where they harness the swift reindeer To the sledges, when it snows; And the children look like bear's cubs In their funny, furry clothes:

They tell them a curious story-- I don't believe 'tis true; And yet you may learn a lesson If I tell the tale to you.

Once, when the good Saint Peter Lived in the world below, And walked about it, preaching, Just as he did, you know,

He came to the door of a cottage, In traveling round the earth, Where a little woman was making cakes, And baking them on the hearth;

And being faint with fasting, For the day was almost done, He asked her, from her store of cakes, To give him a single one.

So she made a very little cake, But as it baking lay, She looked at it, and thought it seemed Too large to give away.

Therefore she kneaded another, And still a smaller one; But it looked, when she turned it over, As large as the first had done.

Then she took a tiny sc.r.a.p of dough, And rolled and rolled it flat; And baked it thin as a wafer-- But she couldn't part with that.

For she said, ”My cakes that seem too small When I eat of them myself, Are yet too large to give away.”

So she put them on the shelf.

Then good Saint Peter grew angry, For he was hungry and faint; And surely such a woman Was enough to provoke a saint.

And he said, ”You are far too selfish To dwell in a human form, To have both food and shelter, And fire to keep you warm.

”Now, you shall build as the birds do, And shall get your scanty food By boring, and boring, and boring, All day in the hard, dry wood.”

Then up she went through the chimney, Never speaking a word, And out of the top flew a woodp.e.c.k.e.r, For she was changed to a bird.

She had a scarlet cap on her head, And that was left the same, But all the rest of her clothes were burned Black as a coal in the flame.

And every country school-boy Has seen her in the wood, Where she lives in the trees till this very day, Boring and boring for food.