Very Short Stories and Verses For Children Part 7

"Yes, we will come back," they answered, but they went on their way singing. All through the day he waited for them, but they did not come; and at last, when it was evening, the mother took him up into her arms to carry him to his bed. Suddenly he heard the children singing in the distance. "Oh, mother," he exclaimed, "they are coming;" and he watched till they came up the hill again and stood before him. "But where is your garland?" he asked.

"We gave it to lame Mary, the postman's wife, for she is always longing to see the fields," they answered; "but these roses are for you, dear little boy; they are all for you," and putting them into his hands they went back to the village.

"You are very tired," the child said to the roses; "all your leaves are drooping. Poor roses, perhaps you are lonely away from the garden; but you shall sleep near me, and there is a star rising up in the sky; it will watch us all through the night." Then the child nestled down in his white bed--he and his little warm heart, in which there was love for all things. While he slept the roses looked at his pale little face and sighed, and presently they stole softly on to his cheeks and rested there. The children saw them still there when the summer was over; when the garland was quite dead, and lame Mary longed for the fields no more.

ROUND THE TEA-TABLE.

A nice little party we're seated at tea, The dollies all seem very glad, Save the poor little thing who is leaning on me; I fear that she feels rather bad; Poor limp little thing! she wants a back-bone, She's only just made up of rag.

There's little Miss Prim sitting up all alone, And the j.a.panese looks like a wag.

Now what shall we talk of, my own dollies fair?

And what shall we give you for tea?

That queer little thing with the short frizzy hair, Why does he keep looking at me?

My sister and I we will sing you a song Before we get up from the table; It shall not be sad, and it shall not be long-- We'll sing it as well as we're able.

SONG.

The darkness is stealing all over the place, The flowers are weeping for sorrow, The daisy is hiding its little round face, The sun has gone seeking to-morrow.

So while you are seated all round the tea-table, Please join in the chorus as well as you're able; O! sing! sing away for your life.

CHORUS.

It's time to cut off the d.i.c.ky birds' noses, Time to cut off the d.i.c.ky birds' noses, It's time to cut off the d.i.c.ky birds' noses, So bring me the carving-knife.

The darkness is hiding the birds on the trees, The thrushes are weary of singing, A strange little rumour is borne on the breeze Of Summer the swallows are bringing.

So while you are seated all round the tea-table, Please join in the chorus as well as you're able; O! sing! sing away for your life.

CHORUS.

It's time to cut off the d.i.c.ky birds' noses, Time to cut off the d.i.c.ky birds' noses, It's time to cut off the d.i.c.ky birds' noses, So bring me the carving-knife.

The Summer is stealing all over the place, The wind is all scented with roses, The dear little birds are all flying a race, On purpose to give us their noses.

So while you are seated all round the tea-table, Please join in the chorus as well as you're able; O! sing! sing away for your life.

CHORUS.

It's time to cut off the d.i.c.ky birds' noses Time to cut off the d.i.c.ky birds' noses, It's time to cut off the d.i.c.ky birds' noses, So bring me the carving-knife.

TOMMY.

Tommy was sitting on the bench near the end of the lane. By his side was a basin tied up in a cotton handkerchief; in the b.u.t.tonhole of his coat there was a sprig of sweet-william. The girls from the big house came and stood still in front of him, staring at him rudely, but he did not speak.

"Tommy, are you tired?" they asked.

"Yes," Tommy answered, crossly, "I'm very tired, and father's working in the fields, and I have got to take him his dinner before I go to the fair."

"Why don't the servants take it?"

"Servants!" said Tommy scornfully; "we've no servants. We are not rich people!"

"Wouldn't you like to be rich?" the eldest sister asked, while the two little ones walked slowly round Tommy, looking at the feather in his hat; he had put it there so that he might look smart when he went on to the village.

"No, it's too expensive," said Tommy, shaking his head; "rich people have to buy such a lot of things, and to wear fine clothes, and they can't have dinner in the fields."

"My father has his dinner in a room," said the girl.

"That's because he's rich," answered Tommy, "and people would talk if he didn't; rich people can't do as they like, as poor can."

"And my father lives in a big house," the girl went on, for she was vulgar, and liked to boast.

"Yes, and it takes up a lot of room; my father's got the whole world to live in if he likes; that's better than a house."

"But my father doesn't work," said the girl, scornfully.

"Mine does," said Tommy, proudly. "Rich people can't work," he went on, "so they are obliged to get the poor folk to do it. Why, we have made everything in the world. Oh! it's a fine thing to be poor."

"But suppose all the rich folk died, what would the poor folk do?"

"But suppose all the poor folk died," cried Tommy, "what would the rich folk do? They can sit in carriages, but can't build them, and eat dinners, but can't cook them." And he got up and went his way. "Poor folk ought to be very kind to rich folk, for it's hard to be the like of them," he said to himself as he went along.

THE SWALLOWS.

There were some children in the north looking at the swallows flying south. "Why are they going away?" the little one asked.

"The summer is over," the elder sister answered, "and if they stayed here they would be starved and die of cold, and so, when the summer goes, they journey south."

"Our mother and sisters are in the south," the little one said, as they looked after the birds. "Dear little swallows, tell mother that we are watching for her!" But they were already flying over the sea. The chilly winds tried to follow, but the swallows flew so swiftly they were not overtaken; they went on, with the summer always before them.

They were tired many a time; once they stayed to rest upon the French coast, and once, in the Bay of Biscay, they clung to the rigging of a s.h.i.+p all through the night, but in the morning they went on again.

Far away in the south, two English children were looking from the turret window of an old castle.