Cinderella; or, The Little Glass Slipper and Other Stories Part 9

"The rat was shot, but grandma's babe, Well, till she's learned to know Such tricks are wrong, why we of course Must naught but patience show."

Then grandma took her little pet, And washed her sticky face, Then put that tempting syrup-jug Up in a safer place.

A CAT'S INSTINCTS.

"Take that! and that! and that!" These words came from an angry little girl. She was leaning over a big gray puss which she was holding down with one hand, while with the other she struck him a sharp blow every time she said "THAT."

It is a wonder puss did not bite her, for he was so strong he could have done so. He was a very gentle cat. "Gentle?" I hear some one ask. Then why did he deserve such a whipping as the little girl was giving him?

That is a question we must try to have answered. For my part I do not believe he deserved it at all. Let us see what happened next. Just as the little girl struck the last blow her Aunt Margaret came into the room. Aunt Margaret stopped in the doorway, astonished.

"Why Flora," she said, as puss darted out of the room, "what are you beating Griffin for?"

"What do you think he was doing?" cried Flora, her cheeks still flushed with anger. "He was on the table just ready to spring at this beautiful bird in my new hat. If I had not come he would have torn it to pieces."

"But he knew no better," said Aunt Margaret, "it is perfectly natural for a cat to spring at a bird. Yes, and for him to kill it too, if he has not been trained to do otherwise."

"But it would have made me feel dreadfully to have this beautiful bird torn to bits. I really love it. Besides, it was killed long ago."

"Yes," said Aunt Margaret, "killed that you might wear it on a hat."

There was something in Aunt Margaret's voice which made Flora and the little girls who were visiting her stand very still and look up.

"You say," continued Aunt Margaret very gently, "you say you love your beautiful bird. That you would feel dreadfully if it were torn to bits.

How do you think its bird-mother felt when it was torn from her nest, and she never saw it again?"

"Oh," said Flora, "I never thought of that before. I'm afraid,--I'm afraid I'm more to blame than the cat."

DINAH'S NEW YEAR'S PRESENT.

Dinah Morris is a colored girl. She lives in the South. By South we mean in the southern part of the United States.

Dinah is one of the most good-natured children that ever lived, but she is very, very lazy. There is nothing she likes, or used to like, so much as to curl up in some warm corner in the sun and do nothing.

Dinah's mother wished very much that her child should learn to read, but the lady who tried to teach her soon gave it up. "It is no use," she said, "Dinah will not learn. She is not a stupid child, but she is too lazy for anything."

It happened, soon after this, that a young man from Ma.s.sachusetts came to the house where Dinah lived. He brought with him something no one else in the neighborhood had ever seen before--a pair of roller-skates.

When Dinah saw the young man going rapidly up and down the piazza on his skates she was so astonished she hardly knew what to think. She ran after him like a cat, her black eyes s.h.i.+ning as they had never shone before.

One day the young man allowed her to try on the skates. The child was too happy for words. Of course she fell down, and sprawled about the floor, but did not mind at all.

"Look here, Dinah," said the young man, "I understand that my aunt has been trying to teach you to read."

Dinah answered that she certainly had.

"Why didn't you learn?" asked the young man. "You need not trouble to answer," said he, "it was just because you are too lazy. Now, if, on the first of January, you can read, I tell you what I will do. I will send you as good a pair of roller-skates as I can buy in Boston."

How Dinah's eyes snapped. For a moment she said nothing, then exclaimed decidedly, "I'll have those skates, sure."

And she did. When she bent her mind on her work she could always do it well, no matter what it was.

The lady who had before this found her such a difficult child to teach, now had no trouble. If Dinah showed the least sign of her former laziness the word SKATES! was enough to make her bend her mind on her lesson instantly.

On New Year's morning she received a box marked in large printed letters:

MISS DINAH MORRIS, Care of Mrs. Lawrence Delaney, NEW ORLEANS, LA.

If she can read what is on the outside of this box she can have what is inside.

And as Dinah read every word plainly and quickly, of course she had for her very own the fine roller-skates the box held. And now sitting curled up in the sun, doing nothing, is not the thing she likes to do best.

NIGHT FLOWERS.

There are some flowers that never see the sun. One of the most curious is the "evening primrose." About six o'clock it suddenly bursts open, with a popping sound, and at six next morning closes.

If you watch that pretty flower, and listen, you can hear this strange performance.

This is why it does so. The little calyx holds the petals in such a way that the moment it turns back they are let loose. At once it bursts out into full flower, with this funny noise, like a pop-gun.

So the "night-blooming cereus" blossom in the night, only for an hour, giving out its sweet fragrance, and then dies. Just think of never seeing the sun at all!

In a far Eastern country there is a kind of jasmine called the "sorrowful tree." It droops as if sick in the daytime, and at night grows fresh and bright. It opens its lovely flowers with a very pleasant odor till morning, and then wilts and looks wretched again.

THE FIRST SNOW-STORM.

Away off on a warm sunny island, little Harry Hall was born. Flowers bloomed all the year round. The sun shone most of the time, although now and then there were thunder-showers.

Many wonderful plants grew wild, while on the sh.o.r.e sh.e.l.ls and seaweed and queer little fishes were often to be found.

When Harry was six years old his parents took a journey to New York.

It seemed very odd to the little boy to live in a place where there were so many people, and such great houses. After a while the weather grew cold, and he had to wear thick woollen clothing. The house in which they lived was heated by a furnace; but one day they had a fire of logs on the hearth. Harry enjoyed it very much, and thought the bright blaze so pretty.

The sky was gray and cloudy one afternoon, and Harry had been standing by the window watching the street cars. Suddenly the air grew thick, and he could scarcely see the houses opposite. Something white and feathery fell slowly down and rested on the window ledge. Then it disappeared.

But more and more of the little flakes came, until there was quite a ridge outside of the window.

Harry opened the sash gently, fearing it might fly away. He was surprised when he touched it to find it so cold. He took some up in his hand, but in a moment it was only a drop of water.