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"Not I," said the dog; "Bow-wow!
I wouldn't be so mean, anyhow!
I gave hairs the nest to make, But the nest I did not take.
Not I," said the dog; "Bow-wow!
I'm not so mean, anyhow."
[Ill.u.s.tration]
"To-whit I to-whit! to-whee!
Will you listen to me?
Who stole four eggs I laid, And the nice nest I made?"
"Bob-o'-link! Bob-o'-link!
Now what do you think?
Who stole a nest away From the plum tree, to-day?"
"Coo-coo! Coo-coo! Coo-coo!
Let me speak a word, too!
Who stole that pretty nest From little yellow-breast?"
"Not I," said the sheep; "Oh, no!
I wouldn't treat a poor bird so.
I gave wool the nest to line, But the nest was none of mine.
Baa! Baa!" said the sheep; "Oh, no.
I wouldn't treat a poor bird so."
"To-whit! to-whit! to-whee!
Will you listen to me?
Who stole four eggs I laid, And the nice nest I made?"
[Ill.u.s.tration]
"Bob-o'-link! Bob-o'-link!
Now, what do you think?
Who stole a nest away From the plum tree, to-day?"
"Coo-coo! Coo-coo! Coo-coo!
Let me speak a word, too!
Who stole that pretty nest From little yellow-breast?"
"Caw! Caw!" cried the crow; "I should like to know What thief took away A bird's nest to-day?"
"Cluck! Cluck!" said the hen, "Don't ask me again.
Why, I haven't a chick Would do such a trick.
We all gave her a feather, And she wove them together.
I'd scorn to intrude On her and her brood.
Cluck! Cluck!" said the hen, "Don't ask me again."
"Chirr-a-whirr! Chirr-a-whirr!
All the birds make a stir!
Let us find out his name, And all cry, 'For shame!'"
"I would not rob a bird,"
Said little Mary Green; "I think I never heard Of anything so mean."
"It is very cruel, too,"
Said little Alice Neal; "I wonder if he knew How sad the bird would feel?"
A little boy hung down his head, And went and hid behind the bed; For HE stole that pretty nest From poor little yellow-breast; And he felt so full of shame, He didn't like to tell his name.
In this little dialogue, what part do the birds take? What part do the animals take?
THE FIRST SNOWFALL
By James Russell Lovell
The snow had begun in the gloaming, And busily all the night Had been heaping field and highway With a silence deep and white.
Every pine and fir and hemlock Wore ermine too dear for an earl, And the poorest twig on the elm tree Was ridged inch deep with pearl.
From sheds new-roofed with Carrara Came Chanticleer's m.u.f.fled crow, The stiff rails were softened to swan's-down, And still fluttered down the snow.
I stood and watched by the window The noiseless work of the sky, And the sudden flurries of s...o...b..rds, Like brown leaves whirling by.
I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn Where a little headstone stood; How the flakes were folding it gently, As did robins the babes in the wood.
Up spoke our own little Mabel, Saying, "Father, who makes it snow?"
And I told of the good All-father Who cares for us here below.
[Ill.u.s.tration]
Again I looked at the snowfall, And thought of the leaden sky That arched o'er our first great sorrow, When that mound was heaped so high.
I remembered the gradual patience That fell from that cloud like snow, Flake by flake, healing and hiding The scar of our deep-plunged woe.
And again to the child I whispered, "The snow that husheth all, Darling, the merciful Father Alone can make it fall!"
Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her; And she, kissing back, could not know That MY kiss was given to her sister, Folded close under deepening snow.
[Footnote: Lowell refers here to a daughter, Blanche, who died shortly before the birth of his daughter Rosa.]
THE KING OF THE GOLDEN RIVER
