THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 Lirs. 7'illiam We intra ub 
 
IN PLAY LAND 
 
IN PLAY LAND 
 
 COMPILED BY 
 
 FRANCES WELD DANIELSON 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
 JANE DUDLEY F. LILEY YOUNG 
 
 MABEL B. HILL CLARA E. ATWOOD 
 
 THE PILGRIM PRESS 
 
 BOSTON NEW YORK CUICAGO 
 
Copyright, 1911 
 Bt Luther H. Cabt 
 
 Published August, 1911 
 
 LOAN STACK 
 GIFT 
 
 THE- PLIMPTON* PRESS 
 
 [ W • D • O] 
 NORWOOD • MASS • U • S • A 
 
WORK 
 
 Work, when done by willing fingers. 
 Makes the dullest hours slip by. 
 
 Not a listless moment lingers. 
 There's no time to fret or cry. 
 
 Work and sing and then for playtime - 
 That's the way to spend the daytime I 
 
 When our work is finished duly. 
 Then we'll laugh and skip and run, 
 
 Happy just because we truly 
 Know we've earned our right to fun. 
 
 Work and sing and then for playtime - 
 That's the way to spend the daytime I 
 
 Qr;HS 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 OUTDOORS ON PLEASANT DAYS 
 
 Mat-Time 
 
 Making Believe .... 
 
 Horseback 
 
 Haying-Time 
 
 Toys and Seasons . 
 
 A Puzzling Thing . . . 
 
 Winifred's Long Journey . 
 
 A Voyage 
 
 Work and Play .... 
 One Mile to Toyland . . 
 Charlotte the Conqueror 
 
 Velocipede 
 
 A Little Girl's Journey . 
 Apple-Tree Inn .... 
 
 May Day 
 
 Pretending 
 
 Her Answer 
 
 A Troublesome Daughter. 
 
 The Race 
 
 A Sleepy-Head Top . . . 
 
 Hannah G. Fernald . 
 Frances J. Delano 
 Anne Schiitze . 
 Anna Burnham Bryant 
 Hannah G. Fernald . 
 Nancy Byrd Turner . 
 Frances Margaret Fox 
 Hannah G. Fernald . 
 Alice Van Leer Carrick 
 Nancy Byrd Turner . 
 Hannah G. Fernald . 
 Annie Willis McCullough 
 Frances J. Delano 
 Nancy Byrd Turner . 
 Alice Van Leer Carrick 
 Hannah G. Fernald . 
 
 Sidney Dayre . 
 Hannah G. Fernald . 
 
 Alice Turner Curtis . 
 
 Sinclair Lewis 
 
 page 
 
 3 
 
 4 
 
 6 
 
 7 
 
 8 
 
 10 
 
 11 
 
 16 
 
 18 
 
 19 
 
 21 
 
 23 
 
 24 
 
 26 
 
 28 
 
 30 
 
 31 
 
 32 
 
 34r 
 
 35 
 
 IN THE HOUSE ON STORMY DAYS 
 
 A Rainy Day PijAN . 
 
 Post-Office .... 
 PicTURE-BooK Time . 
 The Topsy-Turvy Doll 
 
 Nancy Byrd Turner ... 39 
 
 Emma C. Dowd .... 41 
 
 Hannah G. Fernald ... 44 
 
 Rebecca Deming Moore . . 46 
 vii 
 
VIU 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 The Milkweed Pod that 
 Helped 
 
 The Quiet Child 
 
 My Horse 
 
 Two Pockets 
 
 Mt Dolly 
 
 Aunt Ruth's New Spelling 
 Game 
 
 The Little Book People . 
 
 After School 
 
 A Game for the Fireside 
 
 The Wooden Horse 
 
 A Rainy Saturday . 
 
 The Birthday Ones. 
 
 Acting Rhymes .... 
 
 The Trials of Travel . 
 
 Books 
 
 Dolls 
 
 Lentil Arithmetic . 
 
 A Warning 
 
 The Quarrel 
 
 My Playmates .... 
 
 The People in the Pine- 
 Tree 
 
 The Students .... 
 
 The Little Prince . 
 
 The Ball 
 
 The Dictionary's Sons. 
 
 Poor Old Books .... 
 
 Toys 
 
 The Bath 
 
 Tangles 
 
 The Dream Ship. 
 
 The Apple Family . 
 
 The Teddy Bear's Surprise 
 
 The Rainy Day .... 
 
 The Game of Going-to-Bed 
 
 Louise M. Oglevee. 
 Anne Schiitze .... 
 Nancy Byrd Turner . 
 Rebecca Deming Moore . 
 Annie Willis McCullough 
 
 Emma C. Dowd . 
 Edna A. Foster 
 Hannah G. Fernald . 
 Bertha E. Bush . 
 Rebecca Deming Moore 
 Anne Schiitze . 
 Nancy Byrd Turner . 
 Emma C. Dowd . 
 Rebecca Deming Moore 
 Hannah G. Fernald . 
 Rebecca Deming Moore 
 Emma C. Dowd . 
 Hannah G. Fernald . 
 Nancy Byrd Turner . 
 Rebecca Deming Moore 
 
 Nettie Joy Allen . 
 Hannah G. Fernald . 
 Carolyn Sherwin Bailey 
 Anna Burnham Bryant 
 Emma C. Dowd . 
 Abbie Farwell Brown 
 Alice Van Leer Carrick 
 Rebecca Deming Moore 
 Louise M. Oglevee. 
 Blanche Elizabeth Wade 
 Rebecca Deming Moore 
 Carolyn Shenvin Bailey 
 Rebecca Deming Moore 
 Anna Burnham Bryant 
 
 PAGE 
 
 47 
 50 
 51 
 52 
 63 
 
 54 
 57 
 59 
 61 
 
 63 
 64 
 66 
 67 
 
 70 
 71 
 
 73 
 74 
 77 
 78 
 80 
 
 82 
 
 85 
 
 86 
 
 90 
 
 91 
 
 94 
 
 95 
 
 96 
 
 97 
 
 99 
 
 102 
 
 104 
 
 106 
 
 107 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 IX 
 
 OUTDOOR PLAYFELLOWS AND INDOOR TASKS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Playfellow Wind . Elizabeth Thornton Turner 111 
 
 The Lady Moon .... Alice Turner Curtis . 113 
 
 The Journey Annie Willis McCullough . 11-i 
 
 Daffydowndilly .... Carolyn Sheru-in Bailey . . 115 
 
 The Pinewood People . . Elizabeth Thomion Turner 117 
 
 Jocko Hannah G. Fernald . 118 
 
 Grandmother's Spectacles Carolyn Sherwin Bailey . . 120 
 
 Our Little Brook . . . Edith Dunham 123 
 
 Barbara Nancy Byrd Turner . . 125 
 
 The Story of the Little 
 
 Crooked Tree .... Carolyn Shermn Bailey . . 126 
 
 The Star Anna Burnham Bryant . 129 
 
 Winged Things .... Anna Schiitze 130 
 
 My Garden Anna Burnham Bryant . . 131 
 
 The Calendar of a Country 
 
 Child Alice Van Leer Carrick . . 132 
 
 For the Queen .... Blanche Elizabeth Wade . . 134 
 
 The Month of May . . . Anna Burnham Bryant . 137 
 
 Clover Annie Willis McCullough . 138 
 
 Mamma's Little Housemaid Harriet Crocker LeRoy . . 139 
 
 The Best Medicine . . . Jnshua F. Crowell .... 141 
 
 In Summer Hannah G. Fernald . . 143 
 
 At Night Annie Willis McCullough . 144 
 
 Sun Shadows Alice Van Leer Carrick . 145 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 But we just choose a May Queen. This time 
 
 it's Sister Lou Cover inset 
 
 London Bridge Frontispiece 
 
 PACING 
 PAOB 
 
 There were nine dolls and Shep, the big dog . 14 
 They took turns in being postmaster and in 
 
 coming for the mail 42 
 
 The Birthday Ones 66 
 
 Trials of Travel 70 
 
 A Game of Hide-and-Seek 82 
 
 A Soap-Bubble Party 106 
 
Outdoor Playfellows and Indoor 
 T'asks 
 
/;; Play Land 
 
 MAY-TIME 
 
 SING a song of May-time, 
 And picnics in the park. 
 Such a happy playtime! 
 Birds are singing — hark ! 
 Bluebird calls to bluebird, 
 
 Robins chirp between, 
 And little lads and lasses 
 Are dancing on the green. 
 
 Marigolds are golden 
 
 All along the brooks. 
 Violets are peeping 
 
 In the shady nooks. 
 Out into the fields now! 
 
 Choose your happy queen; 
 For all the lads and lasses 
 
 Are dancing on the green. 
 
 Hannah G. Fernald. 
 
MAKING BELIEVE 
 
 PATTIE RAYMOND was the richest 
 little girl in the whole country. The 
 parties she gave were really wonder- 
 ful. She had a beautiful banqueting-room, 
 all one side of which was open to the sea. 
 The walls were higher than any church and 
 the painting on the ceiling more glorious than 
 anything a great painter ever did. There 
 was a very old and beautiful table in the 
 center of this room, and the dishes Pattie 
 used were made by the greatest of all artists. 
 
 Pattie's guests were beautifully dressed. 
 In the spring the ladies wore yellow and the 
 men green. Later, the ladies dressed in 
 rose color while the men were in dark green. 
 Later still, say in August, the ladies wore 
 pale pink and the men pale green. 
 
 It was a beautiful sight to see a thousand 
 guests (Pattie often had more than a thou- 
 sand) all dressed in delicate colors, fluttering 
 and nodding and smiling under the blue 
 roof, with the great sea stretched out before 
 
 4 
 
MAKING BELIEVE 
 
 them, and Pattie moving among them like 
 a little queen. 
 
 Now let me whisper a secret. Any little 
 girl who knows how to make believe is just 
 as rich as Pattie was. For listen! Pattie's 
 banqueting-room was her grandmother's 
 back pasture. The table w^as a splendid 
 big rock. The dishes were shells from the 
 shore. The ceiling of the room was the great 
 dome of the sky. 
 
 The guests were — well, in the spring they 
 were buttercups and various green things; in 
 the summer they were wild roses and sweet 
 fern; later, the guests that flocked to the old 
 pasture were the lovely pink hardhack and 
 pale green mullein stalks. 
 
 Truly, Pattie was not only the richest, but 
 
 she was the happiest little girl in the whole 
 
 countryside. 
 
 Frances J. Delano. 
 
HORSEBACK 
 
 RIGHT by our brook is a lovely place, 
 Where the saplings bow and bend. 
 And every tree is a fairy horse. 
 Which the fairy queen will lend, 
 If you know just how to pretend. 
 Oh, how I wish for each Friday night. 
 
 When tomorrow is Saturday, 
 And I can finish my work, and then 
 Go down by the brook to play. 
 Where the fairy horses stay! 
 
 Anne Schutze. 
 
HAYING-TIME 
 
 IN haying-time my grandpa says I'm lots 
 of use to him. 
 I take my nice new wheelbarrow and fill 
 it to the brim. 
 The big team comes out, too, and takes 
 
 the hay-cocks one by one. 
 And that and my new wheelbarrow soon get 
 the haying done. 
 
 Anna Burnham Bryant. 
 
TOYS AND SEASONS 
 
 THE hoops and the marbles, the long 
 winter through, 
 Had slept in the garret, with nothing 
 to do. 
 The sleds were out sliding, the bright skates 
 
 were gliding, 
 While poor hoops and marbles were hidden 
 
 away, 
 Waiting and waiting for some one to play. 
 
 Spring sun and spring winds carried off all 
 
 the snow. 
 There was mud for our pies; there were 
 
 pebbles to throw; 
 There were kites for our flying, wee boats 
 
 for our trying; 
 The birds were all singing in garden and lane; 
 And the hoops and the marbles were with 
 
 us again. 
 
 The skates and the sleds have all vanished 
 from sight — 
 
TOYS AND SEASONS 9 
 
 Gone to rest, I suppose; I should think that 
 
 they might. 
 No time for condoHng when gay hoops are 
 
 rolling, 
 But isn't it really a singular thing 
 The hoops and the marbles should know 
 
 when it's spring? 
 
 Hannah G. Fernald. 
 
A PUZZLING THING 
 
 EIGHT of us went to a party — 
 The nicest ever given. 
 There was apple fluff, and frosted 
 stuff, 
 And cake and candy and fruit enough. 
 But seats for only seven! 
 
 Eight of us hurried homeward 
 
 After the happy treat. 
 
 With run and bound; yet there were found 
 
 Only the tracks on the dusty ground 
 
 Of seven pairs of feet! 
 
 Eight of us got back safely. 
 
 And seven told with glee 
 
 Of all we'd done, and the feast and the fun — 
 
 But one of us was a silent one. 
 
 Now, which can that one be? 
 
 Nancy Byrd Turner. 
 
 10 
 
WINIFRED'S LONG JOURNEY 
 
 WINIFRED was seven years old and 
 proud of her age. If she had been 
 six, she would have cried when 
 Uncle Tom and her two brothers went away 
 that June morning to meet father — at least, 
 so she told mother. 
 
 Winifred's home was in Redlands in south- 
 ern California. Father had been in Alaska 
 three months. During that time the little 
 girl had grown so fast she wondered if her 
 father would surely know her. She was only 
 six years old when he went away. 
 
 The three children were asleep the night 
 before when mother told uncle Tom that 
 Winifred was too young to go with him and 
 the boys to Los Angeles to meet her father. 
 
 *'You see," mother reasoned, "it is really 
 a long journey for such a little girl, and the 
 train from San Francisco may be hours 
 late." 
 
 Half an hour after Uncle Tom and the 
 boys had gone, mother saw a funny sight. 
 
 11 
 
12 INPLATLAND 
 
 Winifred was trailing through the yard with 
 Aunt Carolyn's garden hat tied on with a 
 veil. Mother's blue gingham kitchen apron 
 was her long gown that would have dragged 
 had not the little lady lifted it with a stylish 
 air. In her free hand Winifred carried her 
 mother's brown leather bag. 
 
 "Evidently traveling," mother said aloud. 
 
 The next moment an extremely polite 
 individual crossed the lawn and paused in 
 front of the open window. 
 
 "Pardon me, but are you the ticket agent?" 
 demanded the little lady. 
 
 "Why, yes, madam," was mother's instant 
 reply. She was accustomed to change into 
 different characters at a moment's notice. 
 "What can I do for you.?" 
 
 "You may sell me one grown-up ticket 
 and ten children's tickets for Los Angeles." 
 
 "You mean, madam, one full fare and ten 
 half fares?" 
 
 "Yes'm — madam — sir, if you please. 
 And when does the next train come?" 
 
 "The Overland is due in five minutes," 
 replied the station agent. "You'll have time 
 to check your baggage." 
 
 "No baggage to check, I thank you, sir. 
 
Winifred's long journey 13 
 
 I am expecting my father from San Francisco 
 on the afternoon train, and we are going to 
 Los Angeles to meet him. I hope the brake- 
 man will help me get on the train with all 
 my children. I left them sitting on the 
 platform." 
 
 Mother took the hint and straightway 
 became brakeman. She smiled a little too 
 broadly to suit Winifred's dignity, however, 
 when she saw the waiting family on the 
 platform. There were the nine dolls and 
 Shep, the big dog, in a row on the steps of 
 the front veranda. Across the path to the 
 front gate were three orange boxes. The 
 train had arrived. 
 
 "Shep is my biggest boy," the little lady 
 explained, just as the conductor called, *'All 
 aboard!" and the brakeman had handed up 
 the Japanese baby to its smiling mother. 
 "He is the only one I ever had any trouble 
 with. The front seat, Shep! Sit down, sir! 
 We are going on a long journey. Down, sir!" 
 
 Shep sat down so hard in front of an 
 orange box that he tipped it over and the 
 brakeman had to straighten it. 
 
 "Your son, madam, seems a bit unruly," 
 ventured the brakeman. 
 
14 INPLAYLAND 
 
 "He is a little clumsy," madam replied, 
 "because he has grown so fast. He is very 
 big for his age. Sit down, sir!" 
 
 Mother retreated with her sewing to the 
 veranda, where she could watch the Over- 
 land speed through the country. At last it 
 was evident that the train was pulling into 
 Los Angeles. Madam put on the children's 
 hats, wiped their faces with her handker- 
 chief, straightened her own garments, and 
 seized the traveling-bag. 
 
 Suddenly Shep became restless. He had 
 been a well-behaved son during the entire 
 journey. 
 
 "Down, sir, down!" commanded his anx- 
 ious mother. "We are not going to get off 
 at a crossing. We are going into Arcade 
 Station." 
 
 Shep appeared to be listening, not to 
 madam, but to distant footsteps. He looked 
 at Mrs. Winifred, to be sure, and then gave 
 a long, joyful howl that might have aston- 
 ished passengers on the Overland. 
 
 "Now we're there!" declared the little 
 lady. She either had to suddenly arrive in 
 Los Angeles or admit that her only son had 
 bounded through the window of the Over- 
 
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Winifred's long journey 15 
 
 land. Shop juniped from the train and began 
 barking and leaping like a crazy "biggest 
 boy," as he flew to the gate. 
 
 The gate opened and the next thing mother 
 knew, madam's nine children were sprawling 
 in the dust, and madam, gingham traveling- 
 gown and all, was in her father's arms. 
 
 This was the end of Winifred's long journey 
 and the end of the story, except that father 
 telegraphed Uncle Tom he had arrived on 
 the morning train instead of the afternoon 
 train from San Francisco. 
 
 Frances Margaret Fox. 
 
A VOYAGE 
 
 SHE rowed 'way out on the Daisy Sea, 
 with a really-truly oar. 
 Out of a really-truly boat, and what 
 could you ask for more? 
 Her sea and her boat were make-believe, 
 
 but the daisy waves dashed high. 
 And 'twas pleasant to know if the boat went 
 down that her frock would still be dry. 
 
 She rowed 'way out on the Daisy Sea, with 
 
 a really-truly oar. 
 Past the perilous garden gate where the 
 
 fierce white breakers roar, 
 Past the rocks where the mermaids sing as 
 
 they comb their golden hair. 
 Past an iceberg grim and tall, and a great, 
 
 white polar bear. 
 
 She rowed 'way out on the Daisy Sea, with 
 
 a really-truly oar, 
 Till she came to an island castle, where she 
 
 brought her boat ashore. 
 
 16 
 
AVOTAGE 17 
 
 She entered the castle boldly, and — wonder- 
 ful sight to see ! — 
 
 She had rowed straight home to the dining- 
 room and the table spread for tea. 
 
 Hannah G. Fernald. 
 
WORK AND PLAY 
 
 WINNIE'S been berrying all the day, 
 Happy at work that was really 
 play. 
 She was a queen; the crown on her head 
 Was her blue sunbonnet; the berries red 
 That heaped her pails were rubies rare 
 That a king might envy and long to wear; 
 And the squirrels and birds beneath the firs 
 Were the gentle, wordless courtiers 
 Who seemed to know and to understand 
 Why she strayed through the pleasant pas- 
 ture-land. 
 And now that the sun is sinking down. 
 Home she goes in her gingham gown. 
 Happy at work that was really play, 
 Winnie's been berrying all the day. 
 
 Alice Van Leer Carrick. 
 
 18 
 
ONE MILE TO TOYLAND 
 
 ONE mile, one mile to Toyland!" 
 Just s'pose, to your intense 
 Astonishment, you found this sign 
 Plain written on a fence. 
 Just one short mile to Toyland, 
 To happy girl and boy-land, 
 Where one can play the livelong day! 
 Now who will hurry hence? 
 
 There dollies grow^ on bushes. 
 And wooden soldiers stand 
 With frisky rocking-horses near, 
 A brave and dauntless band; 
 And whips and tops and whistles 
 They grow as thick as thistles, 
 And every kind of toy you find — 
 A strange and magic land! 
 
 *'Only a mile to Toyland!" 
 
 How big your eyes would grow. 
 
 And how you'd come and stand stock-still 
 
 19 
 
20 INPLAYLAND 
 
 To read it, in a row; 
 
 Then, brother, girls, and maybe 
 
 The puppy and the baby. 
 
 You'd make that mile in little while, 
 
 And find that land, I know! 
 
 Nancy Byrd Turner. 
 
CHARLOTTE THE CONQUEROR 
 
 WHEN Charlotte is playing croquet 
 It's really refreshing to see. 
 She wins in the cheerfullest way. 
 Or loses (but rarely!) with glee. 
 She chooses the ball that is blue, 
 
 And dashes straight into the fray. 
 I want to be present — don't you? — 
 When Charlotte is playing croquet. 
 
 And Charlotte is playing croquet 
 
 From breakfast-time almost till tea. 
 She coaxes us, *' Please, won't you play?" 
 
 And somehow, we always agree. 
 Then oh, for the ball that is blue! 
 
 What matter the tasks of the day? 
 There's something important to do. 
 
 For Charlotte is playing croquet! 
 
 When Charlotte is playing croquet, 
 The neighbors come over to see. 
 
 The grocer is tempted to stay, 
 
 The butcher's boy gives advice free, 
 
 21 
 
22 INPLAYLAND 
 
 The doctor, forgetting his care, 
 
 Will linger a bit on his way. 
 There are partners enough and to spare. 
 
 When Charlotte is playing croquet. 
 
 Hannah G. Fernald. 
 
VELOCIPEDE 
 
 I KNOW of a staid and sober horse 
 That goes by a great, long name. 
 The Httle ones hke this trusty steed 
 That always goes at a proper speed. 
 They call him the good Velocipede, 
 And he's never tired or lame. 
 
 Ah, he is the horse that gives you fun, 
 And he is the horse you need! 
 
 He's never balky, he eats no hay, 
 
 He's ready to either go or stay. 
 
 And never was known to run away — 
 This good horse Velocipede. 
 
 Annie Willis McCullough. 
 
 S3 
 
A LITTLE GIRL'S JOURNEY 
 
 MARY'S father called Mary his httle 
 make-believe girl, because she was 
 always making believe things. One 
 day when Mary was expecting to go to grand- 
 ma's for a lovely visit, word came that Cousin 
 Grace had the measles, and Mary must stay 
 at home. It was a great disappointment, of 
 course, and at first it seemed to Mary as if it 
 could not possibly be true. When she knew 
 it was true, she put her little hands over her 
 eyes and cried very hard for almost a minute. 
 
 All of a sudden she thought of something 
 she could make believe do. She could make 
 believe visit grandma. The more Mary 
 thought of it the nicer it seemed, and in a 
 minute she was just as busy as a bee. She ran 
 up-stairs and got the suit case and papa's bag 
 and her own little bag and the shawl-strap. 
 Then she planned what she would carry. 
 
 She got mamma to give her some cookies 
 to take to grandpa. She put two oranges in 
 a bag for Cousin Grace, and found a picture- 
 book for Cousin Richard. She got some 
 
 24 
 
A LITTLE girl's JOURNEY 25 
 
 chamois skin and sat down to make a spectacle 
 wiper for grandma. It was almost night 
 when the spectacle wiper was finished, and 
 then Mary commenced to pack up. 
 
 What do you think papa saw when he 
 came home that night? He saw Mary making 
 believe going to grandma's house. She was 
 sitting in a big chair with her coat and hat 
 on. The suit case and papa's bag and her 
 little bag and a shawl with the shawl-strap 
 round it were down beside her chair. Inside 
 the big bag were the spectacle wiper, the 
 picture-book, the oranges, and some nice 
 cookies. Mary was making believe she was 
 in the cars, and they were going whiz, whiz, 
 and she was looking out of the window for 
 the first sight of grandma's house! 
 
 Papa laughed and laughed when he saw 
 the little tableau, and he took Mary in his 
 arms and kissed her a dozen times, Mary 
 laughed, too, as happy as a lark, and she and 
 papa talked about the visit all through din- 
 ner. Two weeks afterward Mary did make 
 a real visit at grandma's house. So you see 
 she had two visits — a lovely make-believe 
 one and a lovely real one. 
 
 Frances J. Delano. 
 
APPLE-TREE INN 
 
 IT stands by the roadside, cool-shuttered 
 and high, 
 With cordial welcome for all who pass 
 by; 
 And here's how you enter — you make a 
 
 quick dash 
 And scale the steep stair with a bound, in a 
 
 flash. 
 You cross the clean threshold and find you a 
 
 chair. 
 There's room for all comers and plenty to 
 
 spare. 
 You can rock, you can rest, happy lodging 
 
 you win 
 Who stop for an hour at Apple-tree Inn. 
 
 The walls and the roof and the ceiling are 
 
 green. 
 With rifts of light blue that are painted 
 
 between. 
 The seats are upholstered in brown and dark 
 
 gray, 
 
 26 
 
APPLE-TREEINN 27 
 
 And yet, for it all, not a penny to pay. 
 Then, when you are hungry, the table is 
 
 spread 
 With fare that is dainty, delicious, and red. 
 Oh, hurry and come if you never have been 
 A guest in your travels at Apple-tree Inn! 
 Nancy Byrd Turner. 
 
MAY DAY 
 
 (In England "the May" meant hawthorn, and 
 these pretty blossoms were brought to the houses of 
 friends, because people believed they brought good 
 luck. The little song in the poem was really sung in 
 England about three hundred years ago.) 
 
 WHEN good folk went a-Maying, 
 And England still was young. 
 They got up, oh, so early, 
 To find the dew all pearly; 
 And this was what they sung: 
 
 "We've been rambling all the night, 
 
 And almost all the day. 
 And now returned home again 
 
 We have brought you back the May." 
 
 Robin Hood went a-Maying 
 
 And all his merry band. 
 Scarlet, Tuck, and Little John 
 Through green Sherwood wandered on 
 
 With hawthorn boughs in hand. 
 
 28 
 
MAYDAY 29 
 
 "We've been rambling all the night, 
 
 And almost all the day, 
 And now returned home again 
 
 We have brought you back the May." 
 
 But we just choose a May Queen, 
 
 This time it's sister Lou. 
 W^e take the noon-time hours, 
 And weave the sweetest flowers, 
 
 But sing the same song, too: 
 
 *' We've been rambling all the night, 
 
 And almost all the day. 
 And now returned home again 
 
 We have brought you back the May." 
 Alice Van Leer Carrick. 
 
PRETENDING 
 
 WE played we were lost in the wood. 
 But home was just over the hill. 
 With only one cooky for food, 
 We played we were lost in the wood. 
 We talked just as loud as we could. 
 
 The world seemed so big and so still. 
 We wished we had always been good. 
 
 And we said in our hearts, "Now we will." 
 
 We gathered fresh grass for our bed. 
 And then there was nothing to do. 
 
 A robin flew over my head 
 
 As we gathered fresh grass for our bed. 
 
 "He'll cover us up," brother said, 
 And then he began to boo-hoo, 
 
 And home to our mother we fled. 
 Or, really, I might have cried too. 
 
 Hannah G. Fernald. 
 
 so 
 
HER ANSWER 
 
 IT was an easy question and Margie thought 
 it so, 
 An easy one to answer, as any one would 
 
 know. 
 She smiled and smiled again as it hung upon 
 
 the wall: 
 "In going to school what do you like the very 
 
 best of all?" 
 Then grew a little sober as she began to write. 
 With wrinkles on her forehead and lips a 
 
 little tight. 
 She wrote her answer carefully, with look so 
 
 grave and wise. 
 She minded all her capitals and dotted all 
 
 her I's, 
 She crossed her T's precisely, she smiled a 
 
 little more 
 At all the pleasant images the pleasant 
 
 question bore 
 Of all the merry, laughing hours, and all 
 
 the joyous play — 
 "The thing I like the best of all in school — 
 a holiday." Sidney Dayre. 
 
 SI 
 
A TROUBLESOME DAUGHTER 
 
 ANGELICA SUE is the carelessest 
 child! 
 The trouble she makes me is per- 
 fectly fearful. 
 I told her this morning, but she only smiled, 
 And swung in her hammock, and looked 
 just as cheerful. 
 I'm sure I should feel I had nothing to do. 
 If some one adopted Angelica Sue. 
 
 It's always Angelica falls in the dust, 
 
 Angelica's frock that gets torn on the fences. 
 
 The other dolls sit as I tell them they must. 
 But when she comes out, then the trouble 
 commences. 
 
 Wherever I go, or whatever I do. 
 
 She's sure to be with me — Angelica Sue. 
 
 Oh, nobody knows how I work for that child ! 
 But once, when I spoke of her ways to my 
 brother, 
 
 32 
 
A TROUBLESOME DAUGHTER 33 
 
 He said, and he looked at us both, and he 
 smiled, 
 *' Angelica Susan takes after her mother!" 
 I've wondered since then if it really can be 
 AngeHca Sue is a Httle like me. 
 
 Hannah G. Fernald. 
 
THE RACE 
 
 ACROSS the field and down the hill 
 I ran a race with Cousin Will, 
 And lost my shoe, I ran so fast, 
 And that is why I came in last. 
 
 But Cousin Will would try once more 
 Across the field down to the shore. 
 This time all would have ended well, 
 Only I stubbed my toe and fell. 
 
 And then we raced across the yard. 
 And though I ran as swift and hard 
 As Cousin Will, yet some way he 
 Got to the place ahead of me. 
 
 Will says to lose is no disgrace. 
 That trying really makes a race. 
 'Twas trying, he says, made the fun, 
 That all we wanted was the run. 
 
 Alice Turner Curtis. 
 
 S4 
 
A SLEEPY-HEAD TOP 
 
 MY top is just the very best, 
 But, my! it is the laziest. 
 It sleeps, and sleeps, and sleeps all 
 day, 
 And doesn't want to come and play. 
 Then, when it spins, it sleeps the more. 
 It stands up straight, but it will snore. 
 Until it is so sound asleep 
 It tumbles over in a heap. 
 
 Sinclair Lewis. 
 
 85 
 
In the House on Stormy Days 
 
T 
 
 A RAINY DAY PLAN 
 
 HE world's wet and stormy, 
 The wind's in a rage. 
 We are shut in the house 
 
 Like poor birds in a cage. 
 There's a sigh in the chimney, 
 
 A roar on the wall. 
 Good-by to "I Spy" 
 
 And to swinging and all! 
 But the child that complains 
 
 Cannot better the day. 
 So the harder it rains, 
 
 Why, the harder we'll play! 
 
 There are tears on the window 
 
 And sighs in the trees. 
 But who's going to fret 
 
 Over matters like these? 
 If the sky's got to cry. 
 
 Then it's better by half 
 That the longer it weeps, 
 
 Why, the louder we'll laugh! 
 And look! I declare, 
 
 89 
 
40 INPLATLAND 
 
 There's the sun coming out 
 To see what on earth 
 All the fun is about! 
 
 Nancy Byrd Turner. 
 
POST-OFFICE 
 
 JEANNETTE and Margery were sewing 
 for their dolls when mamma came in 
 from her walk. 
 "I have just invited Mrs. Graham^s little 
 nephew to come over and play with you," 
 said Mrs. Berry. "He will be here in a 
 minute." 
 
 "O mamma! what made you ask him?" 
 cried Jeannette. "Margery and I were going 
 to have such a nice time this afternoon." 
 
 "Perhaps he will make it nicer," smiled 
 Mrs. Berry. 
 
 "Oh, he won't!" pouted Jeannette. "He's 
 so little he prob'ly won't know how to play 
 anything much, and we shall have to amuse 
 him." 
 
 "I am sorry if I have interfered with your 
 plans," Mrs. Berry replied. "I was only 
 thinking how lonely he looked. But make 
 the best of it, dear, and try to give him a 
 good time, even if you don't enjoy it your- 
 self. There he comes." 
 
 41 
 
42 INPLAYLAND 
 
 "I guess I'll go home," said Margery, 
 hastily folding up the doll's coat she had been 
 making. 
 
 "Please stay!" Jeannette begged. 
 
 So Margery said, "All right, I will a little 
 while," and settled back in her seat. 
 
 Chester Gray was a round-faced, big-eyed, 
 laughing little lad, and did not look as small 
 as he had seemed across the street. 
 
 "What would you like to play.^" asked 
 Jeannette politely. 
 
 Chester glanced around the living-room, 
 beaming on the old-fashioned chairs. 
 
 "You can play post-office beautifully, can't 
 you?" he answered. 
 
 " Post-oflace? " repeated Jeannette. " I don't 
 know how." 
 
 "Oh, then we will now!" declared Chester. 
 "It's lots of fun." 
 
 And fun it was, to judge from the hours 
 spent at the sport and the children's happy 
 faces all the time. They took turns at being 
 postmaster and in coming for mail. They 
 tied up newspapers and magazines, which 
 with mamma's old letters made the mail-bag 
 — the old rag-bag — pretty full. The chairs, 
 set in a row with seats to the office, were the 
 

 
POST-OFFICE 43 
 
 distributing table for the mail, and when 
 the letters and packages were placed between 
 the sticks of the backs, the place looked 
 quite like a post-office. 
 
 Jeannette watched her guests out of sight 
 with happy eyes. "Post-office is a splendid 
 play," she said, turning to mamma. 
 
 "Then you are not sorry, after all, that 
 Chester came?" 
 
 "Why, no, mamma; I'm as glad as can 
 be. I guess he knows more than Margery 
 and I, if he is little. We never even heard of 
 playing post-office." 
 
 Emma C. Dowd. 
 
PICTURE-BOOK TIME 
 
 WHENEVER the rain-drops come 
 pattering down, 
 And the garden's too dripping for 
 play, 
 Whenever poor nursie's determined to frown, 
 
 Or mother dear's just gone away. 
 Then up to the nursery book-shelves we 
 
 climb. 
 For trouble time's always a picture-book 
 time! 
 
 When some one's been naughty, and some 
 one is sad. 
 When the new walking bear will not go, 
 When the kitten is lost or the puppy is bad, 
 
 When Mary hates learning to sew, 
 Then up to the nursery book-shelves we 
 
 climb, 
 For trouble time's always a picture-book time! 
 
 And there in the pictures the world seems so 
 gay, 
 
 44 
 
PICTURE-BOOKTIME 45 
 
 And everything always goes right. 
 The gardens are sunny, the children at play, 
 
 There's seldom a picture-book night. 
 No wonder we love to sit cosily curled, 
 Forgetting our woes in the picture-book 
 world. 
 
 The dear, merry pages! we know them so 
 well, 
 And when they are folded away. 
 Our troubles have vanished as if by a spell. 
 
 And nothing is wrong with the day. 
 The nursery book-shelves are easy to climb. 
 And no time is better than picture-book time! 
 Hannah G. Fernald. 
 
THE TOPSY-TURVY DOLL 
 
 TOPSY-TURVY came to me 
 On our last year's Christmas tree. 
 She is just the queerest doll, 
 Much the strangest of them all. 
 Now you see her, cheeks of red. 
 Muslin cap upon her head, 
 Bright blue eyes and golden hair. 
 Never face more sweet and fair. 
 Presto! change! She's black as night. 
 Woolly hair all curling tight. 
 Coal-black eyes, thick lips of red. 
 Bright bandanna on her head. 
 She's not two, as you'd suppose, 
 "When Topsy comes. Miss Turvy goes. 
 Perhaps it's as it is with me. 
 Sometimes another child there'll be, 
 And mother says, "Where is my Flo? 
 I wish that naughty girl would go." 
 
 Rebecca Deming Moore. 
 
 46 
 
THE MILKWEED POD THAT 
 HELPED 
 
 IT was sweeping day and mother had 
 found bits of milkweed down every- 
 where. "You really mustn't bring any 
 more of the pods into the house, Grace," 
 she said. 
 
 "They're so pretty," sighed Grace, "but 
 the down does fly around lots." Then she 
 asked wistfully, "Can't I have one pod if 
 I keep it done up in a paper and put it away 
 in a box?" 
 
 Her mother smiled. "Of course you may 
 do that if you wish to," she said, "but what 
 do you want it for?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know," said Grace, "but I'll 
 know it's there." So she wrapped up the 
 largest pod she could find and put it in a 
 box in the playroom, and soon forgot all 
 about it." 
 
 One afternoon there was a great chatter- 
 ing and laughing down -stairs, for Grace's 
 Aunt Elsa was entertaining her Sunday- 
 
 47 
 
48 INPLAYLAND 
 
 school class of twelve merry, mischievous 
 boys. A gentleman was to amuse them with 
 his phonograph, but just after the boys 
 arrived a message came saying he could not 
 be there, and poor Aunt Elsa was greatly 
 troubled. 
 
 "What can I do to entertain them?" she 
 asked, after they had played all the games 
 she could think of, but Grace's mother could 
 not think of anything. 
 
 They were beginning to get noisy and rest- 
 less when one of them happened to find, 
 caught in a fold of the curtain, a bit of 
 tiny milkweed down. A puflF of his breath, 
 and away it floated, with all the boys puflSng 
 and blowing to keep it going. 
 
 "If we had some more we could play the 
 games we played at a picnic last summer," 
 said one of the boys. 
 
 As he spoke Grace's eyes began to shine, 
 and without a word she ran out of the room. 
 In a minute she was back with the milkweed 
 pod in her hand, which she had put away so 
 long ago. 
 
 Then such fun as they had! Two of the 
 boys, with hands behind them, had a contest 
 to see which could keep one of the tiny bits 
 
THE MILKWEED POD THAT HELPED 49 
 
 of down in the air the longest. Then all 
 the boys stood in a row, and a little prize was 
 given to the one who was the last to let his 
 "feather" fall. 
 
 They played till time for the refreshments; 
 and when they went home they all declared 
 that they had had the finest kind of a time 
 at the "milkweed party." 
 
 Louise M. Oglevee. 
 
THE QUIET CHILD 
 
 OF course I like a running game — 
 To shout, and laugh, and rush pell- 
 mell. 
 And catch the rest; but all the same 
 I like to hear my grandma tell 
 Of the old time she loved so well, 
 When she was a little girl. 
 
 My mother says I'm never still. 
 That I run miles and miles a day; 
 But when I run across the hill 
 To grandma's house, an hour to stay, 
 I sit so still, and hear her say, 
 "When I was a little girl." 
 
 Anne Schijtze. ' 
 
 50 
 
MY HORSE 
 
 I GIVE my pony corn and hay, 
 With oats to tempt him twice a week; 
 I smooth and curry every day 
 Until his coat is bright and sleek; 
 At night he has a cosy stall; 
 He does not seem to care at all. 
 
 I mount him often, hurriedly, 
 
 And ride him fast and ride him far; 
 
 With whip and spur I make him fly 
 Along the road where robbers are; 
 
 But when I've galloped madly home 
 
 He is not wet or flecked with foam. 
 
 He does not plunge against the rein, 
 Nor take a ditch nor clear a rail. 
 
 He does not toss his flowing mane,' 
 He does not even switch his tail. 
 
 Oh, well, he does his best, of course; 
 
 He's nothing but a hobby-horse! 
 
 Nancy Byrd Turner. 
 
 51 
 
TWO POCKETS 
 
 THERE are two bulging pockets that 
 I have in mind. 
 Just hsten and see if the owners 
 you'll find. 
 In one — it's quite shocking — there's a 
 
 round wad of gum, 
 A china doll's head and a half finished sum, 
 A thimble, a handkerchief — sticky, I fear — 
 A dolly's blue cap and some jackstones are 
 
 here. 
 In the other are marbles and fishhooks and 
 
 strings. 
 Some round shiny stones and a red top that 
 
 sings, 
 A few apple cores and a tin full of bait, 
 A big black jack-knife in a sad bladeless 
 
 state. 
 And now I wonder how many can guess 
 Which pocket Bob owns and which one does 
 Bess? 
 
 Rebecca Deming Moore. 
 
 62 
 
MY DOLLY 
 
 THERE'S nothing so nice as dolly! 
 She comforts me when I'm sad. 
 She keeps me from getting lonely, 
 She smiles at me when I'm glad. 
 She's such a delightful playmate, 
 
 And causes me so much joy, 
 I wouldn't exchange her for all the toys 
 That people give to a boy. 
 
 Annie Willis McCullough. 
 
 53 
 
AUNT RUTH'S NEW SPELLING 
 GAME 
 
 AUNT RUTH had been away on a 
 month's visit, and was welcomed 
 home with joy. 
 
 "Have you any new games?" asked AHce. 
 "I know you have, by the way your eyes 
 twinkle." 
 
 "I have learned a new spelling game," 
 her aunt replied. 
 
 "Oh, can we try it tonight?" begged 
 Norton. 
 
 "I am ready," she answered, "if the others 
 are." 
 
 Carl and Bertha came over to Aunt Ruth's 
 side, and she began explaining the game. 
 
 "It is a very easy game. All it needs is 
 quick thought and a knowledge of spelling. 
 I think of some word and spell it, but I 
 must choose a word that has another word 
 within it, and that I only pronounce. You 
 will soon see how it goes. Here is one, 
 G-e or g-e." 
 
 54 
 
AUNT RUT II 's NEW SPELLING GAME 55 
 
 There was a moment's silence, and then 
 Carl cried, " Oh, George ! Why, that's good ! " 
 
 "Yes; we had a good deal of fun with it 
 at your Uncle Henry's," said Aunt Ruth. 
 *'It is your turn now, Carl, to give a word." 
 
 After a minute's pause, "C or n," he 
 spelled. 
 
 Bertha was the first to say, "Corn," but 
 she could not think of another word, so 
 Aunt Ruth gave one. 
 
 "H and 1-e," she spelled. 
 
 The four Chapins thought hard, but it 
 was more puzzling than the others. Then 
 Bertha cried, "Handle!" 
 
 "Of course!" Carl exclaimed, in a dis- 
 gusted voice. "I don't see what there is 
 about it that mixes us up so." 
 
 "There is where the fun of the game comes 
 in," laughed Aunt Ruth. "Now, Bertha." 
 
 "M and a-t-e," Bertha spelled, and this 
 word took a longer time than the others. 
 
 Carl guessed it and gave, "S hoe s," 
 which Alice pronounced almost at once. 
 
 As a new word she gave, "B-e to k-e-n," 
 and Aunt Ruth was the first to guess it. 
 
 "C love r," she said, and Carl followed 
 with, "B-e-s to w." 
 
56 INPLAYLAND 
 
 Bertha guessed "bestow," and gave, "Q-u 
 in c-e." 
 
 Then Aunt Ruth gave one containing 
 two words, "H is to r-y," and Carl, "B is 
 c-u it. 
 
 "Bed t-i me!" called father, across the 
 room, which made everybody laugh. 
 
 "Bedtime!" shouted Norton. "That's the 
 first one I've guessed." 
 
 Emma C. Dowd. 
 
THE LITTLE BOOK PEOPLE 
 
 AT half past eight I say "good night'* 
 and snuggle up in bed. 
 I'm never lonely, for it's then I 
 hear the gentle tread 
 Of all the tiny book people. They come to 
 
 visit me, 
 And lean above my pillow just as friendly as 
 
 can be! 
 Sometimes they cling against the wall or 
 
 dance about in air. 
 I never hear them speak a word, but I can 
 
 see them there. 
 When Cinderella comes she smiles with happy, 
 
 loving eyes. 
 And makes a funny nod at me when she the 
 
 slipper tries. 
 Dear Peter Pan flies in and out. I see his 
 
 shadow, too, 
 And often see his little house and all his 
 
 pirate crew. 
 I think they know I love them and that's 
 
 why they come at night, 
 
 67 
 
58 INPLAYLAND 
 
 When other people do not know that they've 
 
 shpped out of sight; 
 But I have often been afraid that while they 
 
 visit me 
 Some other little boy, perhaps, may stay up 
 
 after tea, 
 And when he tries to find them on the pages 
 
 of his book 
 He cannot see them anywhere, though he 
 
 may look and look! 
 That's why I never stay awake nor keep 
 
 them here too long. 
 I go to sleep and let them all slip back where 
 
 they belong. 
 
 Edna A. Foster. 
 
AFTER SCHOOL 
 
 I'VE come to you again, my dear. There's 
 no more school today. 
 Let's cuddle down a little while before 
 we go to play, 
 And you shall tell me what you've done, and 
 
 whether you've felt sad. 
 I always hurry home because I know you'll 
 be so glad. 
 
 I had a thought in school today — I quite 
 forgot my book — 
 
 I seemed to see you waiting, and how lonely 
 you must look, 
 
 And all the other children's dolls, ten thou- 
 sand, I suppose, 
 
 All sitting up so patiently, and turning out 
 their toes. 
 
 And then when I was called upon to answer 
 
 "four times four," 
 I failed, and teacher told me that I ought to 
 
 study more. 
 
 69 
 
60 INPLAYLAND 
 
 She asked if I had done my best. I had to 
 
 answer, *'No'm." 
 I don't believe she leaves a little lonely doll 
 
 at home! 
 
 Hannah G. Fernald. 
 
A GAME FOR THE FIRESIDE 
 
 TE family were gathered around the 
 fireplace and were all enjoying the 
 coziness and warmth. 
 
 "How nice it is to be here by the fire and 
 hear the wind howl outside!" said Ethel. 
 
 "There's just one thing we need to make 
 us perfectly comfortable," said Charlie, with 
 a roguish glance at his elders. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "Somebody to be telling us a story." 
 
 "Oh yes, a story! Let's have a story," 
 cried Orrin and Betty, clapping their hands. 
 
 But mamma did not look so happy at the 
 plan. She was the story-teller of the family. 
 
 "Oh, it takes so much nerve-force!" she 
 said, with a Httle laugh that was meant to 
 hide how tired she really was. Mothers 
 have a good deal to do in winter days. 
 " Don't ask me for one. Some of you children 
 tell one." 
 
 "I'll tell you. Let's play a game to decide 
 which shall tell it," said Orrin. "I'll show 
 you a game." 
 
 61 
 
62 INPLAYLAND 
 
 He took a bit of pine wood from the kindling 
 basket, and lit one end in the shining coals. 
 Then he passed it to Ethel. 
 
 "Jack's alive," he said. "The fire at the 
 end of the stick is Jack. Pass it around the 
 circle as quick and as many times as you can. 
 As long as a red spark is left at the end of 
 the stick Jack's alive, and you are all right. 
 But if the spark goes out in your hands, you 
 are the one who must tell the story." 
 
 What fun it was ! Orrin passed it so quickly 
 that he never had to tell a story. Betty and 
 Charlie and Ethel were all caught, and once 
 they caught mamma, to their great delight. 
 She was rested by this time, and her story 
 lasted till the hour for bed. 
 
 "It's the jolliest game you could think 
 of for such an evening around the fire," they 
 said. 
 
 Bertha E. Bush. 
 
1 
 
 THE WOODEN HORSE 
 
 'M just a wooden horsy, and I work hard 
 all the day 
 At hauling blocks and dollies in my little 
 painted dray. 
 
 Sometimes they feed me make-believe, some- 
 times nothing at all. 
 
 And sometimes I'm left standing on my head 
 out in the hall. 
 
 I try to be most patient, but 'twas just the 
 
 other day 
 I got provoked with Teddy Bear and almost 
 
 ran away. 
 
 Rebecca Deming Moore. 
 
 63 
 
A RAINY SATURDAY 
 
 SOME children cry on a rainy day, 
 And say, "What a shame! Now we 
 can't play." 
 But at our house when the work is done, 
 And the drops are pouring — oh, what fun ! — 
 My brothers shout, 
 "Come out! Come out! 
 Hurrah! it's a rainy day!" 
 
 I like to live on a rainy day. 
 We run to the barn where they store the hay. 
 And climb to the great, big, dim hay-mow, 
 Where the misty shadows bend and bow, 
 And each can do 
 What he chooses to. 
 All the long, long, rainy day. 
 
 The boys are explorers of great renown. 
 They're digging a tunnel to China-town. 
 I ride on the rafters strong and high — 
 An air-ship speeding across the sky — 
 
 64, 
 
ARAINYSATURDAY 65 
 
 And we are free 
 
 Till the call for tea 
 
 Puts an end to the rainy day, 
 
 Puts an end to the happy day. 
 
 . Anne Sciiutze. 
 
THE BIRTHDAY ONES 
 
 I AM the birthday baby. 
 And this is the birthday horse. 
 They gave him to me because I was three 
 And knew how to drive, of course. 
 He's trotted and walked and galloped, 
 
 And traveled the whole birthday; 
 He's carried a load up the hilly road, 
 And once he has run away. 
 
 I've fed him high in the stable, 
 
 I've watered him at the trough, 
 I've curried him down to a glossy brown. 
 
 And taken his harness off. 
 Now we are resting a little, 
 
 Because there has got to be 
 A long, stiff run before we're done, 
 
 For the birthday horse and me! 
 
 Nancy Bykd Turner. 
 
 66 
 
^' 
 
 O 
 
 Si 
 
 r 
 
ACTING RHYMES 
 
 ALICE CHAPIN had been sick with 
 grip and was still too weak to sit 
 up much. Aunt Ruth came in 
 and found her lying on the couch, looking 
 lonely and discouraged. 
 
 "I wish I could get well, so I could play 
 something," Alice said, mournfully. 
 
 "Wait a bit," Aunt Ruth answered. "I 
 have something in mind." 
 
 She went out and closed the door. 
 
 When she came back she said, "You and 
 I are to think of a word that has a good 
 many rhymes. Then we will give one of the 
 rhymes to the others, and — but you'll see! 
 I wonder what word will be best." 
 
 "'Sweet' has plenty of rhymes," suggested 
 Ahce. 
 
 "Plenty," agreed her aunt. "Suppose we 
 say it rhymes with 'fleet.'" 
 
 Aunt Ruth went to the door and called, 
 "Our word rhymes with 'fleet'!" 
 
 Then she drew the curtains that separated 
 
 67 
 
IN PLAY LAND 
 
 the living-room from the next, and wheeled 
 the couch in front of them. 
 
 There was a bustle behind the curtains, 
 and at a word Aunt Ruth pulled them aside. 
 
 Alice saw two rows of chairs facing one 
 another, evidently representing a car or 
 omnibus. Carl and Norton occupied two, 
 and four dolls the rest. When Bertha 
 appeared, looking for a place to sit, Carl 
 jumped up, pointing to his chair with a great 
 flourish. 
 
 "Oh, 'seat'!" cried Alice. 
 
 "No, the word is not 'seat.'" 
 
 The curtains went together, and there was 
 much subdued chattering on the other side. 
 
 "This is fun!" whispered Ahce, gleefully. 
 
 The next scene showed a table, around 
 which sat the three. They were munching 
 biscuits. 
 
 "It isn't 'eat,'" laughed Alice. 
 
 There were a good many trials before the 
 right word was hit upon. Bertha and Carl 
 appeared in street clothes and, coming from 
 opposite sides of the room, met under the 
 chandelier. The next scene was similar, only 
 that they shook hands cordially. These words 
 were "meet" and "greet." Then Norton 
 
ACTING RHYMES 
 
 69 
 
 turned a somersault for "feat," and they all 
 cried ''ha-a-a, ba-a-a, ba-a-a" which stood 
 for "bleat." 
 
 They swept and dusted for "neat," and 
 they lounged about, fanning vigorously and 
 mopping their faces, for "heat." Once when 
 the curtains were pushed apart Alice stared 
 at a row of feet. They all laughed over this, 
 and then they guessed the right word by 
 appearing before the audience eating sugar, 
 and their arms around one another's necks. 
 
 "We had the best of it — acting," declared 
 Norton. 
 
 "I'm not so sure of that," returned Alice. 
 "It is fun to wait and wonder what is coming 
 next. It is about as nice as tableaux." 
 
 Emma C. Dowd. 
 
THE TRIALS OF TRAVEL 
 
 BOOHOO, booKoo, boohoo, boohoo! 
 My mother says I can't take Sue 
 And Grace and Maud and Clarabel 
 And Ruth and Beth and sweet Estelle, 
 Unless I pack them with our things. 
 Oh dear! oh dear! my heart it wrings 
 To put them in that hot, dark place, 
 With paper wrapped around each face. 
 I'm sure they all would suffocate 
 Or meet some other dreadful fate. 
 I'd gladly take them on my arm 
 And keep them safe from every harm, 
 But mother says that that won't do; 
 She draws the line at more than two. 
 I'd like to know what she would say 
 To sending me packed in a tray. 
 
 Rebecca Deming Moore. 
 
 70 
 
"TRIALS of Travel 
 
BOOKS 
 
 MY father's books are made of words, 
 As long and hard as words can be. 
 They look so very dull to me! 
 No pictures there of beasts and birds. 
 Of dear Miss Muffet eating curds, 
 And things a child would like to see. 
 
 My books have pictures, large and small. 
 Some brightly colored, some just plain, 
 I look them through and through again. 
 Friends from their pages seem to call. 
 Jack climbs his bean-stalk thick and tall, 
 I know he will not climb in vain. 
 
 Here comes Red-Riding-Hood, and here 
 The Sleeping Beauty lies in state. 
 The prince will come ere 'tis too late! 
 And this is Cinderella dear. 
 The godmother will soon appear 
 And send her to her happy fate. 
 
 71 
 
72 INPLAYLAND 
 
 Oh, father's books are very wise, 
 As wise as any books can be! 
 Yet he wants stories, I can see; 
 For really, it's a great surprise 
 How many picture-books he buys. 
 And reads the fairy tales to me! 
 
 Hannah G. Fernald. 
 
DOLLS 
 
 CURLY head, straight head, head hke 
 a ball, 
 Japanese, sailor, girl and boy doll. 
 Fingers gone, toes gone — lost in a fall 
 Brand-new or years old, she loves us all. 
 Rebecca Deming Moore. 
 
 78 
 
LENTIL ARITHMETIC 
 
 ON the last day of August, Juanita had 
 fallen and hurt her knee, so that 
 when school opened she was unable 
 to walk. 
 
 "When I go back," she mourned, "they 
 will put me in the first grade again. Bessie 
 and May and Gertrude will be ahead of me." 
 
 Mamma tried to comfort her. "Perhaps 
 you can catch up," she said. 
 
 In a few days Aunt Ruth came for a visit. 
 Juanita could not remember her, but they 
 were friends right away, and auntie heard 
 about the little girl's trouble. 
 
 "If it weren't for numbers," Juanita said, 
 "I shouldn't be afraid; but I can't learn 
 numbers. I get all mixed up." 
 
 Pretty soon Aunt Ruth brought in a cup 
 of uncooked lentils. 
 
 "How far can you count.''" she asked. 
 
 "Up to twenty." 
 
 "Good! After you have played with these 
 a few weeks, perhaps you will be able to 
 count to one hundred." 
 
 74 
 
LENTILARITIIMETIC 75 
 
 Juanita sat up in her little wheel-chair 
 and opened her eyes wide. "How do you 
 play with lentils?" she questioned. "I never 
 did." 
 
 "I have," said Aunt Ruth, and she placed 
 mamma's light lap-board in the little girl's 
 lap, and began arranging the lentils in rows. 
 Then she asked her to count them. 
 
 "One," Juanita counted; "one, two; one, 
 two, three; one, two, three, four." 
 
 There was just one more in each row, as 
 she went down the board. The last row 
 contained twenty of the little flat lentils. 
 
 Then Aunt Ruth taught her to add two 
 lentils to one lentil, which made three, and 
 two lentils to two lentils, which made four, 
 and so on. 
 
 When she was tired of adding lentils 
 together, the big board was turned into a 
 schoolroom, with lentils for scholars. The 
 darkest ones were the boys, the green ones 
 the big girls, and the little pale ones were 
 the youngest of all. She and Aunt Ruth had 
 great fun with the lentil school. 
 
 In a few days Juanita learned how to 
 subtract two lentils from five lentils, and 
 seven lentils from twenty lentils, and so on. 
 
76 INPLAYLAND 
 
 What had bothered her before was fast becom- 
 ing clear. Then after she had learned sub- 
 traction, she found out that multiplication 
 was only a shorter way of addition. It was 
 so very easy to learn it with the lentils. Later 
 she divided six lentils into three groups of 
 two lentils each, and discovered that she was 
 dividing six by two. 
 
 "Why, I shall get ahead of Bessie and 
 May and Gertrude!" she cried, gleefully. 
 *'I sha'n't have to be put back in the first 
 grade!" 
 
 And when Aunt Ruth's visit came to an 
 end, Juanita had gone in numbers so far 
 beyond her class she had only to catch up in 
 the other things which she learned easily. 
 
 "But numbers are easy now," said the 
 little girl, "as easy as spelling." 
 
 Emma C. Dowd. 
 
A WARNING 
 
 T^ EMEMBER, Susanna, I'm Dutch! 
 1—^ They've dressed me all up for the 
 JL ^C/ fair. 
 You must go, for I love you so much. 
 
 But take care how you speak to me there! 
 My name will be Gretchen tonight, 
 
 And if you're afraid you'll forget, 
 Keep my cap and my apron in sight. 
 
 They'll help you remember, my pet. 
 
 My shoes, as it's easy to see. 
 
 Are built on a very Dutch plan, 
 So when you speak English to me 
 
 Just whisper as low as you can. 
 You'll be good at the fair, dear, I know, 
 
 Just listen and look and not touch; 
 So now we're quite ready to go, 
 
 And remember, Susanna, I'm Dutch! 
 
 Hannah G. Fernald. 
 
 77 
 
THE QUARREL 
 
 THE Wooden Dog and the China Cat 
 Face to face in the doll-house sat, 
 And they picked a quarrel that grew 
 and grew, 
 Because they had nothing else to do. 
 Said the dog, "I really would like to hear 
 Why you never stir nor frisk nor purr, 
 But sit hke a mummy there." 
 
 Up spoke in a temper the china puss. 
 Glad of an opening for a fuss: 
 *'Dear Mr. Puppy, I can't recall 
 That I ever heard you bark at all. 
 Your bark is a wooden bark, 'tis true, 
 But as to that," said the China Cat, 
 "My mew is a china mew." 
 
 So they bristled and quarreled, more and more. 
 Till the baby came creeping across the floor. 
 He took the cat by his whiskers frail. 
 He grasped the dog by his wooden tail, 
 And banged them together — and after that 
 
 78 
 
THEQUARREL 79 
 
 Left them, a wiser Wooden Dog 
 And a sadder China Cat. 
 
 Now, children, just between you and me, 
 Don't you think in the future they will 
 agree? 
 
 Nancy Byrd Turner. 
 
MY PLAYMATES 
 
 WHEN Willie comes to visit me 
 We play menagerie. 
 He says, "Pretend that you're 
 lamb, 
 And I'll a lion be." 
 Then he begins to growl and roar 
 
 And make a dreadful noise. 
 I don't mind much when he goes home; 
 It's hard to play with boys. 
 
 When Julia comes to visit me 
 
 I am her waiting maid. 
 While she's a lady, grand and stern. 
 
 Of her I'm 'most afraid. 
 She sends me for my mother's hat, 
 
 Then takes her nicest skirt, 
 And trails it all around the house 
 
 Until it's full of dirt. 
 
 When Alice comes to play with me 
 
 She asks, "What shall we play.^" 
 I answer, "Anything you hke." 
 
 80 
 
M Y P L A Y M A T E S 81 
 
 She coaxes, "Do please say." 
 Sometimes it's dolls, sometimes it's games. 
 
 No matter what it be, 
 I have the very nicest time 
 
 When AHce plays with me. 
 
 Rebecca Deming Moore. 
 
THE PEOPLE IN THE PINE-TREE 
 
 HULLO there, Jimmy!" cried Robert, 
 as he burst into Jimmy's room. 
 "Mamma said I could stay a 
 whole hour, 'cause we thought you'd be lone- 
 some, having to stay in the house with a 
 sprained ankle on such a nice day." 
 
 "Oh, I'm so glad! I was just wishing I 
 had somebody to talk to. I can't even see 
 outdoors much, because the window's so 
 high I can't see anything but the tops of the 
 trees." 
 
 Robert gazed out of the window at the 
 row of tall pine-trees, into which he and 
 Jimmy had often climbed. 
 
 "Look, Jimmy!" he suddenly exclaimed. 
 "See that funny man up there in the 
 branches!" 
 
 "A man?" asked Jimmy, starting up and 
 almost forgetting the lame ankle, in his 
 surprise. 
 
 "Oh, not a real man, just a man out of 
 pine-needles! See, right there!" and Robert 
 
 82 
 
'^ 
 
THE PEOPLE IN THE PINE-TREE 83 
 
 pointed out among the topmost branches 
 what looked Hke a man with his arms out- 
 stretched. 
 
 "Now I see it,'* cried Jimmy. "What a 
 big, tall hat he has, and what a funny, long 
 
 nose 
 
 Both boys laughed. 
 
 "Oh Robert, look at that lady over there, 
 just opposite the man!" exclaimed Jimmy. 
 
 "I see," said Robert, after a moment. 
 "Her hair's done up on top of her head, just 
 like my mother's. Isn't she fine.'*" 
 
 A breeze was blowing outside, and the 
 pine-tree rocked back and forth. 
 
 "They're bowing!" cried Robert. "They're 
 bowing to each other. Aren't they polite?'* 
 
 They watched the lady as she waved her 
 arms, and bowed in such a funny way that 
 they could not help laughing. Then the man 
 made a bow to the lady again, and they both 
 began to dance. 
 
 "Robert," said Jimmy, "please give me 
 that pencil and paper on the table. I'm going 
 to try to draw a picture of them." 
 
 Both boys tried, and it was great fun, 
 even though, as Jimmy said, Robert's man 
 didn't look any more like the man in the 
 
IN PLAY LAND 
 
 tree than Robert himself did, and Jimmy's 
 lady didn't look a bit like the tree lady. 
 
 Then they sat and watched the trees 
 for some time, picking out other "people." 
 Jimmy found a baby, and Robert found a 
 man with a violin, and an old Mother Goose 
 riding along on a monster gander. 
 
 "Why!" said Robert at last, looking at 
 the clock, "I've stayed an hour already. 
 I'm going to look in our tree when I get home, 
 and see who lives there." 
 
 "And now," said Jimmy, "I've got com- 
 pany all the time, haven't I.''" 
 
 Nettie Joy Allen. 
 
THE STUDENTS 
 
 I SAY to Tommy every day, 
 "Now let us read awhile," 
 But Tommy doesn't like to read, 
 He'd rather be a prancing steed, 
 And have me drive him many a mile. 
 And often run away. 
 
 I like to do as grown folks do. 
 Our house is full of books. 
 My sisters gather every night 
 About the cheery study light. 
 I often think how wise it looks. 
 And wish I could stay, too. 
 
 So I coax Tommy every day 
 
 To read a little while. 
 I know my M's and N's and P's 
 And everything, 'way down to Z's. 
 When Tommy reads I have to smile. 
 
 For Tommy just knows A! 
 
 Hannah G. Fernald. 
 
 85 
 
THE LITTLE PRINCE 
 
 ONCE upon a time there was a little 
 prince who lived in a very beauti- 
 ful palace. The little prince had 
 everything in the world to make him happy 
 — a beautiful queen mother, and a stable 
 full of ponies, and two or three automobiles, 
 and, oh, such a wonderful playroom all full 
 of toys! 
 
 There were trains, and boats, and elec- 
 tric toys, and hobby-horses, and books, and 
 blocks, and balls. Why, you never could have 
 counted the toys, because every toy that had 
 ever been made was in the playroom of the 
 little prince! But in spite of all this the little 
 prince was not happy. 
 
 All day long he sat on a silk cushion and 
 would not play. He would not even look at 
 the beautiful playthings. The queen mother 
 sent for the court physician, and the physi- 
 cian felt of the little prince's pulse, and he 
 looked at the little prince's tongue. Then 
 he shook his head and said: 
 
 86 
 
THE LITTLE PRINCE 
 
 87 
 
 *'Your majesty, his royal highness is in a 
 very bad way indeed. He is in want of a 
 new toy, — a perfectly new toy." 
 
 The little prince nodded his head. Yes, 
 that was certainly the trouble. He needed 
 something new to play with. 
 
 The court messengers were immediately 
 despatched to scour the country for a per- 
 fectly new toy. Now this was a most difficult 
 errand. The little prince, you know, had 
 already every toy that had ever been invented. 
 The messengers traveled far and wide, but 
 one after another they came home, empty- 
 handed, until there was only one left to 
 search. 
 
 One morning the last messenger returned. 
 He had brought no toy, but he was leading 
 a little ragged peasant boy, and he said to 
 the queen mother, "Your majesty, there is 
 not a new toy in the world, but I found this 
 peasant child playing quite happily in the 
 woods, and he had strange things with which 
 to play. He brings them in his pockets." 
 
 So the peasant boy was taken into the 
 playroom where the little prince sat, so ill, 
 because he could think of nothing to do. 
 The peasant boy looked around him at the 
 
88 INPLAYLAND 
 
 wonderful toys, and then he went up to the 
 little prince. 
 
 "Should you like to see my soldiers, your 
 highness?" he said. 
 
 Then he pulled from his pocket some pretty, 
 brown, shiny pine-cones, and he stood them 
 up in a row on the floor like so many soldiers. 
 
 "Now," said he, "we will shoot them all 
 down." 
 
 So he took from another pocket a big red 
 apple, and he rolled it at the soldiers. Bang! 
 down they all went. The little prince jumped 
 
 up.^ 
 
 "Oh, let me play with you!" he cried. 
 
 "Have you any spools or any sticks.''" 
 said the peasant boy. "We will build a fort 
 for the soldiers." 
 
 The queen mother fetched all the spools 
 from her sewing-room, while the court phy- 
 sician and all the courtiers cried, "The little 
 prince is well! Knight the peasant boy!" 
 
 So they made the peasant boy a knight, 
 and he and the little prince took all the 
 beautiful toys down to the village and gave 
 them to the other peasant children who had 
 no toys. 
 
 Then they went home to the palace, and 
 
THE LITTLE PRINCE 
 
 89 
 
 they played happily together all the rest of 
 their boyhood days with quite ordinary 
 things, like spools, and cones, and sticks, 
 and shiny pebbles, which are so much nicer 
 than a great many toys. 
 
 Carolyn Sherwin Bailey. 
 
c 
 
 THE BALL 
 
 LOSE cuddled in my own two hands. 
 My big round ball with yellow 
 bands ! 
 
 They've filled my playroom up with toys — 
 
 Dolls, horses, things to make a noise, 
 
 Engines that clatter on a track, 
 
 And tip-carts that let down the back. 
 
 Arks, just like Noah's, with two and two 
 
 Of every animal he knew, 
 
 Whole rows of houses built of blocks, 
 
 A mouse that squeaks, a doll that talks; 
 
 But when the Sleepy Man comes by. 
 
 And I'm too tired to want to try 
 
 To think of anything at all. 
 
 Here's my old, dear old, rubber ball. 
 
 Close cuddled in my own two hands. 
 My big round ball with yellow bands! 
 
 Anna Burnham Bryant. 
 
 90 
 
THE DICTIONARY'S SONS 
 
 AUNT RUTH, we want a new game. 
 Have you one for us? " Alice smiled 
 coaxingly up into her aunt's face. 
 
 "Lessons all ready for tomorrow?" asked 
 Aunt Ruth. 
 
 "Ours are," answered Carl. "Poor Nor- 
 ton is still at his spelling and definitions. 
 It is * reason' and 'season' and all those; 
 but I guess he'll have them by the time we 
 get down -stairs." 
 
 "You may call him now. I have a game 
 that will help him to remember." 
 
 Off raced the trio in great glee, while Aunt 
 Ruth fullowed more slowly. 
 
 "Do you know how many sons the dic- 
 tionary has?" questioned x\unt Ruth when 
 they were all seated. 
 
 "How many sons?" echoed Carl, puckering 
 up his forehead. 
 
 "Yes. You gave two, rea-son and sea-son. 
 Who can think of another? Give only the 
 definition — not the word." 
 
 91 
 
92 INPLAYLAND 
 
 "Oh!" they chorused. 
 
 "Why, that'll be our lesson!" cried Alice. 
 "Norton's and mine." 
 
 "So much the better. That is why I chose 
 the sons for tonight," smiled Aunt Ruth. 
 
 "There's a son that's a preacher," said 
 Ahce. 
 
 "Can anybody guess?" asked Bertha. 
 
 Her aunt nodded. "That is parson." 
 
 "I know a colored son," said Carl. 
 
 " Crimson ! " cried Alice. " Oh, this is f un ! " 
 
 "I've just been learning a mean kind of 
 son," said Norton, "one that isn't loyal." 
 
 "That is treason," said Alice. 
 
 "Which son guards a fort.'^" asked Aunt 
 Ruth. 
 
 For a minute nobody could guess. Then 
 Carl shouted, "Garrison!" 
 
 "There is a son that each one of us could 
 answer to," said Aunt Ruth. 
 
 This seemed too hard. 
 
 "I will make it plainer. I mean a son that 
 is simply a human being." 
 
 "Oh, a person!" exclaimed Bertha. 
 
 "I know a son that builds houses," said 
 Norton. 
 
 "Mason," guessed Bertha. 
 
THE dictionary's SONS 93 
 
 "A son that gathers in wicked folks," cried 
 Carl. 
 
 They scowled over this — all but Aunt 
 Ruth. Finally she had to give it, "Prison." 
 
 "One son we eat," said she. 
 
 Alice guessed, "Damson." 
 
 "There's one dreadful son," said Norton. 
 
 This was left for Aunt Ruth — poison. 
 
 "There is another son we eat, which comes 
 from the Adirondacks," said Aunt Ruth. 
 
 None of the children could guess that, until 
 their aunt said, "We had it for dinner a week 
 ago." 
 
 "Oh, venison!" shouted Carl. 
 
 "There are a good many sons that are not 
 in our lesson," said Alice, and then she giggled. 
 "There are plenty of one kind of sons in 
 school," she added gleefully. 
 
 "Lessons," laughed Bertha. 
 
 "It is so near bedtime," said Aunt Ruth, 
 "I think I shall have to give you my son that 
 is a blessing." 
 
 For several minutes they thought hard. 
 
 Then Bertha said softly, "Benison." 
 
 Emma C. Dowd. 
 
POOR OLD BOOKS 
 
 THE poor old books that nobody reads. 
 How lonely their days must be! 
 They stand up high on the dusty 
 shelves, 
 Waiting and wishing, beside themselves, — 
 
 And nobody cares but me. 
 They have no pictures, they are no good. 
 But I'd read them through, if I only could. 
 
 The poor old books! They are fat and dull, 
 
 Their covers are dark and queer; 
 But every time I push the door, 
 And patter across the library floor. 
 
 They seem to cry, "Here, oh here!" 
 And I feel so sad for their lonely looks 
 That I hate to take down my picture-books. 
 
 The nice new books on the lower shelves 
 
 Are giddy in gold and red; 
 And they are happy and proud and gay. 
 For somebody reads in them every day. 
 
 And carries them up to bed. 
 But when I am big I'm going to read 
 The books that nobody else will heed. 
 
 Abbie Farwell Brown. 
 
 94 
 
T 
 
 TOYS 
 
 OYS have a bedtime, too. 
 Oh, but it's really true! 
 This is what you should do, — 
 
 Just as the sun sinks low. 
 Off to bed make them go, 
 Laid in a tidy row. 
 
 There let them rest all night, 
 
 Sleep until morning light. 
 
 Then wake when day shines bright. 
 
 Alice Van Leer Carrick. 
 
 95 
 
I 
 
 THE BATH 
 
 T always has seemed queer to me, 
 When I give Bess a bath 
 In our big, shiny, new, white tub, 
 She shorter grows by half. 
 
 But when I take her out again 
 
 She hasn't changed at all. 
 If you have doubts of what I say. 
 
 Just try it with your doll! 
 
 Rebecca Deming Moore. 
 
 96 
 
TANGLES 
 
 THE little cousin had long golden-brown 
 curls that were pretty to look at but 
 dreadful to comb, for they would 
 get so full of tangles, in spite of all that she 
 could do. Every morning when the tangles 
 had to be combed out, it seemed to the little 
 cousin as though all of the hair would surely 
 be pulled out, although her mother tried to 
 be very careful. 
 
 One day, just as it was time for the curls 
 to be attended to, the big cousin came in. 
 The little cousin thought that there was no 
 one quite so nice as the big cousin, so when she 
 said, "Oh, let me brush the curls today!" 
 the little girl was quite willing. 
 
 So the big cousin drew off her gloves and 
 took off her hat and sat down in the chair 
 by the window and began brushing the long 
 brown hair. 
 
 Presently she cried, "Oh, what a big 
 tangle! We'll call him the grandfather and 
 we must banish him right away. There, 
 
 97 
 
98 INPLAYLAND 
 
 now, he is gone and we must see if we can 
 find the grandmother." 
 
 The next tangle was a tiny one, which they 
 decided must be the baby. Then they found 
 the father and the mother and some brothers 
 and sisters and cousins, and in a little while 
 the big real cousin said, "There! The last 
 one of the tangle family is banished!" 
 
 "Why, are you through?" cried the little 
 cousin. "It didn't hurt a bit this time, 
 because it was all a play and was just fun." 
 
 After that the little cousin and her mother 
 played at banishing the tangle family every 
 day until she was old enough to brush her 
 own hair, and then she told the story to other 
 little girls who had curls and tangles, and they 
 always did just what she had done — they 
 grew so much interested in the tangle family 
 that they forgot how badly the real tangles 
 hurt. 
 
 Louise M. Oglevee. 
 
THE DREAM SHIP 
 
 THE four children were going to bed — 
 not that they wanted to go, for 
 somehow, no matter how sleepy they 
 were, they never were ready to go when the 
 hands of the old grandfather clock pointed 
 to the bedtime hour. 
 
 Now, to help nurse have less trouble with 
 the three younger children, Alice, the oldest 
 of the four, used to make up stories and games 
 which made going to bed seem real fun. 
 
 On this evening they thought the bedtime 
 hour came far too soon. 
 
 "Grandfather Clock is just mean!*' said 
 Mildred. "He hurried his hands around as 
 fast as he could so as to make us go to bed 
 sooner." 
 
 "Bad old Grandfather Clock!" said 
 Tommy. 
 
 "Naughty old Grandpa Clock!" said little 
 May. 
 
 Alice heard mother call them and saw that 
 nurse was coming. She saw, too, that Tommy 
 
 99 
 
100 IN PLAY LAND 
 
 was getting ready to cry, and knew that if 
 he cried the others would. So she quickly 
 whispered something to the three little ones, 
 and instead of crying they began to laugh, 
 and went with Alice and nurse without a 
 word. Mother and father wondered what 
 made them go so gladly, for they, too, had 
 seen the tears ready to fall. 
 
 They were still wondering when, a few 
 minutes later, down the stairs came the 
 children to say good night, the three little 
 ones all ready for bed. 
 
 "Why, what is this?" asked father, as he 
 saw a bag in each child's hand. 
 
 "We are going sailing with Grandfather 
 Clock," said Mildred. "Alice says so." 
 
 "Yes," said Tommy, "in the ship that 
 sails and sails and never stops," and he 
 pointed to the clock. 
 
 There, at the top of Grandfather Clock's 
 face, was a painted ship on a painted sea, 
 and when the pendulum ticked one way the 
 ship sailed one way, and when the pendulum 
 ticked the other way the ship sailed back 
 again. 
 
 "Doin' a-sailin'," said little May. 
 
 "This is our baggage," said Tommy. 
 
THE DREAM SHIP 101 
 
 Alice had made a little bag for each child 
 out of a handkerchief, by taking up the four 
 corners and putting a rubber strap over to 
 hold them together. In Mildred's bag was 
 a small doll, in Tommy's a top, in little May's 
 a rubber ball, and in her own jackstones. 
 
 "The ship takes us as soon as we get to 
 sleep," said Mildred. 
 
 They said good night and ran to bed. 
 
 Long after they were gone old Grandfather 
 Clock out in the hall said, "Tick-tick, tick- 
 tick!" and at the top of his face there sailed 
 and sailed without stopping a painted ship 
 on a painted sea. 
 
 Blanche Elizabeth Wade. 
 
THE APPLE FAMILY 
 
 HERE is the apple family. 
 They're just as jolly as can be. 
 First comes the father of the brood. 
 He's always in a merry mood. 
 He wears a coat of shiny green, 
 Where pin-pricked buttons may be seen. 
 
 Now Mother Apple is more fair. 
 She boasts of golden, corn-silk hair. 
 Her dress is made of maple leaves, 
 A sash it has and flowing sleeves. 
 The oldest of the jolly crew 
 Has rosy cheeks. Her name is Sue. 
 
 She also has long corn-silk hair 
 And on her face a steadfast stare. 
 That apple dollies love bright green 
 From Susie's dress may well be seen. 
 The next in order come the twins, 
 Alike as any pair of pins. 
 
 Each has a sturdy pair of legs — 
 In fact, they are just wooden pegs. 
 
 102 
 
THE APPLE FAMILY 103 
 
 Their names are Benjamin and Frank. 
 Foremost they are in every prank. 
 And if they lose a leg or arm, 
 It doesn't do the shghtest harm. 
 
 There is an apple baby wee, 
 
 A roly-poly boy is he. 
 
 You couldn't make this baby cry 
 
 However long and hard you'd try. 
 
 The apple family's hard to beat — 
 
 In fact, they're good enough to eat! 
 
 Rebecca Deming Moore. 
 
THE TEDDY BEAR'S SURPRISE 
 
 THE old Teddy was quite sure that 
 it was his last night. Tomorrow 
 would be the baby's birthday, and 
 the new toys had come. There they all 
 stood in the nursery, waiting for the baby to 
 wake up and find out that he was four years 
 old instead of three. 
 
 The grandmother had sent a box of red 
 and green wooden soldiers, and the grand- 
 father had sent a large blue automobile. 
 The uncle had sent a very fine Noah's ark 
 full of animals. The two elderly aunts had 
 sent wool mittens and a tippet, and the young, 
 pretty aunt had sent a little silver loving- 
 cup. 
 
 And there stood the new Teddy in the 
 middle of the nursery table. He was snow- 
 white from his toes to his ears, and he wore 
 a large blue bow. You never did see such a 
 spandy Teddy! 
 
 The old Teddy was poked off in a corner 
 where he would not be seen. He was not 
 
 104 
 
THE TEDDY BEAR's SURPRISE 105 
 
 pretty any longer. He had walked along 
 dusty roads with the baby, and helped him 
 to make mud pies. He had stayed out in 
 the garden rainy nights. He had been used 
 for Indian fights, and his stuffing was gone 
 in spots, and one ear would not stand up. 
 
 Of course it was his last night. In the 
 morning they would probably put him in 
 the rag-bag. Poor old Teddy! 
 
 Well, the baby woke up in the morning, 
 and had his birthday. He stood the soldiers 
 in a row, and then he pulled a wheel from the 
 automobile. He had his milk from the loving- 
 cup, and he tried on his mittens, and he lost 
 nearly all the Noah's ark animals. Then he 
 looked at the new Teddy, and he began to 
 cry. 
 
 "I want my old Teddy," the baby cried, 
 "my dear old Teddy!" 
 
 They brought him the old Teddy, and he 
 hugged it, and he played with it all day long, 
 just as he had before. 
 
 Wasn't that a fine surprise for the old 
 Teddy? 
 
 Carolyn Sherwin Bailey. 
 
THE RAINY DAY 
 
 WHEN Margaret is home from school 
 It's, "Oh, what shall I do? 
 I've dressed my dolls, played all 
 the games. 
 And read my books quite through" — 
 When Margaret's home from school. 
 
 When Kitty's home from school, she says, 
 
 *'I love a rainy day. 
 
 My dollies need such heaps of things 
 
 I've hardly time to play " — 
 
 When Kitty's home from school. 
 
 Rebecca Deming Moore. 
 
 106 
 

 ^ 
 
THE GAME OF GOING-TO-BED 
 
 S 
 
 AYS father, when the lamps are lit, 
 "Now just five minutes you may sit 
 Down-stairs, and then aw\ay you go 
 To play a little game I know!" 
 
 He gives a kiss and pulls a curl. 
 "Let's play you are my little girl. 
 And play you jump up on my back, 
 And play we run." And clackity-clack. 
 
 We both go laughing up the stair! 
 (If I should fuss he'd say, "No fair!") 
 And then he says, "'Night, sleepy-head!' 
 It's fun — the game of going-to-bed. 
 
 Anna Burnham Bryant. 
 
 107 
 
Outdoors on Pleasant Days 
 
THE PLAYFELLOW WIND 
 
 HE'S down on the earth with a puff 
 and a skim 
 From out of the blue, 
 A-calHng the children to frolic with him. 
 Hear! woo-oo-oo-woo ! 
 
 He's clearing the wood and is crossing the 
 field, 
 
 For a game, now, I know — 
 The kind that is romping and merry and mad. 
 
 Oh! wo-o-o-owl 
 
 He'll pelt you with posies from out of the trees, 
 
 And when he is through 
 Sweet petals will crumple beneath your bare 
 toes, 
 
 Ah! woo-oo-oo-woo! 
 
 And into the hammock you'll tumble, you two, 
 A-swinging to go, 
 
 111 
 
112 IN PLAY LAND 
 
 From green bough to green bough, and touch 
 as you fly, 
 Oh! wo-o-o-wo! 
 
 He'll tag you ten thousand times round and 
 around, 
 And race with you too, 
 But a tag you'll not get and a race you'll not 
 win. 
 Hark! woo-oo-oo-woo ! 
 
 Elizabeth Thornton Turner. 
 
T 
 
 THE LADY MOON 
 
 HERE'S a lady in the moon, 
 With a floating gown of white; 
 You can see her very soon, 
 When mamma turns out the Kght. 
 
 'Tis a lady and she smiles 
 
 Through my narrow window way, 
 As she sails on miles and miles, 
 
 Making night as fair as day. 
 
 Alice Turner Curtis. 
 
 113 
 
THE JOURNEY 
 
 WHITHER away shall the baby ride? 
 How many miles shall he fare? 
 Under the trees whose arms spread 
 wide, 
 Out to the meadow there. 
 
 Down by the brook that flows rippling by, 
 
 Bordered by moss and fern. 
 From flower and bird and tree and sky 
 
 How many things shall he learn? 
 
 Baby'U journey all safe and sound 
 
 Out in the world of green, 
 Traveling over the grassy ground, 
 
 Where wild flowers are seen. 
 
 Leaves will whisper and birds will trill, 
 And all things display their charms. 
 
 And, when he's journeyed as far as he will. 
 He'll ride back to mother's arms. 
 
 Then, though he thought the green world good, 
 
 He'll gladly come back to rest. 
 And will drowsily feel, as a baby should. 
 
 That mother's arms are the best. 
 
 Annie Willis McCullough. 
 
 114 
 
DAFFYDOWNDILLY 
 
 THERE was once a small Daffydown- 
 dilly lady, and she lived in a little 
 house down under the ground, and 
 she was fast, fast asleep. 
 
 After a while the spring came. The brook 
 began to sing softly on top of DafFydown- 
 dilly's house. A bluebird twittered, and the 
 grasses opened their little doors and windows 
 and pushed out their little pointed heads. 
 But Daffydowndilly would not wake up. 
 
 Rap-tap, rap-tap-tap ! 
 
 "Who is there.''" asked Daffydowndilly, in 
 a sleepy little voice. 
 
 "It is I — the rain!" said a tiny, tiny voice. 
 *' Please may I come in?" 
 
 "No, no," said Daffydowndilly, "I am 
 very much too sleepy." 
 
 Rustle, rustle, rustle! 
 
 "Now w^ho may that be?" asked Daffy- 
 downdilly, in a very sleepy way. 
 
 "It is I — the sunshine," said a gay little 
 voice. "Please may I come in?" 
 
 115 
 
116 IN PLAY LAND 
 
 "No, no, noT* said Daffydowndilly. *'I 
 am not up yet.'* 
 
 Then she went to sleep again, but she had 
 not dreamed long when she heard — Rap, tap, 
 tap! Rap, tap, tap! 
 
 *'Who is it now?'' asked Daffydowndilly, 
 in a very, very sleepy way. 
 
 *'It is the children. Here we are!" cried 
 a chorus of merry voices. ^'Please wake up. 
 We want to see you." 
 
 "Well," said Daffydowndilly, "if the chil- 
 dren have come, I suppose I really should 
 get up." 
 
 She opened her small doors and windows, 
 so the rain and the sunshine could come 
 trooping in. Then she put on her best 
 ruffled yellow petticoat, and she went up to 
 the garden and stood very tall and straight 
 and sweet for the children to see. 
 
 Carolyn Sherwin Bailey. 
 
THE PINEWOOD PEOPLE 
 
 WHEN winds are noisy-winged and 
 high. 
 And crystal-clear the day, 
 Down where the forest meets the sky 
 The Pinewood People play. 
 
 Far off I see them bow, advance. 
 
 Swing partners and retreat, 
 As though some slow, old-fashioned dance 
 
 Had claimed their tripping feet. 
 
 Or hand to hand they wave, and so, 
 
 With dip and bend and swing. 
 Through "tag" and "hide" and "touch and 
 go 
 
 They flutter, frolicking. 
 
 But when I run to join the play, 
 
 I find my search is vain. 
 Always they see me on the way, 
 
 And change to pines again. 
 
 Elizabeth Thornton Turner. 
 
 117 
 
JOCKO 
 
 TCE organ-grinder seems to know 
 We children all love Jocko so. 
 He comes, and comes, and comes again. 
 His funny English is not plain. 
 He answers, "Yes," to all we say, 
 And he lets Jocko play. 
 
 He rests beside the garden gate, 
 The silent organ seems to wait. 
 And Jocko finds the pennies where 
 We hide them with the greatest care, 
 And he finds cake and candy, too, — 
 He knows just what to do. 
 
 I used to want to be a king, 
 But now I know a nicer thing. 
 I've told the organ-grinder, too. 
 Exactly what I mean to do. 
 If I can have, when I am grown, 
 A Jocko of my own. 
 
 118 
 
JOCKO 119 
 
 Then I shall wander, day by day, 
 Where merry little children play, 
 And hear them shout as I appear, 
 "Oh, come! the organ-grinder's here!" 
 And when they all crowd round to see, 
 How happy I shall be! 
 
 Hannah G. Fernald. 
 
GRANDMOTHER'S SPECTACLES 
 
 ONE day, very early in the morning, 
 grandmother lost her spectacles. 
 They were not in her work-bag, or 
 under the clock on the mantelpiece, or in the 
 darning basket, or in the chintz wall pocket, 
 or in any of the usual places. 
 
 Bobby looked everywhere for the spec- 
 tacles, and then he set about trying to help 
 grandmother. Of course she could not read 
 the paper, so directly after breakfast Bobby 
 sat down on the cricket by grandmother's 
 arm chair, and he spelled all the big word 
 headings in the paper for her, even if he 
 could hear the boys whistHng outside for him 
 to come and play. 
 
 Then he threaded a great many needles for 
 her, so they would be ready if she wanted 
 them, and he stuck them neatly in her pin- 
 cushion. She could not see to arrange her 
 room, so Bobby dusted the mahogany tables 
 and all the chairs. He gathered up the 
 scraps on the floor, playing that he was a 
 
 120 
 
grandmother's spectacles 121 
 
 wild beast hunter, which made it ever so 
 much easier. First he would crouch down 
 and aim his toy gun at a scrap. Then he 
 would pounce upon it and put it in the 
 waste-basket. Some of the scraps he called 
 tigers and some lions, but most of them were 
 bears. 
 
 By the time grandmother's room was neat 
 and tidy the sun was shining as bright as 
 gold in the garden. Grandmother wanted to 
 go out for a walk, but she could not see very 
 well to go alone. Bobby said he would go 
 with her, so he took her hand and led her 
 carefully up and down the paths, telling her 
 about things all the way. 
 
 "O grandmother dear! There's a double 
 buttercup come up in the very place where 
 it was last year. I was 'most afraid that it 
 might forget, and come up single. 
 
 "There's a bluebird's nest in the box on 
 the gate-post. The mother bird doesn't know 
 that I have seen her little ones, but when she 
 was away I just peeped at them once or twice. 
 
 "There's such a wide blue sky. Can you 
 see it without your spectacles, grandmother.? 
 It looks like the biggest blue bowl in the 
 world." 
 
122 IN PLAY LAND 
 
 Presently they went in for lunch, and then 
 in another little while it was bedtime, and 
 Bobby sat in grandmother's lap begging for 
 a story. 
 
 "Once upon a time," began grandmother, 
 "there was a very nice little boy. Some peo- 
 ple called him Bobby, but that was not his 
 real name. What do you suppose it was?" 
 
 "Buster," said Bobby promptly, because 
 that was what his father called him. 
 
 "No," said grandmother. "Try again." 
 
 "Honey bunch," said Bobby, because his 
 aunts called him that. 
 
 "No," said grandmother. 
 
 "Little man, Robert, Precious, Junior." 
 Bobby rattled off his names very fast. 
 
 "No," said grandmother. "I am afraid 
 that I shall have to tell you, Bobby." 
 
 Then she whispered something in Bobby's 
 ear, and it pleased him so that he laughed and 
 laughed and laughed. This was his name — 
 "Grandmother's Spectacles." 
 
 Carolyn Sherwin Bailey. 
 
OUR LITTLE BROOK 
 
 OUR little brook just sings and sings 
 In such a happy way, 
 I'd love to sit beside it 
 And listen all the day. 
 
 In spring it has a merry sound, 
 
 I know the reason why — 
 Because the ice has gone and now 
 
 The brook can see the sky. 
 
 It loves to glisten in the sun 
 
 And sparkle in its light. 
 I'm sure it loves the silvery moon 
 
 And sings to it at night. 
 
 The summer song is not so gay. 
 
 The brook is now quite still, 
 With here and there a darling song 
 
 Sung by a tiny rill. 
 
 I love to watch the bubbles float, 
 
 I wonder where they go, 
 I see the little "skaters" 
 
 All darting to and fro. 
 
 123 
 
124 IN PLAY LAND 
 
 When leaves are falling from the trees 
 
 As fast as they can fall, 
 I love to sail them in the brook — 
 
 Though there's not room for all. 
 
 They sail like little fairy boats 
 
 And start out merrily, 
 But sometimes find a stopping place 
 
 Before they reach the sea. 
 
 The winter brook is soon with ice 
 
 All covered up with care. 
 But I can hear a tiny voice, 
 
 I know the brook is there! 
 
 Edith Dunham. 
 
BARBARA 
 
 SHE fluttered down the garden walk, 
 She bent above the blossom's rim — 
 A little space, her eager face 
 Tip-tilted on the brim. 
 
 "O lotus-flower, lovely flower! 
 
 You came from over distant seas; 
 I'm creeping very near to hear, — 
 
 Tell me about it, please. 
 
 "Have you a single thing to say 
 Of all that wondrous Egypt-land? 
 
 I'm stooping low, — then say it slow 
 That I may understand." 
 
 The lotus trembled through and through. 
 
 Till every creamy, folded bud 
 Awaked and heard the flower-word 
 
 They only understood: 
 
 "O lotus children, children dear! 
 
 Open your eyes and look and see 
 The new, rare flower, the sweet, fair flower 
 
 That's bending over me!" 
 
 Nancy Byrd Turner. 
 
 125 
 
THE STORY OF THE LITTLE 
 CROOKED TREE 
 
 THERE was once a little crooked tree 
 that grew in a wood with a great 
 many other trees, all tall and straight 
 and beautiful. Nobody knew how it came 
 to be so very crooked, with a queer little 
 gnarled trunk, and funny twisted branches, 
 and even its twigs all bent out of shape. 
 Perhaps it was stepped upon when it was 
 just starting to grow, or perhaps some one 
 tried to break it and left it all hurt and 
 wounded. 
 
 However it happened, there it stood, a 
 very ugly little tree, and the worst of it was 
 that the little tree knew about its crookedness 
 and was ashamed inside. 
 
 The other trees in the wood should have 
 tried to spare its feelings, but they never 
 did at all. From morning until night they 
 rustled and talked together of the wonderful 
 things they could do. 
 
 "We build the ships," said the great oaks. 
 
 126 
 
STORY OF TUE LITTLE CROOKED TREE 127 
 
 "We are made into rafters and beams for 
 houses," said the pines. 
 
 "We sparkle and dance in the children's 
 fireplaces," said the hemlocks. 
 
 "We hold the Christmas gifts," said the 
 firs. 
 
 And the little crooked tree said nothing at 
 all, for there really was nothing it could do. 
 It only dropped its head and squeezed out 
 some large sappy tears that hardened on the 
 ends of its twigs and made it look uglier than 
 ever. 
 
 After a while the oaks were cut down and 
 taken away to the sea and the pines went to 
 the sawmill. The hemlocks burned in the 
 Christmas fires and the firs bore the Christ- 
 mas toys. And after all that was over, 
 spring came to the wood. 
 
 Then the young trees hung up beautiful 
 green curtains and the violets bloomed and 
 everything was very lovely and new. But 
 ah, the little crooked tree! It tried and tried 
 to send out some leaves, but it just could not. 
 Its little crooked trunk bent down lower and 
 lower, and it wished it could die because it 
 was so ashamed. 
 
 It really looked as if it were dead when the 
 
128 IN PLAY LAND 
 
 Angel came through the wood — the Angel 
 that walks in the spring. She stopped to put 
 her hand on its branches and she stopped to 
 put her ear to its trunk. 
 
 *'I hear the sap running,'* said the Angel. 
 "Poor little patient tree! Just wait a bit." 
 
 So the little crooked tree waited, and be- 
 fore it knew it Easter came, and all the chil- 
 dren, to gather flowers in the wood. Such 
 a merry troop, laughing and shouting! But 
 they stopped all at once. 
 
 "Look!" they cried. "Was ever anything 
 so beautiful!" 
 
 Something had happened to the little 
 crooked tree and it had not noticed at all. 
 From top to root it was covered with, oh, 
 such beautiful pink flowers, and its crooked- 
 ness did not show any more ! 
 
 Perhaps the Angel did it. The little tree 
 never knew. Perhaps it was because crooked 
 things always grow pretty if you wait long 
 enough. But the children carefully cut its 
 beautiful branches and twined them about 
 the great pillars in the church, and there was 
 not anybody so happy at Easter as the little 
 crooked tree that had blossomed in pink. 
 
 Carolyn Sherwin Bailey. 
 
THE STAR 
 
 WHEN mother shuts the nursery door 
 And takes away the Hght, 
 She gently kisses me once more 
 And says again, "Good night," 
 And Hfts the curtain till I see 
 The lamp God lighted up for me. 
 
 My little star-lamp is but one 
 
 Of millions in the sky, 
 Because each child, when day is done, 
 
 Needs one as much as I; 
 So all the boys and girls there are 
 Can each one have his lighted star. 
 
 Anna Burnham Bryant. 
 
 129 
 
WINGED THINGS 
 
 FATHER loves to watch the bees, 
 And mother cares for butterflies, 
 And brother hkes to see the ants 
 That are so good and wise. 
 But can you guess what I Hke best, 
 With spotted coat and yellow vest? 
 
 They are so little, and so dear. 
 
 They come and sit upon my hand, 
 And I say — and they always hear. 
 
 And fly away to their own land — 
 ^'Lady Bug, Lady Bug, fly away home. 
 Your house is on fl,re, and your children will 
 burn!'* 
 
 Anna Schutze. 
 
 130 
 
I 
 
 MY GARDEN 
 
 HAVE a little garden 
 
 All edged with four-o'clocks; 
 And some of it is sunflowers, 
 And some is hollyhocks. 
 
 And all around the border 
 
 I've planted little stones — 
 A lot of round beach pebbles — 
 
 To keep out Rover's bones. 
 
 And then, as plain as daylight, 
 A sign, "Keep off the grass," 
 
 Warns hens and everybody 
 That here they shouldn't pass. 
 
 But Rover makes his pantry 
 
 Right in that garden patch; 
 And all the hens and chickens 
 
 Think that's the place to scratch. 
 
 Anna Burnham Bryant. 
 
 181 
 
s 
 
 THE CALENDAR OF A 
 COUNTRY CHILD 
 
 UCH splendid things I think and do, 
 The whole year round, the long year 
 through ! 
 
 In January are skates and sled 
 And blazing fires with birch logs fed. 
 In February are swift sleigh-rides, 
 And corn to pop and nuts besides. 
 With March's lovely, slushy snow 
 I build my dikes and dams, you know; 
 And April weather, chill and cold. 
 Gives me gray catkins soft to hold. 
 Blue May is kind to little girls. 
 And shakes me dandelion curls; 
 And dear June twines white daisy-chains, 
 While robins chirp in soft, warm rains. 
 In green July I rest so still, 
 Where clover carpets all the hill; 
 And where the clear brook slips away 
 In August days I wade and play; 
 And when September's harvests come 
 
 132 
 
CALENDAR OF A COUNTRY CHILD 133 
 
 I ride on creaking wagons home. 
 October throws me fruit to hold 
 Like bits of sunset, red and gold. 
 I shake and shake the chestnuts down. 
 When all November's woods are brown. 
 And last, December's snows drift white 
 To make me happy Christmas night. 
 
 The whole year round, the long year through, 
 Such splendid things I think and do! 
 
 Alice Van Leer Carrick. 
 
FOR THE QUEEN 
 
 KLIP-KLOP, klip-klop," went a pair of 
 funny wooden shoes over the clean 
 stones of a neat Dutch kitchen 
 floor, and every time the funny wooden shoes 
 said "khp-klop" they carried a sweet Httle 
 Dutch maiden two steps further in her jour- 
 ney back and forth from the table by the 
 window to the shelf at the other side of the 
 room. 
 
 The little Dutch maiden's name was An- 
 netje, and she was busy washing and drying 
 the dishes, and scouring the metal ones till 
 they shone like moons. 
 
 Any one watching Annetje would have 
 thought she was having the best time a little 
 girl could have; but really it was hard work 
 and Annetje did not like it a bit. She wanted 
 instead to be out of doors in the beautiful 
 sunshine, where she could run and play with 
 her cousin Gretchen and with a young boy 
 named Jan. It was not any fun to stay inside 
 and to wash and scour many dishes — no, 
 indeed. 
 
 134 
 
FOR THE QUEEN 135 
 
 At first she stopped many times when 
 she passed the window, to look out over 
 the tuHp fields where hundreds of gay blos- 
 soms of many colors danced in the breeze. 
 She could see some of her playmates already 
 running along the edge of the canal where the 
 big windmill was whirling its queer arms mer- 
 rily around in the air. How she wanted to 
 be with the others! 
 
 "The work will not be done if one looks 
 idly out of the window," said the wise mother, 
 in words you and I would not understand. 
 
 "It takes so long to make bright the 
 plates," replied Annetje, in the same kind of 
 words. 
 
 "Yes, indeed," said the wise mother, "but 
 what if the queen herself should come to the 
 home this very day and find the plates badly 
 scoured? What then should we say?" 
 
 That was something of which Annetje had 
 not thought. Yes; supposing their beautiful 
 queen should happen to pay them a visit! 
 It never would do not to have the dishes 
 shine. 
 
 So Annetje went quickly about her work, 
 rubbing and scouring until all of the dishes 
 were dry and clean, and all of the metal 
 
186 IN PLAY LAND 
 
 plates shone so that if the queen had peeped 
 into them she could have seen her fair face 
 easily. 
 
 It was not long before the funny wooden 
 shoes went klip-klop very fast out into the 
 sunshine, and little Annetje was happy, for 
 had she not left behind her a row of shining 
 dishes polished as though for the queen? 
 The gay tulips nodded, and the great wind- 
 mill flapped its queer sails, and Annetje ran 
 to play with her cousin Gretchen and with 
 the young boy named Jan. 
 
 Blanche Elizabeth Wade. 
 
THE MONTH OF IVIAY 
 
 IT comes just after April, 
 And right before 'tis June; 
 And every bird that's singing 
 Has this same lovely tune: 
 *'You needn't ask your mother 
 
 To let you go and play! 
 The very breezes whisper, 
 'You may! You may! You may!' 
 
 " There are no frosts to freeze you, 
 And no fierce winds to blow. 
 But winds that seem like kisses, 
 
 So soft and sweet and slow. 
 The lovely sun is shining 
 'Most every single day. 
 Of course you may go out, dears — 
 It is the month of 'May'!" 
 
 Anna Burnham Bryant. 
 
 187 
 
CLOVER 
 
 E clover is the kindest plant; 
 
 It grows up in the grass 
 Or on the dusty roadside brown. 
 And greets you as you pass. 
 
 T, 
 
 It lets the farmer mow it down 
 
 To make the hay complete; 
 It lets the bees fly close about 
 
 And take its honey sweet. 
 
 It lets us children, passing by, 
 Its leaves and flowers pluck; 
 
 And now and then it lets us find 
 A four-leaf, just for luck! 
 
 Annie Willis McCullough. 
 
 188 
 
MAMMA'S LITTLE HOUSEMAID 
 
 I AM mamma's little housemaid, don't you 
 see? 
 They couldn't get along so well if it were 
 not for me; 
 For every Friday morning I take my little 
 
 broom, 
 And sweep and sweep the pretty rugs that lie 
 
 in mamma's room. 
 And then I sweep the door-steps off, and do 
 
 not leave a crumb, 
 And wipe the dishes, too, and oh, it is the 
 
 bestest fun! 
 And then, when mamma starts to bake, she 
 
 says that maybe I 
 Can make all by my very self a cunning little 
 
 pie. 
 When I am big enough for school I think I'll 
 
 like to go. 
 But truly I would rather stay at home, you 
 
 know. 
 And help my mamma do the work, and bake 
 
 a little pie, 
 
 139 
 
140 IN PLAY LAND 
 
 For mamma says all little girls, if they would 
 
 only try, 
 Can help their mammas very much with 
 
 willing hands and feet, 
 By sweeping rugs and door-steps and keeping 
 
 porches neat. 
 So I am mamma's housemaid, and she pays 
 
 me with a kiss. 
 And papa, when he comes at night, says, 
 
 "Bless me, what is this! 
 How bright and clean the rugs do look!" 
 
 And then I laugh and say 
 That my little broom and I work for mamma 
 
 every day. 
 
 Hakriet Crocker LeRoy. 
 
THE BEST MEDICINE 
 
 PAULINE had white cheeks. They had 
 been red, but long ago in summer. It 
 was winter now. PauHne thought her 
 cheeks were always appropriate to the season 
 
 — red, for summer roses, and white, for win- 
 ter snows. 
 
 Pauline's mother thought white cheeks 
 meant poor health, and mentioned the doctor, 
 but Pauline's grandfather said, "Nonsense! 
 No doctor needed! I prescribe the North 
 Wind." 
 
 Pauline laughed at that. *'0 grandpa!" 
 she cried, "I can't take the North Wind in 
 a spoon!" 
 
 Grandpa smiled as he answered, "The best 
 medicine is not given by the spoonful. Put 
 on your coat, hat, mittens, leggings, rubbers, 
 furs, and anything else you happen to have 
 
 — and take a good big dose of North Wind." 
 Now Pauline was very fond of staying in 
 
 the house and reading, curled up in a warm 
 corner, but there was something about grand- 
 
 141 
 
142 IN PLAY LAND 
 
 pa's voice that made her put on her things 
 and go outdoors. No sooner had she turned 
 the corner of the house than there was a 
 struggle. 
 
 *'Ho! ho!" cried North Wind, bouncing 
 round the corner and slapping her in the face. 
 
 "Oh! oh!" cried Pauline. "Stop! You 
 play too hard!" 
 
 But North Wind would not stop. He 
 pushed Pauline, and whirled her clothes; he 
 pinched her ears and filliped her nose; he 
 blew off her hat, and then tweaked her toes. 
 
 "Ho! ho!" he cried. "If it takes a week 
 I'll slap your cheek till it's red as a rose!" 
 
 It was very rude of North Wind, and Pau- 
 line wanted very much to tell him so, but she 
 had to chase her hat, and hold on to her 
 clothes, and cover her ears, and rub her nose, 
 and dance all the time to warm her toes, so 
 she had no time a speech to compose, while 
 he slapped her face and uttered, "Ho! ho's!" 
 till each of her cheeks was as red as a rose! 
 
 "I see," said grandpa, when Pauline went 
 into the house, "you took the North Wind." 
 
 "No," said Pauline quickly, "the North 
 Wind took me!" 
 
 Joshua F. Crowell. 
 
IN SUMMER 
 
 WHEN all the roads are white with dust, 
 And thirsty flowers complain, 
 Our little lassie cries, "I must 
 Go carry round the rain." 
 
 As up and down the garden plots 
 
 With busy feet she treads, 
 The pansies and forget-me-nots 
 
 Lift up their drooping heads. 
 
 She waters all the lilies tall, 
 
 The fragrant mignonette. 
 And hollyhocks beside the wall — 
 
 Not one does she forget. 
 
 What wonder that her garden grows 
 And blooms, and blooms again, 
 
 When every grateful blossom knows 
 Who "carries round the rain!" 
 
 Hannah G. Fernald. 
 
 143 
 
AT NIGHT 
 
 THE wind makes music all night long, 
 To lull a child to sleep — 
 Sometimes it sounds like mother's song, 
 Sometimes an organ deep — 
 And overhead the stars stand still, 
 
 Like shining, watchful eyes. 
 How good God is, to always fill 
 The night with sweet surprise! 
 
 Annie Willis McCullough. 
 
 144 
 
SUN SHADOWS 
 
 WHEN I sit on the orchard lawn, 
 The sunlight drifts and passes. 
 It looks and laughs and then it's 
 gone; 
 It brightens all the grasses. 
 
 It paints a pattern on my frock 
 Of leaves all green and blowing. 
 
 As if the trees against my gown 
 Were growing, growing, growing. 
 
 Alice Van Leer Carrick. 
 
 145 
 
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