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 COMPANY 
 
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 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 Q£py\ DTH/ICTIVIT r\ir CTMl^A-ri^^ 
 
 No. 
 
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THE 
 
 HILL READERS 
 
 BY 
 DANIEL HARVEY HILL 
 
 AND 
 
 FRANK LINCOLN STEVENS 
 OF THE North Carolina College of Agriculture and Mechanic Arts 
 
 AND 
 
 CHARLES WILLIAM BURKETT " ' 
 of the Kansas State Agricultural College 
 
 BOOK FOUR 
 
 GINN & COMPANY 
 
 BOSTON • NEW YORK • CHICAGO • LONDON 
 
Copyright, 1906 
 By GINN & COMPANY 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 £DUCATIg|l OB}r% 
 
 gftc iStftcngum 3Prc<< 
 
 GINN & COMPANY • PRO- 
 PRIETORS . BOSTON • U.S.A. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 School readers enter more deeply into the lives and char- 
 acters of children than do the other books of the public- 
 school curriculum. What can ever drive from the mind the 
 stories and the poems of childhood, or erase the impressions 
 consciously or unconsciously drawn from them? 
 
 The editors have striven to make this series of books 
 worthy of their responsibility. The authors represented 
 belong almost entirely to two classes: first, those who 
 have won applause as writers for children ; second, those 
 who are members of the world's elect circle ^of writers. 
 As far as is possible in readers, each selection is given in 
 the very words of the author and in its literary entirety. 
 
 To take advantage of the fact that the fourth-reader 
 child is perhaps in his most expansive imaginative period, 
 an unusually large number of new as well as classic myths 
 and wonder stories have been incorporated in this book. 
 
 As a large proportion of the school children of America 
 live in the country, especial care has been taken to include 
 a large and varied number of selections relating to rural 
 life. These, it is hoped, will help to foster a love for nature 
 and for the country home, open the eyes of children to the 
 marvelous beauties around them, and bring them nearer 
 the life that they are to lead. 
 
 To help children attending schools in which there are 
 few reference books, the biographical notes have been 
 made fuller than in most readers. 
 
 3 
 
 541462 
 
4 PREFACE 
 
 The editors desire also to make thankful acknowledg- 
 ments to publishers, private copyright holders, and to 
 authors as follows: to The Outlook for the translation of 
 Jean Aicard's story ; to Dodd,Mead & Co. for Ian Maclaren's 
 The Saving of Nestie ; to D. Appleton & Co. for Bryant's 
 Song of Marion's Men ; to Little, Brown & Co. for Mrs. 
 Preston's Chrimhilde's Treasures; to the Bloch Publish- 
 ing Company for Dr. A. S. Isaac's translation from the 
 Talmud; to the Syndics of the University Press, Cam- 
 bridge, England, for the selection from the Jataka ; to the 
 Century Company for Irwin Russell's Hope; to Ginn & 
 Company for Dr. Long's Attacked by a Moose, and Frances 
 Nimmo Greene's The Coming of Arthur; to William 
 Hamilton Hayne for Paul Hamilton Hayne's The Meadow 
 Brook; to Mrs. Leonora M. Ticknor for Dr. F. O. Ticknor's 
 Gracie of Alabama ; to Dr. Samuel Minturn Peck for his 
 Grapevine Swing ; to Madison Cawein for The Old Barn; 
 to Elbert Hubbard for A Message to Garcia ; and to 
 Benjamin Sledd for The Children. The selections from 
 Longfellow, Burroughs, Holmes, Whittier, Lowell, Haw- 
 thorne, Trowbridge, Horace E. Scudder, Olive Thorne 
 Miller, and Joel Chandler Harris are used by permission 
 of, and by special arrangement with, Houghton, Mifflin 
 & Co., publishers of their works. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The King and the Lapwings. Joel Chandler Harris . 13 
 
 The Little Land. Robert Louis Stevenson 21 
 
 Old Pipes and the Dryad. Frank Richard Stockton . 25 
 
 The Japanese Mirror. T. Hasegawa 42 
 
 Bob White. George Cooper 48 
 
 The Nun's Priest's Tale. Geoffrey Chaucer .... 50 
 
 The Old Barn. Madison Caicein 56 
 
 The Story of an Apple. H. L. Hutt 58 
 
 The Field of the Sluggard. The Bible 67 
 
 The Rabbi and the Diadem. The Talmud .... 68 
 
 The Meadow Brook. Paul Hamilton Hayne 70 
 
 The Farmer's Life. John Burroughs 72 
 
 The Hero. Henry Jerome Stockard 74 
 
 The Herdsman's Song. Johann Friedrich von Schiller . 75 
 
 The Battle in the Dark. George Cary Eggleston . . 76 
 
 The Children. Benjamin Sledd 84 
 
 The Story of the Cable. James Thomas Fields ... 85 
 
 The Village Blacksmith. Henry Wadsworth Jjongfelloio 91 
 
 Three Famous Legends. Horace Elisha Scudder . . 95 
 
 The Bow of Eurytus. James Baldwin 107 
 
 Song of Marion's Men. William Cullen Bryant . . . 1 14 
 
 The Saving of Nestie. Ian Maclaren 118 
 
 The Grapevine Swing. Samuel Minturn Peck .... 126 
 The Timid Hare and the Flight of the Beasts. The 
 
 Jataka 128 
 
 5 
 
6 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Bob saves his Father's Life. Thomas Nelson Page . 133 
 
 Little Alvilda. Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen 143 
 
 Oliver Cromwell. Nathaniel Hawthorne 161 
 
 A Musical Instrument. Elizabeth Barrett Brotcning . . 174 
 
 Uncle Remus and his Stories 177 
 
 Uncle Rain and Brother Drouth. Joel Chandler 
 
 Harris 185 
 
 The Last Leaf. Oliver Wendell Holmes 198 
 
 A Child's Dream of a Star. Charles Dickens . . . 201 
 
 Attacked by a Moose. William Joseph Long .... 207 
 
 May Day. John Wolcot 213 
 
 The Strength of Douglas. Walter Scott . . . . . 214 
 
 Gracie of Alabama. Francis OiTery Ticknor .... 220 
 
 Daybreak. Percy Bysshe Shelley 222 
 
 Daffydowndilly. Nathaniel Hawthorne 223 
 
 Hope. Irwin Russell 236 
 
 The Coming of Arthur. Frances Nimmo Greene . . 237 
 
 Fairy Song. William Shakespeare 242 
 
 Chrimhilde's Treasures. Margaret Junkin Preston . . 244 
 
 His Wings and Tail. Olive Thorne Miller 247 
 
 Evening at the Farm. John Toimisend Trowbridge . . 251 
 
 The Heritage. James Russell Lowell 255 
 
 A Message to Garcia. Elbert Hubbard 259 
 
 The Greenwood Tree. William Shakespeare .... 264 
 
 The Charge of the Light Brigade. Alfred Tennyson . 265 
 
 The Knight and the Saracen. Walter Scott . . . 269 
 
 To stay at Home is Best. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 278 
 
 The Rainbow. William Wordsworth 279 
 
 The Dog that Lied. Jean Aicard 280 
 
 The Brazen Head. Horace Elisha Scudder 289 
 
CONTENTS 7 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Barefoot Boy. John Greenleaf Whittier .... 297 
 
 GuDBRAND OF THE MOUNTAIN. Selected 302 
 
 The Grasshopper and the Cricket. John Keats . . 309 
 
 The Adventure of the Mason. Washington Irving • 310 
 How Robin Hood shot before Queen Eleanor. Hoto- 
 
 ardPyle 317 
 
 Raleigh and Queen Elizabeth. Walter Scott . . . 343 
 
INDEX OF AUTHORS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 AiCARD, Jean 280 
 
 Baldwin, James / 107 
 
 Bible 67 
 
 BoYESEN, Hjalmar Hjorth 143 
 
 Browning, Elizabeth Barrett 174 
 
 Bryant, William Cullen 114 
 
 Burroughs, John 72 
 
 Cawein, Madison 56 
 
 Chaucer, Geoffrey . 50 
 
 Cooper, George 48 
 
 Dickens, Charles ^ , . . 201 
 
 Eggleston, George Cary 76 
 
 Fields, James Thomas 85 
 
 Greene, Frances Nimmo 237 
 
 Harris, Joel Chandler 13, 185 
 
 Hasegawa, T 42 
 
 Hawthorne, Nathaniel 161,223 
 
 Hayne, Paul Hamilton 70 
 
 Holmes, Oliver Wendell 198 
 
 Hubbard, Elbert 259 
 
 Hutt, H. L 58 
 
 Irving, Washington 310 
 
 Jataka 128 
 
 Keats, John 309 
 
 Long, William Joseph . 207 
 
 Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth ,.01, 278 
 
 Lowell, James Russell 255 
 
 Maclaren, Ian 118 
 
 Miller, Olive Thorne 247 
 
 Page, Thomas Nelson 133 
 
 Peck, Samuel Minturn 126 
 
 9 
 
10 INDEX OF AUTHORS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Preston, Margaret Junkin 244 
 
 Pyle, Howard 317 
 
 Russell, Irwin 236 
 
 Schiller, Johann Friedrich von 76 
 
 Scott, Walter 214, 269, 343 
 
 ScuDDER, Horace Elisha 96, 289 
 
 Selected 177, 302 
 
 Shakespeare, William 242, 264 
 
 Shelley, Percy Bysshe 222 
 
 Sledd, Benjamin 84 
 
 Stevenson, Robert Louis 21 
 
 Stockard, Henry Jerome 74 
 
 Stockton, Frank Richard 26 
 
 Talmud 68 
 
 Tennyson, Alfred 266 
 
 TicKNOR, Francis Orrery 220 
 
 Trowbridge, John Townsend 361 
 
 Whittier, John Greenleaf 297 
 
 WoLcoT, John 213 
 
 Wordsworth, William 279 
 
12 
 
THE HILL READERS 
 
 Book Foue 
 the king and the lapwings' 
 
 Joel Chandler Harris^ 
 
 One day the great King of the Magicians and 
 Sorcerers was leaving his country to visit a neigh- 
 boring Queen. The birds sang and the little 
 crickets in the grass made themselves noisy ; but 
 the King, while enjoying the scene and the sounds 
 around him, went forward without delay. 
 
 1 From Evening Tales. (From the French.) Copyright, 1900. 
 Charles Scribner's Sons, Publishers. 
 
 2 For a sketch of the life of Joel Chandler Harris, see page 177. 
 
 13 
 
/. J'^-: •. ■;   . : : rrttJl.HILL KEADERS 
 
 The sun shone brightly, the birds were joyous, 
 and all nature seemed to be happy, but the King 
 suffered from fatigue. Great beads of perspiration 
 broke out on his forehead, and he longed for a 
 
 5 cloud that would give shade and coolness. The 
 earth seemed to be a furnace. The sun spread its 
 great rays of light and the cloud came not. The 
 King begged for a clump of woods that he might 
 have the benefit of shade, and for a stream of cool 
 
 10 and sparkling water that he might quench his 
 thirst. The road was long and dusty, and the 
 wells were dry. 
 
 In the air, far away, appeared the King of the 
 Lapwings. He bore in his beak a draught of water, 
 
 15 and his wings were dripping wet. Faster than the 
 wind he made his way to the fainting King. 
 
 " Ah ! " said the bird ; " it was indeed time that 
 I came"; and with the end of his wing he tenderly 
 washed the face of the unfortunate King, and 
 
 20 placed between his lips the water he held in his 
 beak. The King revived and opened his eyes. 
 
 ^^Ah!" he exclaimed; "thou wh^o hast given 
 me back my life ! I am hereafter under all obliga- 
 tions to you." 
 
 25 " Wait a moment, your Majesty," said the King 
 of the Lapwings; "thirst still devours you, but 
 
BOOK FOUR 15 
 
 have hope. Behold in the distance my faithful sub- 
 jects who come forth, each one carrying at the end 
 of its wings the delightful refreshment you have 
 longed for." 
 
 The lapwings arrived on all sides. Each one 5 
 deposited in the mouth of the unfortunate King 
 the fresh water for which he thirsted. 
 
 " Ah ! this is better than bread," said the King, 
 reviving. " What can I do to show my gratitude? " 
 
 " Nothing," said the King of the Lapwings. 10 
 " Nothing," responded the other birds. " Continue 
 your journey, and you will find yourself hereafter 
 under the shadow of our wings." 
 
 Then the King resumed his journey. Night 
 came, and he found himself near the palace of the is 
 Queen whom he had intended to visit. The lap- 
 wings still continued with him. No matter how 
 bright the sun shone, no matter how suffocating 
 the heat as he journeyed on, a gentle lapwing 
 came to his assistance. 20 
 
 Touched by the solicitude of these birds, the 
 King said : " I cannot leave you, my friends, you 
 who had pity on me when I was forsaken by all, 
 without giving you an evidence of my gratitude. 
 Tell me, what can I do for you ? How can I show 25 
 you how grateful I am?" 
 
16 THE HILL READERS 
 
 At these words the King of the Lapwings ad- 
 vanced and spoke to the King : " We desire, your 
 Majesty, to be the most beautiful of birds. We want 
 a golden crown on our heads, so that we may be 
 5 placed before the peacock, who is so proud of his 
 plumage, and before the gay nightingale, who is so 
 proud of his song." 
 
 At these words a great sadness filled the heart 
 of the King, who could read the future; and he 
 
 10 responded, shaking his head : " Ah ! you foolish 
 birds, larger of heart than of mind ! You do not 
 know the weight of a crown and of the dangers 
 to which it exposes those who possess it. A golden 
 diadem, say you ? Alas ! it will bring you misfor- 
 
 15. tune ; ambition without bounds is wicked and peril- 
 ous. Dear friends, demand of me something else." 
 " No, no!" cried the lapwings on all sides, young 
 and old, little and big ; " that is the only gift we 
 desire, — a crown on our heads. Ah ! what hap- 
 
 20 piness ! We will fly in the air and each bird will 
 envy us." 
 
 The King saw that nothing he could say would 
 convince his companions. He had promised to sat- 
 isfy their first request, and his word was sacred. 
 
 25 " Come with me," said he, " to my friend Zac- 
 char, the magician. No one is more expert in 
 
BOOK FOUR 17 
 
 the working of metal. Come, and you shall have 
 the diadem you long for." 
 
 During three days the magician worked pure 
 gold. The bellows blew and the hammers thumped. 
 During three nights he chased the marvelous 5 
 crowns that were to adorn the heads of the lap- 
 wings. At the dawn of the fourth day the King 
 arrived with a sad smile on his face. 
 
 "Friends," said he to the birds, "my promise is 
 fulfilled. Take these diadems, which are master- 10 
 pieces of art, and go whither your destiny calls you." 
 
 At these words the lapwings uttered loud cries 
 of joy. 
 
 " Go, go ! " cried the King; "escape from man or 
 you are lost." 15 
 
 Without understanding his warning, but obey- 
 ing the command of the powerful King, the lap- 
 wings took flight, filled with joy and happiness. 
 They went here and there, flying to the tops of the 
 mountains and descending to the depths of the 20 
 valleys, telling of their good fortune to all their 
 friends both far and wide. 
 
 When the other birds saw the crowns they paid 
 due homage to the symbols. Whenever there was 
 a feast or an important funeral the lapwings and 25 
 their friends walked in the place of honor, before 
 
18 THE HILL READERS 
 
 the eagles and the peafowls, leaving far behind 
 them the humming bird and the nightingale. 
 
 But, unfortunately, it happened one day that a 
 lapwing came too near the abode of man, and 
 5 a hunter saw it and killed it. 
 
 " What is this ? " exclaimed the sportsman, 
 perceiving the golden crown. Seizing it, he ran 
 quickly to the jeweler's. 
 
 "Worker in metals," said he, "see this marvel- 
 10 ous diadem the lapwing carries ! Of what metal 
 is it made?" 
 
 The jeweler took the crown, turned it on all 
 sides, and, looking at it with greedy eyes, ex- 
 claimed, "It is of pure gold, and if you will part 
 15 with it, I will pay you a hundred shekels." 
 
 When the other sportsmen found out the value 
 of the ornaments that the lapwings wore on their 
 heads, they made haste to go into the country, 
 and they pursued the birds wherever they could 
 20 find them. New weapons were invented, and the 
 hunters watched day and night, killing all the 
 lapwings that were so unfortunate as to appear 
 in sight. 
 
 " Lord have mercy on us ! " exclaimed the lap- 
 25 wings ; " and blind the eyes of the cruel men who 
 are killing us." 
 
BOOK FOUR 19 
 
 But the crown of the lapwings was so brilliant 
 that it resembled the sun's rays, and even in 
 the darkness it shone like the stars. There was 
 no rest or escape for these unfortunate birds. The 
 dark night was as fatal to them as the day. The 5 
 huntsmen pursued them with so much vigor that 
 only ten remained alive. 
 
 " What shall we do ? " asked the King of the 
 Lapwings, who had not been destroyed. "Let us 
 go and implore the great King to relieve ns of 10 
 these golden crowns that are the cause of all our 
 misfortunes." 
 
 Immediately the lapwings started on their jour- 
 ney in search of the great King. Some of them 
 stopped by the way, so that only a few reached 15 
 the King's throne, where they were welcomed, the 
 powerful ruler talking to them kindly, as he would 
 have talked to faithful friends. 
 
 " Lapwings with the golden diadems ! My dear 
 companions, what can I do to please you this 20 
 day?" 
 
 " Great Prince," they replied, " you can give us 
 our lives by removing these unfortunate gifts that 
 adorn our heads, — -by taking away these golden 
 crowns that have been the cause of all our mis- 25 
 fortunes." 
 
20 
 
 THE HILL READERS 
 
 " I will grant your desire/' said the great King; 
 " but in remembrance of your kindness to me you 
 shall hereafter wear a diadem of feathers ; but bear 
 in mind that happiness is not in the gift of the 
 
 5 great or the rich, but that it belongs only to those 
 who earn it." 
 
 Thereafter the lapwings were no longer pursued 
 by man, and they were happier with their modest 
 tuft of feathers than they had been with their 
 
 10 golden diadem. 
 
 draught : drink. — diadem : crown. — chased : ornamented. — 
 shekel : a gold shekel was worth about five dollars. 
 
BOOK FOUR 21 
 
 THE LITTLE LAND^ 
 
 Robert Louis Stevenson 
 
 Robert Louis Stkvenson (1850-1894), novelist and poet, 
 was born in Edinburgh, Scotland. His father and his grandfather 
 were civil engineers, and built for the government many of the 
 lighthouses that flash their warning signals along the northern 
 coast of Great Britain. Robert, after being educated at the Uni- 5 
 versity of Edinburgh, took up engineering, and later studied law. 
 His health, however, did not permit him to follow either law or 
 engineering, and his own taste led him to writing. 
 
 An increasing weakness of the lungs forced him to travel from 
 climate to climate in a vain hope of recovery. His journeys, how- 10 
 ever, diverted his mind and supplied him with rich material for 
 his books. One year he crossed the mountains of France. An- 
 other year he wandered in a canoe through the canals of Holland. 
 Another year found him in the American Adirondacks, and later 
 he crossed the plains and lived for some time in California. In 15 
 1889 he went to the Samoan Islands to live. There, on a moun- 
 tain side, he built a charming home, and there this brilliant story- 
 teller died. 
 
 Although many of Stevenson's pages were written on railroad 
 trains, on steamships, and on a sick bed in different lands, none 20 
 of his work shows lack of care or lack of strength. There is about 
 almost everything that he has written a correctness and finish 
 rarely surpassed. In one of his essays he tells how he trained 
 himself to write, and how faithfully he tried to perfect himself 
 in his chosen profession. 25 
 
 The Little Land is from his Child's Garden of Verse , a book 
 which Dr. Trent pronounces <■ ' a masterpiece of its kind. ' ' Among 
 his other works for young people are Treasure Island, Kidnapped, 
 David Balfour, and The Black Arrow. 
 
 1 From Poems of Stevenson. Copyright, 1900. Charles Scribner's 
 Sons, Publishers. 
 
22 THE HILL READERS 
 
 When at home alone I sit 
 And am very tired of it, 
 I have just to shut my eyes 
 To go sailing through the skies - 
 
 6 To go sailing far away 
 
 To the pleasant Land of Play ; 
 To the fairy land afar 
 Where the little people are ; 
 Where the clover-tops are trees, 
 
 10 And the rain-pools are the seas, 
 
 And the leaves like little ships 
 Sail about on tiny trips; 
 And above the daisy tree 
 Through the grasses, 
 
 15 High o'erhead the Bumble Bee 
 
 Hums and passes. 
 
BOOK FOUR 23 
 
 In that forest to and fro 
 
 I can wander, 1 can go ; 
 
 See the spider and the fly, 
 
 And the ants go marching by 
 
 Carrying parcels with their feet 5 
 
 Down the green and grassy street. 
 
 I can in the sorrel sit 
 
 Where the ladybird alit. 
 
 I can climb the jointed grass, 
 
 And on high 10 
 
 See the greater swallows pass 
 
 In the sky, 
 And the round sun rolling by 
 Heeding no such things as I. 
 
 Through that forest I can pass 15 
 
 Till, as in a looking glass. 
 
 Humming fly and daisy tree 
 
 And my tiny self I see. 
 
 Painted very clear and neat 
 
 On the rain-pool at my feet. 20 
 
 Should a leaflet come to land 
 
 Drifting near to where I stand, 
 
 Straight I '11 board that tiny boat 
 
 Round the rain-pool sea to float. 
 
24 THE HILL READERS 
 
 Little thoughtful creatures sit 
 On the grassy coasts of it; 
 Little things with lovely eyes 
 See me sailing with surprise. 
 
 5 Some are clad in armor green — 
 
 (These have sure to battle been!) — 
 Some are pied with ev'ry hue, 
 Black and crimson, gold and blue ; 
 Some have wings and swift are gone ; 7 
 
 10 But they all look kindly on. 
 
 When my eyes I once again 
 Open, and see all things plain : 
 High bare walls, great bare floor ; 
 Great big knobs on drawer and door ; 
 
 16 Great big people perched on chairs, 
 
 Stitching tucks and mending tears. 
 Each a hill that I could climb. 
 And talking nonsense all the time — 
 dear me, 
 
 20 That I could be 
 
 A sailor on the rain-pool sea, 
 A climber in the clover tree, 
 And just come back, a sleepyhead, 
 Late at night to go to bed. 
 
 pied : spotted. 
 
BOOK FOUR 25 
 
 OLD PIPES AND THE DRYAD ^ 
 Frank Richard Stockton 
 
 Frank Richakd Stockton (1834-1902), a humorous and 
 original writer of short stories, was born in Philadelphia. He 
 added to his high-school education by wide reading and early 
 attempts at writing. To please his father he learned to be a 
 wood engraver, but used his art only to illustrate his own tales 5 
 and verse. For a while he was connected with Scribnefs Motithly, 
 and wrote for that magazine his first well-known serial, Ritd- 
 der Grange. For several years he was one of the editors of St. 
 Nicholas. 
 
 Stockton is at his best in such short stories as T,h€ Lady or 10 
 the Tiger?, The Bee Man of Orn, and Negative Gravity. ■'His Ting-a- 
 Ling Tales, Fanciful Tales, Tales Out of School, etc., are charming 
 to children. 
 
 A mountain brook ran through a little village. 
 Over the brook there was a narrow bridge, and 15 
 from the bridge a footpath led out from the village 
 and up the hillside, to the cottage of Old Pipes 
 and his mother. 
 
 For many, many years Old Pipes had been em- 
 ployed by the villagers to pipe the cattle down 20 
 from the hills. Every afternoon, an hour before 
 sunset, he would sit on a rock ii;i front of his cot- 
 tage and play on his pipes. Then all the flocks 
 
 1 From Fanciful Tales. Copyright, 1894. Charles Scribner's Sons, 
 Publishers. 
 
26 THE HILL READERS 
 
 and herds that were grazing on the mountains 
 would hear him, wherever they might happen to 
 be, and would come down to the village, — the 
 cows by the easiest paths, the sheep by those not 
 5 quite so easy, and the goats by the steep and rocky 
 ways that were hardest of all. 
 
 But now, for a year or more. Old Pipes had not 
 piped the cattle home. It is true that every after- 
 noon he sat upon the rock and played upon his 
 
 10 pipes ; but the cattle did not hear him. He had 
 grown old, and his breath was feeble. The echoes 
 of his cheerful notes, which used to come from the 
 rocky hill on the other side of the valley, were 
 heard no more ; and twenty yards from Old Pipes 
 
 15 one could scarcely tell what tune he was playing. 
 He had become somewhat deaf, and did not know 
 that the sound of his pipes was so thin and weak, 
 and that the cattle did not hear him. 
 
 The cows, the sheep, and the goats came down 
 
 20 every afternoon as before; but this was because 
 two boys and a girl were sent up after them. 
 The villagers did not wish the good old man to 
 know that his piping was no longer of any use ; 
 so they paid him his little salary every month, 
 
 25 and said nothing about the two boys and the 
 girl. 
 
BOOK FOUR 27 
 
 Old Pipes's mother was, of course, a great deal 
 older than he was, and was as deaf as a gate, — 
 posts, latch, hinges, and all, — and she never knew 
 that the sound of her son's pipe did not spread 
 over all the mountain side and echo back strong 5 
 and clear from the opposite hills. She was very 
 fond of Old Pipes, and proud of his piping ; and 
 as he was so much younger than she was, she 
 never thought of him as being very old. She 
 cooked for him, and made his bed, and mended 10 
 his clothes, and they lived very comfortably on 
 his little salary. 
 
 One afternoon at the end of the month, when 
 Old Pipes had finished his piping, he took his 
 stout staff and went down the hill to the village 15 
 to receive the money for his month's work. The 
 path seemed a great deal steeper and more difficult 
 than it used to be, and Old Pipes thought that it 
 must have been washed by the rains and greatly 
 damaged. He remembered it as a path that was 20 
 quite easy to traverse either up or down. But Old 
 Pipes had been a very active man, and as his mother 
 was so much older than he was, he never thought 
 of himself as aged and infirm. 
 
 When the Chief Villager had paid him, and he 25 
 had talked a little while with some of his friends, 
 
28 THE HILL READERS 
 
 Old Pipes started to go home. But when he had 
 crossed the bridge over the brook, and gone a short 
 distance up the hillside, he became very tired and 
 sat down upon a stone. He had not been sitting 
 
 5 there half a minute when along came two boys 
 and a girl. 
 
 " Children," said Old Pipes, " I 'm very tired to- 
 night, and I don't believe I can climb up this steep 
 path to my home. I think I shall have to ask you 
 
 10 to help me." 
 
 "We will do that," said the boys and the girl, 
 quite cheerfully; and one boy took him by the 
 right hand and the other by the left, while the 
 girl pushed him in the back. In this way he 
 
 15 went up the hill quite easily, and soon reached 
 his cottage door. Old Pipes gave each of the three 
 children a copper coin, and then they sat down 
 for a few minutes' rest before starting back to 
 the village. 
 
 20 " I 'm sorry that I tired you so much," said Old 
 Pipes. 
 
 " Oh, that would not have tired us," said one of 
 the boys, " if we had not been so far to-day after 
 the cows, the sheep, and the goats. They rambled 
 
 25 high up on the mountain, and we never before had 
 such a time finding them." 
 
BOOK FOUR 29 
 
 " Had to go after the cows, the sheep, and the 
 goats ! " exclaimed Old Pipes. " What do you 
 mean by that ? " 
 
 The girl, who stood behind the old man, shook 
 her head, put her hand on her mouth, and made s 
 all sorts of signs to the boy to stop talking on this 
 subject; but he did not notice her, and promptly 
 answered Old Pipes. 
 
 " Why, you see, good sir," said he, " that as the 
 cattle can't hear your pipes now, somebody has to lo 
 go after them every evening to drive them down 
 from the mountain, and the Chief Villager has 
 hired us three to do it. Generally it is not very 
 hard work, but to-night the cattle had wandered 
 far." 15 
 
 " How long have you been doing this ? " asked 
 the old man. 
 
 The girl shook her head and clapped her hand 
 on her mouth as before, but the boy went on. 
 
 " I think it is about a year now," he said, " since 20 
 the people first felt sure that the cattle could not 
 hear your pipes ; and from that time we 've been 
 driving them down. But we are rested now, 'and 
 will go home. Good-night, sir." 
 
 The three children then went down the hill, the 25 
 girl scolding the boy all the way home. Old Pipes 
 
30 THE HILL READERS 
 
 stood silent a few moments, and then he went into 
 his cottage. 
 
 " Mother ! " he shouted ; " did you hear what 
 those children said ? " 
 
 5 " Children ! " exclaimed the old woman ; " I did 
 not hear them. I did not know there were any 
 children here." 
 
 Then Old Pipes told his mother — shouting very 
 loudly to make her hear — how the two boys and 
 
 10 the girl had helped him up the hill, and what he 
 had heard about his piping and the cattle. 
 
 '' They can't hear you ? " cried his mother. 
 "Why, what 's the matter with the cattle?" 
 " Ah, me ! " said Old Pipes ; " I don't believe 
 
 15 there 's anything the matter with the cattle. It 
 must be with me and my pipes that there is some- 
 thing the matter. But one thing is certain : if I do 
 not earn the wages the Chief Villager pays me, I 
 shall not take them. I shall go straight down to the 
 
 20 village and give back the money I received to-day." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " cried his mother. ''I'm sure 
 
 you 've piped as well as you could, and no more 
 
 can be expected. And what are we to do without 
 
 the money?" 
 
 25 " I don't know," said Old Pipes ; " but I 'm going 
 down to the village to pay it back." 
 
BOOK FOUR 31 
 
 The sun had now set ; but the moon was shin- 
 ing very brightly on the hillside, and Old Pipes 
 could see his way very well. He did not take the 
 same path by which he had gone before, but fol- 
 lowed another, which led among the trees upon the 5 
 hillside, and, though longer, was not so steep. 
 
 When he had gone about halfway the old man 
 sat down to rest, leaning his back against a great 
 oak tree. As he did so, he heard a sound like 
 knocking inside the tree, and then a voice said : 10 
 " Let me out ! let me out! " 
 
 Old Pipes instantly forgot that he was tired, 
 and sprang to his feet. " This must be a Dryad 
 tree !" he exclaimed. " If it is, I '11 let her out." 
 
 Old Pipes had never, to his knowledge, seen a 15 
 Dryad tree, but he knew there were such trees on 
 the hillsides and the mountains, and that Dryads 
 lived in them. He knew, too, that in the summer 
 time, on those days when the moon rose before the 
 sun went down, a Dryad could come out of her 20 
 tree if any one could find the key which locked 
 her in, and turn it. Old Pipes closely examined 
 the trunk of the tree, which stood in the full moon- 
 light. "If I see that key," he said, " I shall siu-ely 
 turn it." Before long he found a piece of bark 25 
 standing out from the tree, which looked to him 
 
32 THE HILL READERS 
 
 very much like the handle of a key. He took hold 
 of it, and found he could turn it quite around. As he 
 did so, a large part of the side of the tree was pushed 
 open, and a beautiful Dryad stepped quickly out. 
 
 5 For a moment she stood motionless, gazing on 
 the scene before her, — the tranquil valley, the hills, 
 the forest, and the mountain side, all lying in the 
 soft, clear light of the moon. " Oh, lovely ! lovely ! " 
 she exclaimed. " How long it is since I have seen 
 
 10 anything like this! " And then, turning to Old 
 Pipes, she said : " How good of you to let me out ! 
 I am so happy and so thankful that I must kiss 
 you, you dear old man! " And she threw her arms 
 around the neck of Old Pipes, and kissed him on 
 
 15 both cheeks. 
 
 " You don't know," she then went on to say, 
 " how doleful it is to be shut up so long in a tree. 
 I don't mind it in the winter, for then I am glad 
 to be sheltered, but in summer it is a rueful thing 
 
 20 not to be able to see all the beauties of the world. 
 And it 's ever so long since I 've been let out. Peo- 
 ple so seldom come this way ; and when they do 
 come at the right time, they either don't hear me 
 or they are frightened and run away. But you, 
 
 25 you dear old man, you were not frightened, and 
 you looked and looked for the key, and you let me 
 
33 
 
34 THE HILL EEADERS 
 
 out ! And now I shall not have to go back J-ill win- 
 ter has come, and the air grows cold. Oh, it is 
 glorious ! What can I do for you, to show you 
 how grateful I am?" 
 
 5 "I am very glad," said Old Pipes, "that I let 
 you out, since I see that it makes you so happy ; 
 but I must admit that I tried to find the key be- 
 cause I had a great desire to see a Dryad. But if 
 you wish to do something for me, you can, if you 
 
 10 happen to be going down toward the village." 
 
 " To the village ! " exclaimed the Dryad. " I will 
 go anywhere for you, my kind old benefactor." 
 
 " Well, then," said Old Pipes, " I wish you would 
 take this little bag of money to the Chief Villager 
 
 15 and tell him that Old Pipes cannot receive pay 
 for the services which he does not perform. It is 
 now more than a year that I have not been able to 
 make the cattle hear me when I piped to call them 
 home. I did not know this until to-night; but now 
 
 20 that I know it, I cannot keep the money, and so 
 I send it back." And, handing the little bag to 
 the Dryad, he bade her good night, and turned 
 toward his cottage. 
 
 "Good night," said the Dryad. "And I thank 
 
 25 jou over, and over, and over again, you good 
 old man ! " 
 
BOOK FOUE 35 
 
 Old Pipes walked toward his home, very glad 
 to be saved the fatigue of going all the way down 
 to the village and back again. " To be sure," he 
 said to himself, "this path does not seem at all 
 steep, and I can walk along it very easily; but 5 
 it would have tired me dreadfully to come up all 
 the way from the village, especially as I could not 
 have expected those children to help me again." 
 When he reached home his mother was surprised 
 to see him returning so soon. 10 
 
 " What ! " she exclaimed ; " have you already 
 come back ? What did the Chief Villager say ? 
 Did he take the money?" 
 
 Old Pipes was just about to tell her that he had 
 sent the money to the village by a Dryad, when he 15 
 suddenly reflected that his mother would be sure 
 to disapprove such a proceeding, and so he merely 
 said he had sent it by a person whom he had met. 
 
 "And how do you know that the person will 
 ever take it to the Chief Villager?" cried his 20 
 mother. " You will lose it, and the villagers will 
 never get it. Oh, Pipes ! Pipes ! when will you be 
 old enough to have ordinary common sense? " 
 
 Old Pipes considered that, as he was already 
 seventy years of age, he could scarcely expect to 25 
 grow any wiser; but he made no remark on this 
 
36 THE HILL READERS 
 
 subject, and, saying that he doubted not that the 
 money would go safely to its destination, he sat 
 down to his supper. His mother scolded him 
 roundly, but he did not mind it ; and after supper 
 5 he went out and sat on a rustic chair in front of 
 the cottage to look at the moonht village, and to 
 wonder whether or not the Chief Villager really 
 received the money. While he was doing these 
 two things he went fast asleep. 
 
 10 When Old Pipes left the Dryad she did not go 
 down to the village with the little bag of money. 
 She held it in her hand, and thought about what 
 she had heard. " This is a good and honest old 
 man," she said ; " and it is a shame that he should 
 
 15 lose this money. He looked as if he needed it, and 
 I don't believe the people in the village will take 
 it from one who has served them so long. Often, 
 when in my tree, have I heard the sweet notes of 
 his pipes. I am going to take the money back to 
 
 20 him." She did not start immediately because there 
 were so many beautiful things to look at ; but after 
 a while she went up to the cottage, and, finding 
 Old Pipes asleep in his chair, she slipped the little 
 bag into his coat pocket, and silently sped away. 
 
 26 The next day Old Pipes told his mother that he 
 would go up the mountain and cut some wood. 
 
BOOK FOUR 37 
 
 He had a right to get wood from the mountain, 
 but for a long time he had been content to pick up 
 the dead branches which lay about his cottage. 
 To-day, however, he felt so strong and vigorous 
 that he thought he would go and cut some fuel 5 
 that would be better than this. He worked all the 
 morning, and when he came back he did not feel 
 at all tired, and he had a very good appetite for 
 his dinner. 
 
 Now Old Pipes knew a good deal about Dryads; 10 
 but there was one thing which, although he had 
 heard, he had forgotten. This was, that a-kiss from 
 a Dryad made a person ten years younger. 
 
 The people of the village knew this, and they 
 were very careful not to let any child of ten years 15 
 or younger go into the woods where the Dryads 
 were supposed to be ; for, if they should chance to 
 be kissed by one of these tree nymphs, they would 
 be set back so far that they would cease to exist. 
 
 A story was told in the village that a very bad 20 
 boy of eleven once ran away into the woods, and 
 had an adventure of this kind ; and when his 
 mother found him he was a little baby of one year 
 old. Taking advantage of her opportunity, she 
 brought him up more carefully than she had done 25 
 before, and he grew to be a very good boy indeed. 
 
38 THE HILL EEADERS 
 
 Now Old Pipes had been kissed twice by the 
 Dryad, once on each cheek, and he therefore felt 
 as vigorous and active as when he was a hale man 
 of fifty. His mother noticed how much work he 
 
 5 was doing, and told him that he need not t-ry in 
 that way to make up for the loss of his piping 
 wages; for he would only tire himself out and 
 get sick. But her son answered that he had not 
 felt so well for years, and that he was quite able 
 
 10 to work. 
 
 In the course of the afternoon Old Pipes, for 
 the first time that day, put his hand in his coat 
 pocket, and there, to his amazement, he found the 
 little bag of money. " Well, well ! " he exclaimed ; 
 
 15 " I am stupid, indeed ! I really thought that I had 
 seen a Dryad ; but when I sat down by that big 
 oak tree I must have gone to sleep and dreamed it 
 all ; and then I came home, thinking I had given 
 the money to a Dryad, when it was in my pocket 
 
 20 all the time. But the Chief Villager shall have the 
 money. I shall not take it to him to-day, but 
 to-morrow I wish to go to the village to see some 
 of my old friends ; and then I shall give up the 
 money." 
 
 25 Toward the close of the afternoon Old Pipes, as 
 had been his custom for so many years, took his 
 
BOOK FOUR 39 
 
 pipes from the shelf on which they lay, and went 
 out to the rock in front of the cottage. 
 
 " What are you going to do ? " cried his mother. 
 "If you will not be paid, why do you pipe V 
 
 " I am going to pipe for my own pleasure," said 5 
 her son. " I am used to it, and I do not wish to 
 give it up. It does not matter now whether the 
 cattle hear me or not, and I am sure that my piping 
 will injure no one." 
 
 When the good man began to play upon his lo 
 favorite instrument he was astonished at the sound 
 that came from it. The beautiful notes- of the 
 pipes sounded clear and strong down into the val- 
 ley, and then spread over the hills, and up the 
 sides of the mountain beyond, while, after a little is 
 interval, an echo came back from the rocky hill 
 on the other side of the valley. 
 
 "Ha! ha!" he cried; "what has happened to 
 my pipes ? They must have been stopped up of 
 late, but now they are as clear and good as ever." 20 
 
 Again the merry notes went sounding far and 
 wide. The cattle on the mountain heard them, and 
 those that were old enough remembered how these 
 notes had called them from their pastures every 
 evening, and so they started down the mountain 25 
 side, the others following. 
 
40 THE HILL READERS 
 
 The merry notes were heard in the village below, 
 and the people were much astonished thereby. 
 "Why, who can be blowing the pipes of Old 
 Pipes ? " they said. But, as they were all very 
 
 5 busy, no one went up to see. One thing, however, 
 was plain enough : the cattle were coming down 
 the mountain. And so the two boys and the girl 
 did not have to go after them, and had an hour 
 for play, for which they were very glad. 
 
 10 The next morning Old Pipes started down to the 
 village with his money, and on the way he met the 
 Dryad. " Oh, ho ! " he cried ; " is that you ? Why, 
 I thought my letting you out of the tree was noth- 
 ing but a dream." 
 
 15 "A dream!" cried the Dryad. "If you only 
 knew how happy you have made me, you would 
 not think it merely a dream. And has it not 
 benefited you ? Do you not feel happier ? Yes- 
 terday I heard you playing beautifully on your 
 
 20 pipes." 
 
 " Yes, yes! " cried he. "I did not understand it 
 before, but I see it all now. I have really grown 
 younger. I thank you, I thank you, good Dryad, 
 from the bottom of my heart. It was the finding 
 
 25 of the money in my pocket that made me think 
 it was a dream." 
 
BOOK FOUE. 41 
 
 '' Oh, I put it in when you were asleep," she 
 said, laughing, " because I thought you ought to 
 keep it. Good-by, kind, honest man. May you live 
 long, and be as happy as I am now." 
 
 Old Pipes was greatly delighted when he under- 5 
 stood that he was really a younger man ; but that 
 made no difference about the money, and he kept 
 on his way to the village. As soon as he reached 
 it, he was eagerly questioned as to w4io had been 
 playing his pipes the evening before, and when the lo 
 people heard that it was himself they were very 
 much surprised. Thereupon Old Pipes tdd what 
 had happened to him, and then there was greater 
 wonder, with hearty congratulations and hand- 
 shakes ; for Old Pipes was liked by every one. The 15 
 Chief Villager refused to take his money; and 
 although Old Pipes said that he had not earned it, 
 every one present insisted that, as he would now 
 play on his pipes as before, he should lose noth- 
 ing because, for a time, he was unable to perform 20 
 his duty. 
 
 So Old Pipes was obliged to keep his money, 
 and after an hour or two spent in conversation 
 with his friends he returned to his cottage. 
 
 traverse: wander over. — rueful: sorrowful. — destination: the 
 end of a journey. 
 
42 THE HILL READERS 
 
 THE JAPANESE MIRKOR^ 
 
 T. Hasegawa 
 
 Note. This story, popular in Japan, illustrates the kind of 
 tales that please the little brown children of the Flowery King- 
 dom. It is worth noting that children's stories of all lands are 
 not markedly different. 
 
 5 A long, long time ago there lived in a quiet 
 spot a young man and his wife. They had one 
 child, a little daughter, whom they both loved with 
 all their hearts. I cannot tell you their names, for 
 they have been long since forgotten, but the name 
 
 10 of the place where they lived was Matsuyama. 
 
 It happened once, while the little girl was still 
 a baby, that the father was obliged to go to the 
 great city, the capital of Japan, upon some busi- 
 ness. It was too far for the mother and her little 
 
 15 baby to go, so he set out alone, after bidding them 
 good-by and promising to bring them home some 
 pretty presents. 
 
 The mother had never been farther from home 
 than the next village, and she could not help being 
 
 20 a little frightened at the thought of her husband's 
 taking such a long journey; and yet she was a 
 little proud, too, for he was the first man in all 
 
 1 From Japanese Fairy Tales. Tokyo. 
 
BOOK FOUR 43 
 
 that countryside who had been to the big town 
 where the King and his great lords lived, and 
 where there were so many beautiful and curious 
 things to be seen. 
 
 At last the time came when she might expect 5 
 her husband back, so she dressed the baby in her 
 best clothes, and herself put on a pretty blue dress 
 which she knew her husband liked. 
 
 You may fancy how glad this good wife was to 
 see him come home safe and sound, and how the lo 
 little girl clapped her hands and laughed with 
 delight when she saw the pretty toys her father 
 had brought her. He had much to tell of all the 
 wonderful things he had seen upon the journey 
 and in the town itself. 15 
 
 ''I have brought you a very pretty thing," said 
 he to his wife ; " it is called a mirror. Look, and 
 tell me what you see inside." 
 
 He gave her a plain white wooden box, in 
 which, when she had opened it, she found a round 20 
 piece of metal. One side was ornamented wdth 
 raised figures of birds and flowers ; the other side 
 was bright as the clearest crystal. Into it the 
 young mother looked with delight and astonish- 
 ment, for from its depths was looking at her, with 25 
 parted lips and bright eyes, a smiling, happy face. 
 
44 
 
 THE HILL READERS 
 
 "What do you see?" again asked the husband, 
 
 pleased at her astonishment, and glad to show that 
 
 he had learned something while he had been away. 
 
 **I see a pretty woman looking at me, and she 
 
 5 moves her lips as if she were speaking, and — dear 
 
 
 ^°^ WiwMlillHr JMll . 
 
 me ! how odd ! — she has on a blue dress just like 
 
 mme. 
 
 "Why, you silly woman! it is your own face 
 that you see ! " said the husband, proud of know- 
 10 mg something that his wife did n't know. "That 
 round piece of metal is called a mirror. In the 
 town everybody has one, although we have not 
 seen them in this country place before." 
 
 The wife was charmed with her present, and 
 
 15 for a few days could not look into the mirror 
 
 often enough, for you must remember that, as this 
 
BOOK FOUR 45 
 
 was the first time she had seen a mirror, so, of 
 course, it was the first time she had ever seen the 
 reflection of her own pretty face. But she con- 
 sidered such a wonderful thing far too precious 
 for every-day use, and soon shut it up in its box 5 
 again, and put it away carefully among her most 
 valued treasures. 
 
 Years passed on, and the husband and wife still 
 lived happily. The joy of their hfe was their little 
 daughter, who grew up the very image of her 10 
 mother, and who was so dutiful and affectionate 
 that everybody loved her. Mindful of her own 
 little passing vanity on finding herself so lovely, 
 the mother kept the mirror carefully hidden 
 away, fearing that the use of it might breed a 15 
 spirit of pride in her little girl. 
 
 She never spoke of it, and as for the father, he 
 had forgotten all about it. So it happened that 
 the daughter grew up as simple as the mother had 
 been, and knew nothing of her own good looks, or 20 
 of the mirror which would have reflected them. 
 
 But by and by a terrible misfortune happened to 
 this happy little family. The good, kind mother 
 fell sick ; and, although her daughter waited upon 
 her day and night with loving care, she grew worse 25 
 
46 THE HILL READERS 
 
 and worse, until at last there was no hope but 
 
 that she must die. 
 
 When she found that she must so soon leave her 
 
 husband and child the poor woman felt very sor- 
 6 rowful, grieving for those she was going to leave 
 
 behind, and most of all for her little daughter. 
 She called the girl to her and said : " My darling 
 
 child, you know that I am very sick ; soon I must 
 
 die, and leave your dear father and you alone. 
 10 When I am gone promise me that you will look 
 
 into this mirror every night and every morning; 
 
 there you will see me and know that I am still 
 
 watching over you." 
 
 With these words she took the mirror from its 
 15 hiding place and gave it to her daughter. The 
 
 child promised with many tears; and so the 
 
 mother, seeming now calm and resigned, died a 
 
 short time after. 
 
 Now this obedient and dutiful daughter never 
 20 forgot her mother's last request, but each morning 
 
 and evening took the mirror from its hiding place 
 
 and looked in it long and earnestly. There she 
 
 saw the bright and smiling vision of her lost 
 
 mother; not pale and sickly as in her last days, 
 25 but the beautiful young mother of long ago. To 
 
 her at night she told the story of the trials and 
 
BOOK FOUR 47 
 
 difficulties of the day ; to her in the morning she 
 looked for sympathy and encouragement in what- 
 ever might be in store for her. 
 
 So day by day she lived as in her mother's 
 sight, strivmg still to please her as she had done 5 
 in her lifetime, and careful always to avoid what- 
 ever might pain or grieve her. Her greatest joy 
 was to be able to look in the mirror and say, 
 " Mother, I have been to-day what you would wish 
 me to be." 10 
 
 • Seeing her every night and morning, without 
 fail, look into the mirror and seem to hold con- 
 verse with it, her father at length asked her the 
 reason of her strange behavior. 
 
 " Father," she said, " I look in the mirror every 15 
 day to see my dear mother and to talk with her." 
 
 Then she told him of her mother's dying wish, 
 and how she had never failed to fulfill it. 
 
 Touched by so much simplicity, and such faith- 
 ful, loving obedience, the father shed tears of pity 20 
 and affection. Nor could he find it in his heart to 
 tell the child that the image she saw in the mirror 
 was but the reflection of her own sweet face, by 
 constant sympathy and association becoming more 
 and more like her mother's day by day. 25 
 
 converse : talk. 
 
48 
 
 THE HILL READERS 
 
 BOB WHITE 
 
 George Cooper 
 
 George Cooper (1820-1876) was an English musician and 
 author. He is widely known from his books on the organ, and 
 from some exquisite nature poems. 
 
 10 
 
 I see you on the zigzag rails, 
 
 You cheery little fellow ! 
 While purple leaves are whirling down, 
 
 And scarlet, brown, and yellow. 
 I hear you when the air is full 
 
 Of snow-down of the thistle ; 
 All in your speckled jacket trim, 
 
 " Bob White ! Bob White ! " you whistle. 
 
 Tall amber sheaves, in rustling rows, 
 Are nodding there to greet you ; 
 
BOOK rouK 49 
 
 I know that you are out for play — 
 
 How I should like to meet you ! 
 Though blithe of voice, so shy you are. 
 
 In this delightful weather ; 
 What splendid playmates you and I, ^ 
 
 Bob White, would make together ! 
 
 There, you are gone ! but far away 
 
 I hear your whistle falling. 
 Ah ! maybe it is hide-and-seek, 
 
 And that 's why you are calling. lo 
 
 Along those hazy uplands wide 
 
 We 'd be such merry rangers ; 
 What ! silent now, and hidden too ? 
 
 Bob White, don't let 's be strangers. 
 
 Perhaps you teach your brood the game, is 
 
 In yonder rainbowed thicket. 
 While winds are playing with the leaves. 
 
 And softly creaks the cricket. 
 " Bob White ! Bob White ! " — again J hear 
 
 That blithely whistled chorus. 20 
 
 Why should we not companions be ? 
 
 One Father watches o'er us ! 
 
 amber: yellow. — rangers: rovers. 
 
50 THE HILL READERS 
 
 THE NUN'S PRIEST'S TALE 
 
 Geoffrey Chaucer 
 
 Geoffrey Chaucer (1340-1400) has often been called the 
 Father of English Verse. So greatly has the language changed 
 since his time that modern readers find his poetry hard to under- 
 stand. The following is an adaptation of one of his famous 
 6 Canterbury Tales. 
 
 There was once a poor widow, feeble and bent 
 down with the weight of years, who dwelt with her 
 two daughters in a small cottage, and was content 
 with humble fare. Three large sows, three kine, 
 
 10 and one sheep she possessed, and these furnished 
 her with her sole means of support. Therefore it 
 happened that the household ate "many a slender 
 mele" of milk and brown bread, while some bacon 
 with an egg or two composed their greatest feasts. 
 
 15 In her little yard the widow had a few fowls, one 
 of which (a cock named Chanticleer) had not his 
 equal in crowing. 
 
 " His voice was merrier than the merry organ." 
 He wg,s a fine fellow, too, to look at, with comb of 
 
 20 brilliant red, a jet-black bill, and his feathers like 
 gold for richness of color. 
 
 The fairest of all the widow's seven hens was 
 Dame Partlet,. who always sat next to Chanticleer 
 on the perch when they went to roost. 
 
BOOK FOUR 51 
 
 One night Chanticleer made such dismal noises in 
 his dreams that Dame Partlet grew alarmed, and 
 said to him : " What ails you that you groan in this 
 fashion? You are generally an excellent sleeper." 
 
 ^^Ah, dear dame," answered the cock, as he 5 
 roused himself from his troubled rest, "you will 
 not wonder that I groaned when I tell you the ter- 
 rible fright I have had in my sleep. It seemed that 
 within our own yard I saw a horrible beast walk- 
 ing. He was somewhat hke a hound, with color 10 
 betwixt yellow and red, and his ears were different 
 from the rest of his body, being black. Then his 
 eyes were bright and fierce ; it was the glance he 
 seemed to give me that doubtless made me utter 
 the noises which alarmed you so much." 15 
 
 " Well," cried Partlet, in much indignation, " if 
 you are going to be a coward, you have lost your 
 place in our esteem. I wonder you are not ashamed 
 to speak of such fear. Ah ! perhaps you have been 
 nothing after all but a boaster, else you would not 20 
 be afraid of a foolish dream. Dreams come some- 
 times from overindulgence and high living. Let 
 me advise you, as there is no apothecary in this 
 town, to taste some herbs that I will find in the 
 yard, which are sure to benefit you ; if you do not 25 
 take care, you will have a fever or an ague. But 
 
52 THE HILL READERS 
 
 think no more of your fancy of to-night. A wise 
 man has said, 'Never pay heed to dreams.'" 
 
 Then said Chanticleer, ''Madam, I doubt not 
 your judgment and learning, but let me tell you 
 
 5 that dreams are often the signs of joy." 
 
 As Chanticleer finished speaking he saw that it 
 was day, so he flew down from the perch and, call- 
 ing the seven hens to follow him, went forth into 
 the yard. There he forgot both the fears and the 
 
 10 fancies of sleep. 
 
 Time passed, and on a fair morning in early 
 spring Chanticleer was walking proudly at the head 
 of his hens, bidding them note the brightness of the 
 sun and the sweetness of the birds' songs. " Full is 
 
 15 mine heart of revel and solace," he said; but fre- 
 quently sorrow follows close on joy, and sad mis- 
 fortune was about to fall on the fowl yard. 
 
 A cunning fox had come out of his hiding in the 
 wood 'and, bursting through the hedges of the poor 
 
 20 widow's piece of ground, lay concealed in the yard, 
 waiting his opportunity to fall on Chanticleer. 
 
 It so fell that the cock saw a butterfly on the 
 leaves of the plants amid which the fox was lurk- 
 ing, and, approaching nearer, saw the intruder and 
 
 25 would have fled. But that deceitful animal cried: 
 ** Gentle sir, are you afraid of a friend like myself ? 
 
63 
 
64 • THE HILL READERS 
 
 Believe me, T am not here to do you harm ; I come 
 only that I may hear you sing, and, truly, you 
 have a voice as merry and sweet as any angel in 
 heaven. I was acquainted with your father and 
 
 5 mother, and many a time they honored me by 
 visiting my house. With the exception of yourself, 
 never did I hear cock sing so beautifully as your 
 noble father; and how he would stand on the tips of 
 his toes to make his voice come out more strongly ! " 
 
 10 So charmed was Chanticleer by this flattery that 
 he too began to stretch his neck and flutter his 
 wings and crow with might and main ; but the fox 
 sprang from his hiding place, caught him up, and 
 carried him off to his hole in the wood. 
 
 15 ^ Never, surely, was there such a noise as the 
 seven hens made when they saw their defender 
 borne away. . The widow and her daughters heard 
 them, and, starting up, reached their door just in 
 time to see the fox darting off in the direction of 
 
 20 the wood with the helpless cock upon his back. 
 
 "A-ha! a-ha! the fox!" they cried, and began 
 
 to give chase, in which they were joined by all the 
 
 men and women and children who lived within 
 
 earshot of their cries. Even the animals ran with 
 
 25 them, — cow, calf, and pigs, — for they were fright- 
 ened by the barking of the dogs ; the ducks cried ; 
 
BOOK FOUE /55 
 
 the geese for very terror flew over the trees ; the 
 bees swarmed out from the hives ; and never was 
 there more confusion in this world than these shriek- 
 ing, shouting people made as the fox flew off to the 
 wood with Chanticleer for his prey. 5 
 
 Now, mark you, my friends, how fortune may 
 change in an instant. 
 
 As the poor cock lay trembling on the back of 
 his foe a sudden thought prompted him to say : 
 " Sir, were I you, I should presently speak ^o these 10 
 noisy folk, and say, ^I have gained the entrance 
 to the wood, and I will devour this cock in spite 
 of all your efforts.' " 
 
 " Yes, so loill I speak to them," replied the fox, 
 well pleased with the suggestion. But as he opened 15 
 his mouth Chanticleer freed himself with one quick 
 movement and fluttered up into a tree overhead. 
 
 " Good friend," cried the fox, " I have done you 
 a great wrong, though unintentionally. I ought 
 not to have dragged you away from your home and 20 
 friends ; but, I pray you, come down and all shall 
 be explained." 
 
 " No, no," said Chanticleer. " Once you have 
 beguiled me with your flattery, but never will I be 
 deceived by your smooth words again." 25 
 
 From Chaucer^s Stories Simply Told 
 
 Adapted by Mary Seymour 
 
56 THE HILL READERS 
 
 THE OLD BARN 
 
 Madison Cawein 
 
 Madison Cawein (1865- ), an American poet of Hugue- 
 not descent, was born in Louisville, Kentucky. He early devoted 
 himself to poetry. " It was," says Edmund Gosse, " Mr. William 
 Dean Howells who first drew attention to the originality and 
 6 beauty of Mr. Cawein 's poetry. The Kentucky poet had, at that 
 time, published but one volume, the Blooms of the Berry. This 
 was followed, in 1888, by the Tiiumph of Music, and since then 
 hardly a year has passed without a slender sheaf of verse from 
 Mr. Cawein's garden." 
 
 10 Low, swallow-swept and gray, 
 
 Between the orchard and the spring, 
 All its wide windows overflowing hay. 
 And crannied doors a-swing, 
 The old barn stands to-day. 
 
 16 Deep in its hay the Leghorn hides 
 
 A round white nest ; and, humming soft 
 On roof and rafter, or its log-rude sides, 
 Black in the sun-shot loft, 
 The building hornet glides. 
 
 20 Along its corn-crib, cautiously 
 
 As thieving fingers, skulks the rat ; 
 
 Or in warped stalls of fragrant timothy, 
 
BOOK FOUR 57 
 
 Gnaws at some loosened slat, 
 Or passes shadowy. 
 
 A dream of drouth made audible 
 
 Before its door, hot, smooth, and shrill 
 
 All day the locust sings. . . . What other spell 5 
 
 Shall hold it, lazier still 
 
 Than the long day's, now tell : — 
 
 Dusk and the cricket and the strain 
 
 Of tree-toad and of frog ; and stars 
 
 That burn above the rich west's ribbed stain; lo 
 
 And dropping pasture bars, 
 
 And cow-bells up the lane. 
 
 Night and the moon and katydid. 
 
 And leaf -lisp of the wind-touched boughs ; 
 
 And mazy shadows that the fireflies thrid ; is 
 
 And sweet breath of the cows. 
 
 And the lone owl here hid. 
 
 crannied : having small openings. — thrid : to make one's way 
 througrh. 
 
58 THE HILL HEADERS 
 
 THE STORY OF AN APPLE 
 
 H. L. HuTT 
 
 H. L. HuTT, a Canadian teacher, is now professor of horti- 
 culture in the Ontario Agricultural College. 
 
 One evening after tea I had just settled down 
 in my easy-chair for a glance at the newspaper, 
 6 when my trio of little folk pounced upon me for 
 a new story. 
 
 " A fairy story," said Jean. 
 
 " No ; one about wild animals," said Fred. 
 
 "I like to hear about what you did when you 
 10 were a little boy," said Gordon. 
 
 Here was too much of a variety to be given all 
 at once ; so I said, " Look at those beautiful red 
 apples on the table. Shouldn't you like to hear 
 their story?" Fred was doubtful whether much 
 15 of a story could be told about apples ; but I in- 
 formed him that every apple has a history, and 
 some have very interesting ones.- 
 
 " What variety of apple is that ? " I asked. 
 
 " A Mcintosh," they all shouted in chorus ; for 
 20 they had been learning the names of apples and 
 were always greatly pleased when they could iden- 
 tify a variety correctly. 
 
BOOK FOUR 59 
 
 " How do you suppose it got that name ? " I next 
 inquired ; but as this was too much for them, I 
 said, " Well, that is where we shall begin our 
 story. 
 
 " Once upon a time (for all good stories begin s 
 that way), about thirty years ago, on a farm near 
 Dundela, a little village in Dundas County, in the 
 St. Lawrence Valley, lived a man by the name of 
 Allan Mcintosh. He was one of the early settlers 
 in that section, and had cleared off most of the lo 
 forest which once covered his fields, only a few 
 acres having been left for bush. The bush was 
 the favorite resort of the cows when the weather 
 became warm and the flies were troublesome. 
 
 " One evening, late in September, when Mr. i5 
 Mcintosh's little boys, Allan and Harvey, were 
 hunting through the bush for the cows, they espied 
 just on the edge of a clearing a little tree bearing 
 near its top a number of bright red apples. If they 
 had discovered it sooner, they might have found 20 
 many more on the lower branches. What do you 
 suppose had become of them ? " 
 
 " The cows had eaten them," suggested Fred. 
 
 "Yes, the cows had found them first; but the 
 boys were soon up the tree, making sure that the 25 
 cows would get no more of them. 
 
60 THE HILL READERS 
 
 "The apples were at that time hardly mellow 
 enough for eating, but that did not prevent the 
 boys from sampling them ; and they declared that 
 they were the finest wild apples that they had ever 
 
 5 tasted. Those not eaten at once were taken home 
 and kept in the cellar till the family gathering at 
 Christmas, when all present pronounced them 
 finer than any of the famous varieties grown in 
 the little orchard near the house. 
 
 10 " Here then was a little tree growing wild with- 
 out any care, yet producing handsome apples of 
 fine quality. How do you suppose it came to be 
 growing there ? " 
 
 " Somebody planted it," declared Gordon. 
 
 15 " No," I said, " it was not planted, but grew 
 there from the seed, and was, therefore, what is 
 called a seedling." 
 
 " The Brownies must have planted it," remarked 
 Jean. 
 
 20 " Well, maybe they did," I said; "but I think 
 the Brownies in this case were the men who helped 
 to chop down the trees in the woods. Probably 
 they had taken with them some snow apples to eat 
 when they felt hungry. They threw away the 
 
 26 cores, and from one of the seeds this little tree 
 may have grown." 
 
BOOK FOUR 61 
 
 " What makes you think they were snow apples ?" 
 inquired Jean. 
 
 "Well," I said, "if you will fetch a few snow 
 apples from the cellar, to compare with those in 
 the dish, you may find the reason yourself." 5 
 
 In less time than it takes to tell they were mak- 
 ing comparisons, and they agreed that there was 
 not much difference in appearance, except that 
 the Mclntoshes were, on the whole, a little larger 
 and redder than the snows. ^ lo 
 
 "What makes those black spots on the skin?" 
 asked Gordon; "they are on both sides." 
 
 "Those," I replied, "are caused by a fungous 
 disease with which the snow apple and its relatives 
 are often troubled. Now cut an apple of each kind i5 
 and compare the flesh." 
 
 " They are both nearly as white as snow, are n't 
 they ? " said Jean. 
 
 "That is still further proof," I said, "that they 
 belong to the same family. Now taste them." 20 
 After much tasting it was decided that they were 
 both so good that it was hard to say which was 
 the better; but when the children were asked to 
 shut their eyes and guess the name of each by the 
 taste, they found no difficulty in telling which was 25 
 the Mcintosh, because it had a " spicy flavor." 
 
62 THE HILL READERS 
 
 "Now," I said, " I think that you have sufficient 
 proof that these two apples are related. In fact, 
 there is little doubt that the Mcintosh, and a 
 number of other varieties I might mention, are 
 
 6 seedlings from the snow, or, as it is more properly 
 called, the Fameuse. These varieties, however, do not 
 take their names from their parent. The Mcintosh, 
 as you may have already guessed, received its name 
 from the man on whose farm the first tree of that 
 
 10 kind was found." 
 
 " But how does it happen that there are so many 
 trees of that kind now ? " asked Fred. " We have 
 them, and grandpa has them, and a great many 
 people have them." 
 
 16 " That," I said, " is one of the interesting points 
 in the story of nearly all cultivated fruit trees. 
 
 "All the Mcintosh trees now growing in all 
 parts of the country have descended from that one 
 little tree in Dundas County, not by planting seed 
 
 20 from it, for that would probably have produced 
 other varieties, but by grafting and budding other 
 trees with cuttings and buds taken from it. 
 
 "One of the most remarkable things about 
 nearly all our cultivated fruit trees is that trees 
 
 25 grown from their seed show endless variations. If, 
 for instance, you should plant one hundred Mcintosh 
 
BOOK FOUR 63 
 
 apple seeds, probably no two of the trees from them 
 would bear apples just alike. It is even likely 
 that none of them would bear as good fruit as the 
 Mcintosh, although it is possible that even better 
 fruit might be produced. Some day you may find 5 
 this an interesting thing to investigate." 
 
 " But what do you mean by budding and graft- 
 ing?" inquired Fred. 
 
 "These," I replied, "are methods adopted by 
 nurserymen, who make a business of growing trees, lo 
 whereby they can grow any number of trees that 
 will bear the same kind of fruit without varying, 
 as would naturally happen if the trees were grown 
 from seed. These methods of propagating trees 
 depend upon the fact that every perfect bud on a 15 
 tree is capable, under favorable conditions, of pro- 
 ducing another branch, or, indeed, a whole tree of 
 the same kind as that on which it grew. 
 
 " The Mcintosh in our garden is a budded tree, 
 which was obtained from Mr. Smith's nursery, 20 
 where he grows thousands of other trees just like 
 it. In growing these trees Mr. Smith had, in long 
 rows in the nursery, thousands of little seedling 
 apple trees (that is, little trees grown from apple 
 seeds), which, if allowed to grow naturally, would, 25 
 he knew, bear a great variety of mostly inferior 
 
64 
 
 THE HILL KEADERS 
 
 fruit ; but he had heard of the unusual excellence 
 of the Mcintosh apple, and intended to make all 
 these seedling trees bear Mcintosh apples ; so he 
 wrote to Mr. Mcintosh and asked him to send him 
 6 all the young shoots he could spare from his 
 Mcintosh tree. 
 
 From these shoots, which were obtained in July, 
 Mr. Smith's men proceeded to bud the seedling 
 
 trees in the nursery rows. The bark on each little 
 10 tree was cut open near the ground and one of the 
 Mcintosh buds was put in and bound firmly in 
 place. At the end of the season the bud showed 
 by its plumpness that it had been adopted and 
 
BOOK FOUR 65 
 
 nourished by its foster parent, and to all appear- 
 ances it was much the same as any of the other 
 buds, except for the scar around it, showing where 
 it had been inserted. 
 
 " Early the next spring, each seedling tree was 5 
 cut off just above the Mcintosh bud, which was 
 thus suddenly given the responsibility of making 
 a new top for the tree, and that is just what each 
 little Mcintosh bud did. In three years each had 
 made a tree big enough to be sold for transplant- lo 
 ing ; and that year they were all taken up and 
 sent to purchasers throughout the country. 
 
 " In grandpa's orchard you may have noticed 
 that the tree which bears the Mcintosh apples 
 bears also a few yellow apples." is 
 
 "Yes; Talman Sweets," said Gordon. 
 
 " Well, that tree once bore all Talmans ; but one 
 spring grandpa cut off most of its branches and 
 grafted into the stubs left a few scions, or bits of 
 twigs, from a Mcintosh tree. These scions united 20 
 with the growing part of the Talman tree and 
 produced large branches which bear the Mcintosh 
 apples, while the branches which were not grafted 
 still bear Talman Sweet apples. 
 
 " By grafting into a large, bearing tree in this 25 
 way grandpa's tree was bearing Mcintosh apples 
 
66 THE HILL KEADERS 
 
 in three or four years; whereas our tree, being a 
 young one, was nearly twice as old as that before 
 it had apples on it. 
 
 " From the story of this apple you have learned 
 
 5 how new varieties of fruits sometimes originate. 
 Those found in this way are said to be of chance 
 origin. All, however, do not originate by chance. 
 Some are the result of careful and patient work 
 on the part of men who not only gather and plant 
 
 10 the seed but also contrive to have the new kind 
 combine the good qualities of the other varieties. 
 Next spring, when the trees are in bloom, I will 
 show you how this may be done. 
 
 " If you would like to try what you can do at 
 
 15 such work, you may begin next year by planting 
 a row of apple seeds in the garden ; and when the 
 httle trees are big enough, I '11 show you how to 
 bud them, or how they may be made to bear fruit 
 in two or three years by grafting them into a bear- 
 
 20 ing tree. How many of you would like to try it ? " 
 " I," " I," " I," they all shouted ; so we began 
 operations at once by eating all the apples in the 
 dish, to get the seeds for next spring's planting. 
 
 espied: saw. — propagating : causing to spread. — foster parent : 
 adox)ted parent. 
 
BOOK FOUR 
 
 67 
 
 THE FIELD OF THE SLUGGARD 
 
 The Bi6le 
 
 I went by the field of the sluggard, 
 
 And by the vineyard of the man void of under- 
 standing ; 
 And, lo, it was all grown over with thorns, 
 The face thereof was covered with nettles, 
 And the stone wall thereof was broken down. 
 
 Then I beheld, and considered well, 
 
 I saw, and received instruction : 
 
 " Yet a little sleep, a little slumber, 
 
 A little folding of the hands to sleep " — 
 
 So shall thy poverty come as a robber. 
 
 And thy want as an armed man. 
 
 10 
 
68 THE HILL READERS 
 
 THE RABBI AND THE DIADEM 
 
 The Talmud 
 Note. The Talmud was a sacred book of the Hebrews. 
 
 Great was the alarm in the palace of Rome, an 
 alarm which soon spread throughout the entire 
 city. The Empress had lost her costly diadem 
 
 6 and it could not be found. Her servants searched 
 in every direction, but the search was all in vain. 
 Half distracted, the Empress redoubled her exer- 
 tions to regain her precious possession, but without 
 result. As a last resource it was proclaimed in 
 
 10 the public streets : "The Empress has lost a price- 
 less diadem. Whoever restores it within thirty 
 days shall receive a princely reward. But he who 
 delays, and brings it after thirty days, shall lose 
 his head." 
 
 15 In those times all nationalities flocked toward 
 Rome ; all classes and creeds could be met in its 
 stately halls and crowded thoroughfares. Among 
 the rest was a rabbi, a learned sage from the East, 
 who loved goodness and lived a righteous life in 
 
 20 the stir and turmoil of the Western world. It 
 chanced one night as he was strolling up and down 
 in busy meditation, beneath the clear, moonlit sky, 
 
BOOK FOUR 69 
 
 he saw the diadem sparkling at his feet. He 
 seized it quickly, and took it to his dwelling, 
 where he guarded it carefully until the thirty 
 days had expired. 
 
 He then proceeded to the palace and, undis- s 
 mayed at the sight of long lines of soldiers and 
 officials, asked for an audience with the Empress. 
 
 "What dost thou mean by this?" she inquired, 
 when he had told her his story and had given her 
 the diadem. "Why didst thou delay until this hour? lo 
 Dost thou know the penalty? Thy head must be 
 forfeited." 
 
 " I delayed until now," the rabbi answered 
 calmly, " so that thou mightest know that I return 
 thy diadem not for the sake of the reward, still is 
 less out of fear of punishment, but solely to com- 
 ply with the Divine command not to withhold 
 from another the property which belongs to him." 
 
 " Blessed be thy God ! " the Empress answered, 
 and dismissed the rabbi without further reproof; 20 
 for had' he not done right for right's sake ? 
 
 From the translation of A. S. Isaacs 
 rabbi : a Jewish priest. — sage : a wise man. — turmoil : trouble. 
 
70 THE HILL READERS 
 
 THE MEADOW BROOK 
 
 Paul Hamilton Hayne 
 
 Paul Hamilton Hayne (1830-1886), an American poet, 
 was born in Charleston, South Carolina. His family was one of 
 the most distinguished of the state. His father, a lieutenant in 
 the United States Navy, died when the poet was still an infant, 
 5 and the child became the ward of his uncle, Robert Y. Hayne, 
 the brilliant orator. 
 
 Hayne was graduated with distinction from Charleston Col- 
 lege. Like many others he studied law only to give it up for let- 
 ters. He found in his native city a group of literary men. 
 
 10 Among these were AVilliam Gilmore Simms, the novelist, and 
 Henry Timrod, the poet, who became Hayne 's life-long friend. 
 
 The young po/et began his career by contributions to periodi- 
 cals. He soon became a favorite contributor of the Southern 
 Literary Messenger. When the Charleston group of book lovers 
 
 16 started Russell's Magazine, Hayne was selected to edit it. 
 
 When the Civil War opened Hayne, although a delicate man, 
 volunteered and was assigned to duty on Governor Pickens's staff. 
 Ill health, however, forced him to resign, and he again betook 
 himself to poetry. 
 
 20 His home in Charleston was burned during the bombardment, 
 his ample fortune was swept away, and, at the close of the war, 
 he found himself homeless and well-nigh penniless. He retired to 
 the sand hills and built a plain cottage not far from Augusta, 
 Georgia. In this simple home, on a desk made from 'a carpen- 
 
 26 ter's workbench, he wrote his later poems. 
 
 Gurgle, gurgle, gurgle. 
 
 Over ledge and stone ; 
 How I *m going, flowing, 
 
 Westward, all alone ; 
 
BOOK FOUR 71 
 
 All alone, but happy, 
 
 Happy and hale am I, 
 Clasped by the emerald meadows. 
 
 Flushed by the golden sky. 
 
 No kindred brook is calling, 5 
 
 To woo these tides in glee ; 
 I hear no neighboring voices 
 
 Of inland rill or sea ; 
 But the sedges thrill above me. 
 
 And where I blithely pass, 10 
 
 Coy winds, like nymphs in ambush. 
 
 Seem whispering through the grass. 
 
 Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle ; 
 
 Hark ! the tiny swell 
 Of wavelets softly, silverly 15 
 
 Toned like a fairy bell. 
 Whose every note, dropped sweetly 
 
 In mellowed glamom- round. 
 Echo hath caught and harvested 
 
 In airy sheaves of sound ! 20 
 
 hale : well, healthy. — blithely : happily. — glamour : magic spell. 
 
72 THE HILL READERS 
 
 THE FARMER'S LIFE 
 John Burroughs 
 
 John Burroughs (1837- ), an American naturalist and 
 author, was born in Roxbury, New York. He has filled various 
 government positions, — clerk in the Treasury Department, re- 
 ceiver for a national bank, national bank examiner. In 1874 he 
 made his home on a fruit farm at Esopus, New York. He now 
 divides his time between raising fruit and writing books. 
 
 He is an untiring observer of out-of-door life, and his books, 
 fresh and original in thought and sprightly in style, have had a 
 deserved popularity. 
 
 10 
 
 It is a common complaint that the farm and 
 farm life are not appreciated by our people. We 
 long for the more elegant pursuits, or the ways 
 and fashions of the town. But the farmer has the 
 most sane and natural occupation, and ought to 
 
 15 find life sweeter, if less highly seasoned, than any 
 other. He alone, strictly speaking, has a home. 
 How can a man take root and thrive without land ? 
 He writes his history upon his field. How many 
 ties, how many resources, he has, — his friendships 
 
 20 with his cattle, his team, his dogs, his trees, the 
 satisfaction in his growing crops, in his improved 
 fields; his intimacy with nature, with bird and 
 beast, and with the quickening elemental forces ; his 
 cooperation with the cloud, the sun, the seasons, 
 
BOOK FOUE 73 
 
 heat, wind, rain, frost. Nothing will take the 
 various distempers, which the city and artificial 
 life breed, out of a man like farming, like direct 
 and loving contact with the soil. It draws out the 
 poison. It humbles him, teaches him patience and 5 
 reverence, and restores the proper tone to his 
 system. 
 
 Blessed is he whose youth was passed upon a 
 farm. Cling to the farm, make much of it, put 
 yourself into it, bestow your heart and yQur brain 10 
 upon it, so that it shall savor of you and radiate 
 your virtue after your day's work is done. 
 
 " Be thou diligent to know the state of thy 
 flocks, and look well to thy herds. 
 
 " For riches are not for ever ; and doth the 15 
 crown endure to every generation ? 
 
 " The hay appeareth, and the tender grass 
 showeth itself, and herbs of the mountains are 
 gathered. 
 
 " The lambs are for thy clothing, and the 20 
 goats are the price of the field. 
 
 ^^And thou shalt have goats' milk enough for 
 thy food, for the food of thy household, and for 
 the maintenance of thy maidens." 
 
 sane : sound, healthy. — quickening : making alive. — radiate : 
 send out, give forth. 
 
74 THE HILL READERS 
 
 THE HERO 
 
 Henry Jerome Stock ard 
 
 Henry Jerome Stockard (1858- ), poet and teacher, 
 was born in Chatham County, North Carolina, but was reared in 
 Alamance County. After completing his high-school course he 
 passed to the University of North Carolina. 
 6 Mr. Stockard now holds the chair of English in Peace Insti- 
 tute, Raleigh, North Carolina. He has contributed poems to 
 many American periodicals, and his single volume, Fugitive Lines, 
 has had a good circulation. 
 
 To be a hero must you do some deed 
 10 With which your name shall ring the world 
 around ? 
 With blade uplifted must you dare to lead 
 
 Where armies reel on slopes with lightning 
 crowned ? 
 
 Or must you set for polar seas your sails, 
 
 And chart the Arctic's silent realms and gray? 
 16 Or drag your barge through virgin streams in pales 
 Of undiscovered lands ? I tell you, Nay! 
 
 Who is earth's greatest hero ? He that bears, 
 
 Deep buried in his kingly heart, his lot 
 
 Of suffering ; and, if need be, he that dares 
 
 20 Lay down his life for right, and falters not ! 
 
 pales : bounds or limits. 
 
BOOK FOUR 75 
 
 THE HERDSMAN'S SONG 
 
 JOHANN FrIEDRICH VON SCHILLER 
 
 Schiller (1759-1805) was a German poetical genius. He 
 was the son of an overseer of nurseries on the estate of the Duke 
 of Wtirttemberg, and was educated through the kindness of the 
 duke. After being graduated as a military surgeon, he left his 
 profession to give his life to poetry. In later life Schiller and 5 
 the great Goethe were warm friends. 
 
 Ye meadows, farewell ! 
 
 Ye sunniest pastures, ' ' 
 
 The herdsman must leave you, 
 
 The summer is gone. lo 
 
 We go from the hills, we come ere long 
 When the cuckoo calls and the sound of song ; 
 When the earth with blossoms again is gay. 
 When the fountains gush in the lovely May. 
 
 Ye meadows, farewell ! i5 
 
 Ye sunniest pastures. 
 
 The herdsman must leave you, 
 
 The summer is gone. 
 
76 THE HILL KEADERS 
 
 THE BATTLE IN THE DARK^ 
 
 Geobge Gary Eggleston 
 
 George Gary Eggleston (1839- ) was born in Indiana. 
 He was educated at Richmond College, Virginia, and at the Uni- 
 versity of Virginia. He studied and practiced law in Richmond. 
 In the Civil War he served on the Southern side. At the close of 
 5 the war he removed to Cairo, Illinois, and resumed the practice 
 of law. In 1870 he made his home in New York and became an 
 editor. Mr. Eggleston has written many entertaining books for 
 young people. 
 
 When the British succeeded in taking Lieuten- 
 10 ant Jones's little gunboats and making a landing 
 they supposed that the hardest part of their work 
 was done. It was not far from their landing place 
 to New Orleans, and there was nothing in their 
 way. Their army numbered nearly twenty thou- 
 15 sand men, and they were the best soldiers that 
 England had. Many of them were Wellington's 
 veterans. It seemed certain that such an army 
 could march into New Orleans with very little 
 trouble indeed, and everybody on both sides thought 
 20 so, — that is to say, everybody but General Jack- 
 son, the American commander. 
 
 On the 23d of December, 1814, the British 
 arrived at a point a few miles below the city and 
 
 1 From Strange Stories from American History. Copyright, 1903. 
 Harper & Brothers, Publishers. 
 
BOOK FOUR 77 
 
 went into camp about noon. As soon as Jackson 
 heard of their arrival he said to the people around 
 him, " Gentlemen, the British are below ; we must 
 fight them to-night." 
 
 He immediately ordered his troops forward. He 5 
 had made a soldier of everybody who could carry 
 a gun, and his little army was a curiously mixed 
 collection of men. There were a few regulars in 
 uniform ; there were some Mississippi troopers, and 
 Coffee's Kentucky and Tennessee himters in hunt- lo 
 ing shirts and jean trousers ; there were volun- 
 teers of all sorts from the streets of New Orleans, 
 — merchants, lawyers, laborers, clerks, and clergy- 
 men, — armed with rifles and old muskets ; there 
 were some criminals whom Jackson had released i5 
 from prison on condition that they would fight; 
 there was a battalion of free negroes, and, finally, 
 there were about twenty Choctaw Indians. 
 
 With this mixed crowd Jackson had to fight the 
 very best troops in the British army. Only about 20 
 half of his men had ever heard a bullet whistle, 
 and less than half of them were drilled and dis- 
 ciphned ; but they were brave men who believed 
 in their general, and they were about to fight 
 for their country as brave men should. When 25 
 all were counted — backwoodsmen, regulars, city 
 
78 THE HILL READERS 
 
 volunteers, negroes, Indians, and all — the whole 
 army numbered only 2131 men ! But, weak as this 
 force was, Jackson had made up his mind to fight 
 with it. He knew that the British were too strong 
 
 5 for him, but he knew too that every day would 
 make them stronger. 
 
 The British camp was nine miles below the <?ity, 
 on a narrow strip of land between the river and a 
 swamp. Jackson sent a gunboat, the Carolina, 
 
 10 down the river, with orders to anchor in front of 
 the camp and pour a fire of grapeshot into it. 
 He sent Coffee across to the swamp and ordered 
 him to creep through the bushes, and thus get 
 upon the right flank of the British. He kept the 
 
 16 rest of his army under his own command, ready to 
 
 advance from the front upon the enemy's position. 
 
 But no attack was to be made until after dark. 
 
 The army was kept well out of sight and the 
 
 British had no suspicion that any attack was 
 
 20 thought of. They did not regard Jackson's men 
 as soldiers at all, and the most they expected such 
 a mob to do was to wait somewhere below the city 
 until the British soldiers should get ready to drive 
 them away with a few volleys. 
 
 26 So the British lighted their camp fires, stacked 
 their arms for the night, and cooked their suppers. 
 
80 THE HILL READERS 
 
 They meant to stay where they were for a day or 
 two until the rest of their force could come up, 
 and then they expected to march into the town 
 and make themselves at home. 
 
 5 Night came on, and it was exceedingly dark. 
 At half past seven o'clock there came a flash and 
 a roar. The Carolina, lyii^g in the river within a 
 few hundred yards of the camp, had begun to pour 
 her broadsides into the British quarters. Her can- 
 
 10 non vomited fire and sent a hailstorm of grape- 
 shot into the camp, while the marines on board 
 kept up a steady fire of small arms. 
 
 The British were completely surprised, but they 
 were not to be scared by a surprise. They quickly 
 
 15 formed a line on the bank and, bringing up some 
 cannon, gave battle to the saucy gunboat. 
 
 For ten minutes this fight went on between the 
 Americans on the river and the British on shore ; 
 then Jackson ordered his troops to advance. His 
 
 20 columns rushed forward and fell upon the enemy, 
 surprising them and forcing them to fight on two 
 sides at once. Coffee, who was hidden over in the 
 s^amp, no sooner heard the roar of the Carolina's 
 guns than he gave the word to advance, and, rush- 
 
 25 ing but of the bushes, his Yough hunters attacked 
 still another side of the enemy's position. 
 
BOOK FOUR 81 
 
 Still the sturdy British held their ground and 
 fought like the brave men and good soldiers that 
 they were. It was too dark for anybody to see 
 clearly what was going on. The lines on both 
 sides were soon broken up into independent groups 5 
 of soldiers, who could not see in what direction 
 they were marching. Regiments and battalions 
 wandered about at their own discretion, fighting 
 whatever bodies of the enemy they met, and some- 
 times getting hopelessly entangled with each other, lo 
 Never was there so complete a jumble on "a battle- 
 field. Whenever two bodies of troops met they had 
 to call out to each other to find out whether they 
 were friends or foes; then, if one body proved to 
 be Americans and the other British, they delivered 15 
 a volley and rushed upon each other in a desperate 
 struggle for mastery. 
 
 Sometimes a regiment would win success in one 
 direction, and just as its enemy on that side was 
 driven back it would be attacked from the oppo- 20 
 site quarter. Coffee's men were armed with squir- 
 rel rifles, which, of course, had no bayonets; but 
 the men had long hunting knives, and with no 
 better weapons than these they did not hesitate 
 to make charge after charge upon the lines of 25 
 bayonets. 
 
82 THE HILL READERS 
 
 The British suffered terribly from the first, but 
 their steadiness was never lost for a moment. The 
 mad onset of the Americans broke their lines, and in 
 the darkness it was impossible to form them again 
 5 promptly ; but still the men kept up the fight, while 
 the officers, as rapidly as they could, directed their 
 detached columns toward protected positions. 
 
 Retreating slowly and in as good order as they 
 could, the British got beyond the range of the 
 
 10 Carolina s guns by nine o'clock, and, finding a 
 position where a bank of earth served for a breast- 
 work, they made a final stand there. It was im- 
 possible to drive them from such a position, and so, 
 little by little, the Americans withdrew, and at ten 
 
 15 o'clock the Battle in the Dark was at an end. 
 
 Now let us see what Jackson had gained or lost 
 by this hasty attack. The British were still in a 
 position to threaten New Orleans, and the rest of 
 their large army was hurrying forward to help 
 
 20 them. They had lost a great many more men than 
 Jackson had, but they could spare men better than 
 he could. Still the attack was equal to a victory 
 for the Americans. It is almost certain that if Jack- 
 son had waited another day before fighting he would 
 
 26 have lost New Orleans and the whole Southwest 
 would have been overrun. 
 
BOOK FOUR . 83 
 
 But by making this night attack he showed the 
 British that he could and would fight ; and they^ 
 finding what kind of a defense he meant to make, 
 made up their minds to move slowly and cau- 
 tiously. They waited for the rest of their force to 5 
 come up, and when they made their grand attack 
 on the 8th of January, 1815, they found Jackson 
 ready for them. His army was increased, his men 
 were full of confidence, and, best of all, he had a 
 line of strong earthworks. It is commonly said that lo 
 his fortifications were made of cotton bales, but that 
 is an error. When he first began to fortify he used 
 some cotton bales and some sygar, which, it was 
 thought, would do instead of sand ; but in the early 
 skirmishes it was found that the sugar would not i5 
 stop cannon balls, while the cotton was worse be- 
 cause it took fire and nearly suffocated the men 
 behind it with smoke. The cotton and sugar were 
 at once thrown aside and the battle of New Orleans 
 was fought behind earthworks. In that battle the 20 
 British were so badly worsted that they gave up all 
 idea of taking New Orleans, which, a month before, 
 they had believed it would be so easy to capture. 
 
 battalion: a battalion at that time was usually made up of 
 two or more companies. — grapeshot: small iron balls used in 
 smooth-bore cannon marines : sea soldiers. 
 
84 THE HILL READERS 
 
 THE CHILDREN 
 
 Benjamin Sledd 
 
 Benjamin Sledd (1864- ), poet and teacher, was born 
 in Bedford County, Virginia. After being graduated at Wash- 
 ington and Lee University, he took post-graduate work at Johns 
 Hopkins University. 
 6 Since 1888 he has been professor of English in Wake Forest 
 College, North Carolina. He has published two volumes of verse, 
 From Cliff and Scaur and Watchers of the Hearth. 
 
 No more of work ! Yet ere I seek my bed, 
 Noiseless into the children's room I go, 
 10 With its fom* little couches all a-row, 
 And bend a moment over each dear head. 
 
 Those soft, round arms upon the pillow spread, 
 Those dreaming lips babbling more than we 
 
 know. 
 One tearful, smothered sigh of baby woe — 
 16 Fond words of chiding, would they were unsaid ! 
 
 And while on each moist brow a kiss I lay 
 With tremulous rapture grown almost to pain. 
 Close at my side I hear a whispered name : — 
 Our long-lost babe, who with the dawning came, 
 20 And in the midnight went from us again. 
 
 And with bowed head, one good-night more I say. 
 
BOOK FOUR 85 
 
 THE STORY OF THE CABLE 
 
 James Thomas Fields 
 
 James Thomas Fields (1817-1881), publisher, editor, and 
 author, was born in Portsmouth, New Hampshire. He succeeded 
 James Russell Lowell as editor of the Atlantic Monthly in 1862. 
 
 His home was long a gathering place for literary men. There 
 Emerson, Longfellow, Agassiz, Lowell, Holmes, and others en- 5 
 gaged in wit combats that almost rivaled those of Shakespeare, 
 Ben Jonson, and their merry friends at the old Mermaid Tavern 
 in London. 
 
 There is a faith so expansive and a hope so elastic 
 that a man having them will keep on believing lo 
 and hoping till all danger is passed and victory is 
 sure. When I talk across an ocean three thousand 
 miles, with my friends on the other side of it, and 
 feel that I may know any hour of the day if all 
 goes well with them, I think with gratitude of the i5 
 immense energy and perseverance of that one man, 
 Cyrus W. Field, who spent so many years of his 
 life in perfecting communication, second only in 
 importance to the discovery of this country. The 
 story of his patient striving during all that stormy 20 
 period is one of the noblest records of American 
 enterprise, and only his own family know the 
 whole of it. It was a long, hard struggle. Thir- 
 teen years of anxious watching and ceaseless toil ! 
 
86 THE HILL KEADEES 
 
 Think what that enthusiast accomplished by his 
 untiring energy. He made fifty voyages across the 
 Atlantic, and when everything looked darkest for 
 his enterprise his courage never flagged for an 
 6 instant. He must have suffered privations and 
 dangers manifold. Think of him in those gloomy 
 periods pacing the decks of ships on dark, stormy 
 nights, in mid-ocean, or wandering in the desolate 
 forests of Newfoundland in pelting rains, comforir 
 10 less and forlorn. I saw him in 1858, immediately 
 after the first cable had ceased to throb. Public 
 excitement had grown wild over the mysterious 
 workings of those flashing wires, and when they 
 stopped speaking the reaction was intense. Stock- 
 is holders, as well as the public generally, grew exas- 
 perated and suspicious ; unbelievers sneered at the 
 whole project, and called the scheme a hoax from 
 the beginning. They declared that never a mes- 
 sage had passed through the unresponsive wires, 
 20 and that Cyrus Field was a liar. The odium cast 
 upon him. was boundless. He was the butt and the 
 byword of his time. 
 
 It was at this moment I saw him, and I well 
 
 remember in what a cowardly manner I acted 
 
 25 and how courageous he appeared. I had scarcely 
 
 dared to face the man who had encountered such an 
 
BOOK FOUK 
 
 87 
 
 overwhelming disappointment, and who was suffer- 
 ing such a terrible disgrace. But when we met, and 
 I saw how he rose to the occasion, and did not 
 abate one jot of heart or hope, I felt that this man 
 
 was indeed master of the situation, and would yet 
 silence the hosts of doubters who were thrusting 
 their darts into his sensitive spirit. Eight years 
 more he endured the odium of failure, but still 
 kept plowing across the Atlantic, flying from city 
 
88 THE HILL READERS 
 
 to city, soliciting capital, holding meetings, and 
 forcing down the most colossal discouragement. 
 
 At last day dawned again and another cable 
 was paid out, this time from the deck of the Great 
 5 Eastern. Twelve hundred miles of it were laid 
 down, and the ship was just lifting her head to a 
 stiff breeze then springing up, when, without a 
 moment's warning, the cable suddenly snapped 
 short off and plunged into the sea. 
 
 10 Says the published account of this great disaster : 
 " Mr. Field came from the companion way into 
 the saloon, and observed with admirable composure, 
 though his lip quivered and his cheek was white, 
 ' The cable has parted, and has gone from the reel 
 
 15 overboard.'" Nine days and nights they dragged 
 the bottom of the sea for this lost treasure, and 
 though they grappled it three times, they could 
 not bring it to the surface. 
 
 In that most eloquent speech made by Mr. Field 
 
 20 at the Chamber of Commerce banquet in New Yorky 
 one of the most touching recitals on record, he 
 said : " We returned to England defeated, but full 
 of resolution to begin the battle anew." And this 
 time his energy was greater even than before. In 
 
 25 five months another cable was shipped on board 
 the Chreat Eastern, and this time, by the blessing of 
 
BOOK FOUR 89 
 
 Heaven, the wires were stretched unharmed from 
 continent to continent. Then came that never-to- 
 be-forgotten search, in four ships, for the lost cable. 
 In the bow of one of these vessels stood Cyrus 
 Field, day and night, in storm and fog, squall and 5 
 calm, intently watching the quiver of the grapnel 
 that was dragging two miles down on the bottom 
 of the deep. 
 
 At length, on the last night of August, a little 
 before midnight, the spirit of this brave man was lo 
 rewarded. I shall here quote his own words, as 
 none others could possibly convey so well the thrill- 
 ing interest of that hour. He says: "All felt as 
 if life and death hung on that issue. It was only 
 when the cable was brought over the bow and on i5 
 to the deck that men dared to breathe. Even then 
 they hardly believed their eyes. Some crept toward 
 it to feel it, to be sure it was there. Then we car- 
 ried it along to the electrician's room, to see if our 
 long-sought treasure was alive or dead. A few 20 
 minutes of suspense, and the flash told of the light- 
 ning current again set free. Then the feeling long 
 pent up burst forth. Some turned away their heads 
 and wept. Others broke into cheers, and the cry 
 ran from man to man, and was heard down in the 25 
 engine rooms, deck below deck, and from the boats 
 
90 THE HILL READERS 
 
 on the water, and the other ships, while rockets 
 lighted up the darkness of the sea. Then with 
 thankful hearts we turned our faces again to the 
 west. But soon the wind rose, and for thirty-six 
 5 hours we were exposed to all the dangers of a 
 storm on the Atlantic. Yet in the very height 
 and fury of the gale, as I sat in the electrician's 
 room, a flash of light came up from the deep, 
 which, having crossed to Ireland, came back to 
 
 10 me in mid-ocean, telling me that those so dear to 
 me, whom I had left on the banks of the Hudson, 
 were well, and following us with their wishes and 
 their prayers. This was like a whisper of God 
 from the sea, bidding me keep heart and hope." 
 
 15 And now, after all these thirteen years of almost 
 superhuman struggle, and that one moment of 
 almost superhuman victory, I think that it is safe 
 to include Cyrus W. Field among the masters of 
 the situation. 
 
 expansive: given to spreading. — enthusiast: one devoted to 
 an idea. — reaction: action in a contrary way. — exasperated: 
 
 provoked. — odium: hatred paid out: allowed to run out. — 
 
 grapnel : an anchor with several claws. 
 
BOOK FOUR 91 
 
 THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH 
 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 
 
 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882) is perhaps 
 the poet of America with whom our young people are most 
 familiar. He is often called the Children's Poet. 
 
 Longfellow was born in Portland, Maine, and was graduated 
 from Bowdoin College. Immediately after his graduation, he 5 
 was offered the chair of modern languages in his alma mater. 
 Accepting the offer, he went abroad for two years to fit himself 
 for the duties he was to undertake. He studied in France, Spain, 
 Italy, and Germany. Returning to America in 1829, he entered 
 upon his duties at Bowdoin. Although he was a studious and 10 
 hard-working professor, he found time for literary work, contri- 
 buting to the North American Review and other periodicals. This 
 began his poetic career. 
 
 In 1835 he was elected to the chair of modern languages in 
 Harvard University, but before taking up his new work he again 15 
 went to Europe to study German and the Scandinavian languages. 
 In 1836 he began his professorial duties at Harvard and con- 
 tinued there until 1854. He then resigned and gave all his time 
 to literary pursuits. 
 
 Longfellow's life was singularly pure and gentle. At his home 20 
 in the old Craigie House, once used as headquarters for General 
 Washington, all comers were sure of a courteous and friendly 
 welcome. Among his friends were Emerson, Agassiz, Lowell, 
 Holmes, Prescott, Hawthorne, Ticknor, Sparks, and many others 
 prominent in their day. 25 
 
 As a child he was gentle, straightforward, truthful, and 
 beautiful of soul ; when he became a man these same qualities 
 were the groundwork of his character. <' The key to his charac- 
 ter," writes his brother, "was sympathy. This made him the 
 gentle and courteous receiver of every visitor, however obscure, 30 
 
92 THE HILL KEADERS 
 
 however tedious ; the ready responder to every appeal to his pity 
 or his purse. . . . This gave to his poetry the human element 
 which made in thousands of hearts in many lands a shrine of 
 reverence and affection for his name." Among his longer poems 
 5 are Hiawatha, Evangeline, Tales of a Wayside Inn, and The Court- 
 ship of Miles Standish. 
 
 Under a spreading chestnut-tree 
 
 The village smithy stands ; 
 The smith, a mighty man is he, 
 10 With large and sinewy hands; 
 
 And the muscles of his brawny arms 
 
 Are strong as iron bands. 
 
 His hair is crisp, and black, and long, 
 His face is like the tan ; 
 15 His brow is wet with honest sweat, 
 
 He earns whate'er he can. 
 And looks the whole world in the face, 
 For he owes not any man. 
 
 Week in, week out, from morn till night, 
 20 You can hear his bellows blow ; 
 
 You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, 
 
 With measured beat and slow. 
 Like a sexton ringing the village bell, 
 
 When the evening sun is low. 
 
BOOK FOUR 
 
 93 
 
 And children coming home from school 
 
 Look in at the open door ; 
 They love to see the flaming forge, 
 
 And hear the bellows roar, 
 And catch the burning sparks that fly 
 
 Like chaff from a threshing-floor. 
 
94 THE HILL READERS 
 
 He goes on Sunday to the church, 
 
 And sits among his boys ; 
 He hears the parson pray and preach, 
 He hears his daughter's voice, 
 6 Singing in the village choir. 
 
 And it makes his heart rejoice. 
 
 It sounds to him like her mother's voice. 
 
 Singing in Paradise ! 
 He needs must think of her once more, 
 10 How in the grave she lies ; 
 
 And with his hard, rough hand he wipes 
 • A tear out of his eyes. 
 
 Toiling, — rejoicing, — sorrowing. 
 Onward through life he goes ; 
 15 Each morning sees some task begin. 
 
 Each evening sees it close ; 
 
 Something attempted, something done. 
 Has earned a night's repose. 
 
 Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, 
 20 For the lesson thou hast taught ! 
 
 Thus at the flaming forge of life 
 
 Our fortunes must be wrought ; 
 Thus on its sounding anvil shaped 
 
 Each burning deed and thought. 
 
BOOK FOUR 95 
 
 THREE FAMOUS LEGENDS 
 HoKACE Elisha Scudder 
 
 Horace Elisha Scudder (1838-1902), who has retold these 
 famous legends, was born in Boston and educated at Williams Col- 
 lege. He taught school for some years in New York City. On his 
 father's death he returned to Boston and became a writer. In 1867 
 he was editor of the Riverside Magazine for Young People. In 1890 he 5 
 followed Thomas Bailey Aldrich as editor of the Atlantic Monthly. 
 
 Scudder 's Seven Little People and Their- Friends, Dream Children, 
 Stories from My Attic, The Children's Book, and The Bodley Books 
 all appeal to children. 
 
 I. St. George and the Dragon 
 
 In the country of Libya in Asia Minor there was a lo 
 town called Silene, and near the town was a pond that 
 was the roving place of a monster dragon. Many 
 times had great armies been sent to slay him, but 
 never had they been able to overcome him. Instead, 
 he had driven them back to the walls of the city. 15 
 
 Whenever this dragon drew near the city walls 
 his breath was so full of poison that it caused the 
 death of all who were within reach of it ; and so, 
 to save the city, it was the custom to throw each 
 day two sheep to feed the dragon and satisfy his 20 
 hunger. So it went on until not a sheep was left, 
 and not one could be found in the neighborhood. 
 
96 THE HILL READERS 
 
 Then the people took counsel and drew lots, and 
 each day a man or a woman and one of their cattle 
 were given to the dragon, so that he might not de- 
 stroy the city. Rich or poor, high or low, some one 
 
 5 must each day be sacrificed to the dreadful dragon. 
 
 Now it came to pass one day that the princess 
 
 herself was drawn by lot. The king was filled with 
 
 horror. He offered in exchange his gold, his silver, 
 
 and half his realm if she might but be spared. All 
 
 10 he could obtain was a respite of eight days in which 
 to mourn the fate of the girl. 
 
 At the end of that time the people came to the 
 palace and said : " Why do you spare your daughter 
 and kill your subjects ? Every day we are slain by 
 
 15 the breath of the monster." So the king knew 
 he must part with his daughter. He dressed her in 
 her richest apparel, and kissed her, and said : "Ah, 
 my dearest daughter ! I had thought to die and 
 leave you happy. I hoped to have invited princes 
 
 20 to your wedding, and to have had music and 
 
 . dancing. I hoped to see your children, and now I 
 must send you to the dragon." 
 
 The princess wept and clung to her father and 
 begged him to bless her. So he did, weeping 
 
 26 bitterly, and she left him and went, like those be- 
 fore her, to the lake where the dragon dwelt. 
 
BOOK FOUR 
 
 97 
 
 Now these people of Libya were heathen ; but in 
 Cappadocia, not far away, was a Christian named 
 George, and this George was a young man of noble 
 bearing. He heard in a vision that he was to go to 
 Libya, and so he rode his horse toward that city, 
 and he was hard by the lake when he saw the 
 
98 THE HILL READERS 
 
 princess standing alone, weeping bitterly^ He asked 
 her why she wept and she only said : " Good youth, 
 mount your horse again and flee, lest you perish 
 with me." 
 6 But George said to her : " Do not fear. Tell me 
 what you await and why the vast crowd yonder are 
 watching you." 
 
 Again she begged him to flee. 
 
 ^'You have a kind and noble heart, sir, I per- 
 10 ceive," said she ; " yet flee, and at once." 
 
 "Not so," said George; "I will first hear your 
 tale." 
 
 Then she told him all. 
 
 " Be of good courage," said he. " It was for this 
 15 I was sent." 
 
 " Do not, brave knight, seek to die with me. It 
 is enough that I should perish. You can neither 
 save me nor yourself from this terrible dragon." 
 At that moment the dragon rose with a great bel- 
 20 lowing from the lake. " Fly! fly! " said the trem- 
 bling princess. '' Fly, sir knight ! " 
 
 But George, nothing daunted, made the sign of 
 
 the cross and went forward boldly to meet the 
 
 dragon, commending himself to God. He raised 
 
 25 his spear and flung it with all his force at the neck 
 
 of the monster. So surely did the spear fly that it 
 
BOOK FOUR 99 
 
 pierced the neck and pinned the dragon to the 
 ground. 
 
 Then he bade the princess take her girdle and 
 pass it round the spear, and fear nothing. She did 
 so, and the dragon rose and followed her like a 5 
 docile hound. George led his horse and walked 
 beside her, and thus they entered the city. The 
 people began to flee when they saw the dread 
 beast, but George stayed them. 
 
 "Fear not," said he. "This monster can no lo 
 longer harm you. The Lord sent me to deliver 
 you." And so the multitude followed, and they 
 came before the palace where the king sat sor- 
 rowing. And when the king heard the mighty 
 rejoicing he came forth and saw his beloved 15 
 daughter safe, with the dragon at her heels. 
 
 Then George took his sword and smote off the 
 dragon's head, and all the people hailed him as 
 their deliverer. But George bade them give glory to 
 the Lord ; and he remained and taught them the 20 
 new faith, so that the king and the princess and all 
 the people were baptized. And when George died 
 he was called St. George, and it fell out finally that 
 he became the patron saint of merry England. 
 
 respite : delay. — apparel : dress. — docile : easily managed. — 
 hailed : welcomed. 
 
100 THE HILL READERS 
 
 II. The Bell of Justice 
 
 A Roman emperor had tlie ill fortune to lose 
 his sight. He wished that his people might not 
 be the worse for this loss; so he hung a bell in 
 his palace, and a law was made that any one who 
 
 6 had a wrong to be righted must pull the rope with 
 his own hands and thus ring the bell. When the 
 bell rung a judge went down to hear the com- 
 plaint and righted the wrong. 
 
 It chanced that a serpent had its home under 
 
 10 the end of the bell rope. Here it brought forth its 
 young, and one day when the little serpents could 
 leave the place it led them out for fresh air. 
 While they were gone a toad came and took a 
 fancy to the place. Nor would he go away when 
 
 16 the serpent came back. 
 
 The serpent could not drive the toad out, so it 
 coiled its tail about the bell rope and rang the 
 bell of justice. Down came the judge, but saw 
 nobody and went back. Again the serpent rang 
 
 20 the bell in the same way. 
 
 This time the judge looked about with the greatr 
 est care and at last espied the serpent and the toad. 
 He went back to the emperor and told him what 
 he had seen. 
 
BOOK FOUR ' ,^ 101^ 
 
 " It is very clear," said the emperor, ^' that the 
 toad is in the wrong. Go down, drive out the toad, 
 kill it, and let the serpent have its place again." 
 
 All this was done. Now, not many days after, 
 as the emperor lay in his bed, the serpent came 5 
 into the room, and toward the emperor's bed. The 
 servants were about to drive the serpent away, 
 but the emperor forbade them. 
 
 "It will do me no harm," said he. "I have 
 been just to it. Let us see what it will do/' lo 
 
 At that the serpent glided up the bed and laid 
 a precious stone, which it carried in its mouth, 
 upon the emperor's eyes. Then it slipped out of 
 the room and no one saw it again. But no sooner 
 had the stone lain on the eyes of the emperor than is 
 his sight was restored and he could see as well as 
 other men. 
 
 III. The Flying Dutchmai^t 
 
 Once upon a time a Dutch ship set sail from 
 the East Indies to return to Holland. The Dutch 
 had rich lands in the East Indies, and many a 20 
 poor lad went out from Holland before the mast 
 and landed at Java, it may be, and there settled 
 himself and grew rich. 
 
1012 THE HILL EEADERS 
 
 Such a one was a certain Diedrich, who had no 
 father or mother living, and was left to shift for 
 himself. When he came to Java he was bound 
 out to a rich planter ; and he worked so hard and 
 
 5 so faithfully that it was not long before he was 
 free and his own master. Little by little he saved 
 his money, and as he was very careful it was not 
 many years before he was very rich indeed. 
 
 Now all these years Diedrich had never forgotten 
 
 10 what a hard time he had had when he was a boy; 
 and at last, when he was a man grown and had 
 his fortune, he resolved to carry out a plan which 
 he had made. He sold his lands and houses which 
 he owned in Java, and all his goods, and took the 
 
 15 money he received in bags aboard a ship which 
 was to return to Holland. 
 
 He was the only passenger on board, but he was 
 a friendly man and soon was on good terms with 
 the captain and all the crew. One day, as the ship 
 
 20 drew near the Cape of Good Hope, Diedrich was 
 sitting by the captain, and they each fell to talking 
 about their early life. 
 
 "And what," said Diedrich to the captain, " do 
 you mean to do when you make a few more voy- 
 
 25 ages and have saved up money enough not to 
 need to go to sea any more?" 
 
BOOK FOUR 103 
 
 " I know well," said the captain, as he pulled 
 away at his pipe. " There is a httle house I know 
 by a canal just outside of Amsterdam. I mean to 
 buy that house; and I will have a summerhouse 
 in the garden, and there I will sit all day long 5 
 smoking my pipe, while my wife sits by my side 
 and knits, and the children play in the garden." 
 
 " Then you have children ? " 
 
 " That I have," said the captain, and he went 
 on to name them, and to tell how old each one lo 
 was and how bright they were. It was good to 
 hear him, for he was a simple man, and cared for 
 nothing so much as his wife and little ones. 
 
 ^^And what," at last the captain said to Died- 
 rich, ■' shall you do ? " is 
 
 '^Ah, I have no wife or children, and there is 
 no one in all Holland who will be glad to see me 
 come home." Then he told of what a hard time 
 he had when he was a youngster, and at last, as 
 the darkness grew deeper, and he sat there alone 20 
 with the captain, he suddenly told him his plan. 
 
 ■' I have made a great deal of money," said he, 
 "which you know I am carrying home with me. 
 I will tell you what I am going to do with it. 
 There are a great many poor children in Amster- 25 
 dam who have no home. I am going to build a 
 
104 THE HILL READERS 
 
 great house and live in it, and I am going to have 
 the biggest family of any one in Amsterdam. 1 
 shall take the poorest and most miserable chil- 
 dren in the city, and they shall be my sons and 
 
 5 daughters." 
 
 ^'And you shall bring them out to my house," 
 said the captain, " and your children and mine shall 
 play together." So they talked and talked, until 
 at last it was very late, and they went to their 
 
 10 cabins for the night. 
 
 Now while they were talking the man at the 
 wheel listened; and as he heard of the gold that 
 Diedrich was carrying home, his evil heart began 
 to covet it. As he steered the ship, and after his 
 
 15 turn was over, he thought and thought how he 
 could get that gold. He knew it would be impos- 
 sible for him alone to seize it, and so he whispered 
 about it to one and another of the sailors. 
 
 The crew had been got together hastily. There 
 
 20 was not one Dutchman among them, and there 
 was not one of the crew who had not committed 
 some crime. They were wicked men, and when 
 the sailor told them of the gold that was on board 
 they were ready for anything. 
 
 25 The ship drew nearer the Cape of Good Hope, 
 and the captain walked the deck with Diedrich, 
 
BOOK FOUR 105 
 
 and they both talked of the Holland to which they 
 were going, when suddenly they were seized from 
 behind and tightly bound. At the same instant 
 the officers of the ship, the mate and the second 
 mate, were seized, and now the ship was in the 5 
 hands of the mutinous crew. 
 
 These wicked men made short work. They 
 threw the captain and Diedrich and the two 
 mates, each bound hand and foot, into the sea. 
 " Dead men tell no tales," said the man at the lo 
 wheel. Then they sailed for the nearest port. But 
 as they sailed a horrible plague broke out on board. 
 It was a plague which made the men crave water 
 for their burning throats, and as they fought to 
 get at the water casks they spilled all the water 15 
 they had. 
 
 There they were, in the midst of the salt sea, 
 which only to look at made them wild with thirst. 
 Though they feared what might befall them if 
 they made for the land, they could not stand the 20 
 raging thirst and they steered for the nearest port. 
 
 But when they came into the port the people 
 saw that they had the plague and they refused to 
 let them land. 
 
 " We have great store of gold," the crew cried 25 
 with their parched mouths. " Only give us water ! " 
 
106 THE HILL READERS 
 
 But the people drove them away. It was the same 
 when they went to the next port, and the next. 
 They turned back, away from their homeward 
 voyage, to the ports of the East. 
 
 5 Then a great storm arose and they were driven 
 far out to sea, and when the gale died down they 
 steered again for the land. And when they drew 
 near once more another gale sprang up, and they 
 were driven hither and thither; and once more 
 
 10 they were swept far away from the shore. 
 
 That was years and years ago. But when ships 
 make the Cape of Good Hope, and are rounding 
 it, through the fog and mist and darkness of the 
 night they see a ghostly ship sailing, saihng, never 
 
 15 reaching land, always beating up against the wind. 
 
 . Its sails are torn, the masts are bleached, and there 
 
 are pale figures moving about on deck. Then the 
 
 sailors whisper to each other, " Look ! there is the 
 
 Flying Dutchman ! " 
 
 From The Book of Legends. Copyright, 1899. Houghton, Mifflin 
 & Co., Publishers. 
 
BOOK FOUR 
 
 107 
 
 THE BOW OF EURYTUS' 
 
 James Baldwin 
 
 James Baldwin (1841- ), an American author, was born 
 in Hamilton County, Indiana. He is largely self-educated. He 
 taught school in his own county and became later superintendent 
 of graded schools in Huntington and other cities. Attracted to 
 New York, he was selected as one of the assistant editors of 
 Harper's Magazine. 
 
 He has written many books for young people, among which 
 are The Story of Siegfried, The Story of Roland, The Story of the 
 Golden Age, Old Greek Stories, Old Stories from the East, etc. 
 
 One evening there came to Pherae a lordly lo 
 stranger, bringing with him a train of well-armed 
 men and bearing a handsome present for Orsil- 
 ochus. He was very tall and handsome ; he stood 
 erect as a mountain pine and his eyes flashed keen 
 
 1 From The Story of the Golden Age. Copyright, 1888. Charles 
 Scribner's Sons, Publishers. 
 
108 THE HILL READEKS 
 
 and sharp as those of an eagle ; but his long white 
 hair and frosted beard betokened a man of many 
 years, and his furrowed brow showed plainly that 
 he had not lived free from care. 
 6 " I am Iphitus of (Echalia," he said ; " and I am 
 journeying to Lacedaemon where Tyndareus rules." 
 When Odysseus heard the name of Iphitus he 
 remembered it as that of a dear friend of whom 
 his father had often spoken ; and he asked : "Are 
 
 10 you that Iphitus who sailed with Jason to golden 
 Colchis ? And do you remember among your com- 
 rades one Laertes of Ithaca ? " 
 
 "There is but one Iphitus," was the answer, 
 " and I am he. Never can I forget the noble- 
 
 15 hearted Laertes of Ithaca; for on board the Argo 
 he was my messmate, my bedfellow, my friend, my 
 sworn brother. There is no man whom I love more 
 dearly. Would that I could see him, or even know 
 that he still lives." 
 
 20 When he learned that Odysseus was the son of 
 his old-time friend he was overjoyed ; and he took 
 him by the hand and wept for very gladness. 
 
 One day, as they were walking alone outside of 
 the city walls, Iphitus said, " Do you see this noble 
 
 26 bow which I carry, and which I always keep within 
 easy reach?" 
 
BOOK FOUR, 109 
 
 ^^It would be hard not to see it," answered 
 Odysseus, smiling ; " for where you are there also 
 is the bow. I have often wondered why you guard 
 it with so great care." 
 
 " It is the bow of my father Eurytus," answered 5 
 the hero ; " and, next to Apollo's silver weapon, it 
 is the most wonderful ever made. Much grief has 
 it brought upon our house; and yet it was not 
 the bow, but my father's overweening pride, that 
 wrought the mischief and caused me to g^)- sorrow- lo 
 ing through life. Shall I finish my story by telling 
 you how it all ended ? " 
 
 " Tell me all," answered Odysseus. 
 
 " My father Eurytus, as I have said, was the 
 king of the archers; for no man could draw an 15 
 arrow with so unerring aim as he, and no man 
 could send it straight to the mark with a more 
 deadly force. Every thought of his waking hours 
 was upon his bow, and he aspired to excel even 
 the archery of Artemis and Apollo. At length he 20 
 sent the following challenge into every city of 
 Hellas : 
 
 " ' Whosoever will excel Eurytus in shooting ivith 
 the how and arrows, let him come to (Echalia and 
 try his skill. The prize to he given to him ivho 25 
 succeeds is lole, the fair daughter of Eurytus' 
 
110 THE HILL READERS 
 
 " Then there came to the contest great num- 
 bers of young men, the pride of Hellas. But when 
 they saw this wonderful bow of Eurytus, and tried 
 its strength, their hearts sank within them; and 
 6 when they aimed their shafts at the target they 
 shot far wide of the mark, and my father sent 
 them home ashamed and without the prize. 
 
 " ' My dearest lole,' he would often say, ' I am 
 not afraid of losing you, for there lives no man 
 10 who knows the bow as well as I.* 
 
 "But by and by great Heracles heard of my 
 father's boast, and of the prize which he had 
 offered. 
 
 "^I will go down to CEchalia,' said he, ^and I 
 15 will win the fair lole for my bride.' 
 
 "And when he came my father remembered 
 how he had taught him archery in his youth ; and 
 he felt that in his old pupil he had at last found a 
 peer. Yet he would not cease his boasting. 'If 
 20 the silver-bowed Apollo should come to try his 
 skill, I would not fear to contend even with him.' 
 
 " Then the target was set up, so far away that 
 it seemed as if one might as well shoot at the sun. 
 
 "'Now, my good bow,' said my father, 'thou 
 25 hast never failed me; do thou serve me better 
 to-day than ever before ! * 
 
Ill 
 
112 THE HILL READERS 
 
 "He drew the strong cord back, bending the 
 bow to its utmost tension; and then the swift 
 arrow leaped from its place and sped like a beam 
 of light straight towards, the mark. But before it 
 
 5 reached its goal the strength which my father's 
 arm had imparted to it began to fail ; it wavered 
 in the air, its point turned downward, and it struck 
 the ground at the foot of the target. 
 
 " Then Heracles took up his bow and carelessly 
 
 10 aimed a shaft at the distant mark. Like the light- 
 ning which Zeus hurls from the high clouds straight 
 down upon the head of some lordly oak, so flashed 
 the unfailing arrow through the intervening space, 
 piercing the very center of the target. 
 
 15 "^Lo, now, Eurytus, my old-time friend,' said 
 
 Heracles; Hhou seest that I have won the victory 
 
 , over thee. Where now is the prize, even the lovely 
 
 lole, that was promised to him who could shoot 
 
 better than thou ? ' 
 
 20 "But my father's heart sank within him and 
 shame and grief took mighty hold of him. And 
 he sent lole away in a swift-sailing ship, to the 
 farther shores of the sea, and would not give her 
 to Heracles as he had promised. Then the great 
 
 25 hero turned him about in anger and went back to 
 his home in Calydon, threatening vengeance upon 
 
BOOK FOUE 113 
 
 the house of Eurytus. I besought my father that 
 he would remember his word, and would call lole 
 home again, and would send her to Heracles to be 
 his bride. But he would not hearken, for the great 
 sorrow which weighed upon him. He placed his 5 
 matchless bow in my hands and bade me keep 
 it until I should find a young hero worthy to 
 bear it. 
 
 " ' It has served me well,' he said, ^ but I shall 
 never need it more.' Then he bowed his head upon 10 
 his hands, and when I looked again the life had 
 gone from him. Some men say that Apollo, to 
 punish him for his boasting, slew him with one of 
 his silent arrows ; others say that Heracles smote 
 him because he refused to give to the victor the 15 
 promised prize, even fair lole, the idol of his heart. 
 But I know that it was grief and shame, and 
 neither Apollo nor Heracles, that brought death 
 upon him." 
 
 betokened : foreshowed. — oyerweening : too confident. — peer : 
 equal. — tension: degree to which a thing may be drawn. — 
 intervening : coming between hearken : listen. 
 
114 THE HILL READERS 
 
 SONG OF MARION'S MEN 
 William Cullen Bryant 
 
 William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) was an American 
 poet and journalist. He was born in Cummington, Massachu- 
 setts. His ancestors on both sides were among the Plymouth 
 Pilgrims. He was reared in a home of respectable poverty, 
 5 attended the district school, studied Latin and Greek, spent a 
 year at Williams College as a sophomore, and practiced law for 
 several years. His greatest poem was written when he was a 
 very young man. In 1825 he moved to New York and began 
 the long editorial career that ended only with his death. For 
 10 fifty years he was a distinguished citizen of New York, and his 
 paper, I'he Evening Post, took high rank among the journals of 
 our country. 
 
 Among Bryant's poems will be found such universal favorites 
 as Thanatopsis, with its calm view of death; To a Waterfowl, 
 15 with its simple faith in divine guidance; A Forest Hymn, with 
 its breath of fresh woods ; Death of the Flowers, with its nearness 
 to nature; and the Song of Marion's Men, " in which one hears 
 the very gallop " of those stout-hearted patriots. 
 
 Our band is few, but true and tried, 
 20 Our leader frank and bold ; 
 
 The British soldier trembles 
 
 When Marion's name is told. 
 Our fortress is the good greenwood, 
 Our tent the cypress tree ; 
 25 We know the forest round us, 
 
 As seamen know the sea. 
 
BOOK FOUR 
 
 115 
 
 We know its walls of thorny vines, 
 Its glades of reedy grass, 
 
 Its safe and silent islands 
 Within the dark morass. 
 
 Woe to the English soldiery 
 
 That little dread us near ! 
 On them shall light at midnight 
 
 A strange and sudden fear :. 
 When, waking to their tents on fire. 
 
 They grasp their arms in vain, 
 And they who stand to face us 
 
 Are beat to earth again ; 
 
 10 
 
116 THE HILL READERS 
 
 And they who fly in terror deem 
 
 A mighty host behind, 
 And hear the tramp of thousands 
 
 Upon the hollow wind. 
 
 5 Then sweet the hour that brings release 
 
 From danger and from toil ; 
 We talk the battle over, 
 
 And share the battle's spoil. 
 The woodland rings with laugh and shout, 
 10 As if a hunt were up, 
 
 And woodland flowers are gathered 
 
 To crown the soldier's cup. 
 With merry songs we mock the wind 
 That in the pine top grieves, 
 15 And slumber long and sweetly, 
 
 On beds of oaken leaves. 
 
 Well knows the fair and friendly moon 
 The band that Marion leads — 
 
 The glitter of their rifles, 
 20 The scampering of their steeds. 
 
 T is life our fiery barbs to guide 
 Across the moonlight plains ; 
 
 'T is life to feel the night-wind 
 That lifts their tossing manes. 
 
BOOK FOUR 117 
 
 A moment in the British camp — 
 
 A moment — and away 
 Back to the pathless forest, 
 
 Before the peep of day. 
 
 Grave men there are by broad Santee, 5 
 
 Grave men with hoary hairs, 
 Their hearts are all with Marion, 
 
 For Marion are their prayers. 
 And lovely ladies greet our band. 
 
 With kindliest welcoming, lo 
 
 With smiles like those of summer, 
 
 And tears like those of spring. 
 For them we wear these trusty arms. 
 
 And lay them down no more 
 Till we have driven the Briton 15 
 
 Forever from our shore. 
 
 glade : clear space in a forest. — morass : marsh. — barbs : a 
 shortening of Barbary horses. 
 
118 THE HILL READERS 
 
 THE SAVING OF NESTIE 
 
 Ian Maclaren 
 
 Ian Maclaren (1850- ) is the pen name of Rev. John 
 Watson of Scotland. Dr. Watson became famous as a novelist 
 by his clever Beside the Bonnie Brier Bush. Since the success 
 of that book the author has written many other stories in 
 6 rapid succession. The Saving of Nestie is from his Young Bar- 
 barians. 
 
 In order that young people may have less difficulty in enjoy- 
 ing this story, the editors have taken the liberty of doing away 
 with much of the dialect. 
 
 10 Mr. MacKinnon , nicknamed Bulldog by his pupils, 
 used to promenade the empty schoolroom for ten 
 minutes before the reassembling at two, ^d it was 
 rare indeed that a boy was late. When one after- 
 noon there were only nineteen present and forty- 
 
 15 three absent, he could only look at Dowbiggin, and 
 when that exemplary youth explained that the 
 school had gone up to the top of the Meadow for a 
 bath, and suggested they were still enjoying them- 
 selves. Bulldog was much lifted. 
 
 20 " Bathing is a healthy exercise, and excellent for 
 the mind, but it 's necessary to bring a glow to the 
 skin afterwards, or there might be a chill"; and he 
 searched out and felt a superior cane kept for the 
 treatment of truants and other grievous offenders. 
 
BOOK FOUR 119 
 
 It was exactly 2.15 when the door opened and a 
 procession of forty-two entered panting and breath- 
 less, headed by Duncan Robertson, who carried his 
 head erect, with a light in his eye, and closed by 
 Peter, whose hair was like unto that of a drowned 5 
 rat. The nineteen could only smack their lips with 
 expectation and indicate by signs the treat await- 
 ing their comrades. 
 
 " I 've had charge of the departments of writing, 
 arithmetic, and mathematics in the Muirtown Sem- lo 
 inary," began Bulldog, " for fifty-five years last 
 Martinmas, and near eighteen hundred laddies have 
 passed through my hands. Some o' them were good 
 and some were bad," — Mr. MacKinnon spoke with 
 a judicial calmness that was awful, — " some were i5 
 your grandfathers, some were your fathers ; but 
 such a set of impudent, brazen-faced little ras- 
 cals — " Then his composure failed him as he 
 looked at the benches. " What have you to say for 
 yourselves, for it will be three weeks before I am 20 
 over you all ? " 
 
 For a while no one moved, and then Duncan 
 Robertson rose in his place and made speech for 
 his fellows like a gentleman's son. 
 
 " We are sorry for being late, sir, but it was not 25 
 our blame; we had been bathing in the golfers' 
 
120 THE HILL READERS 
 
 pool, and were dressing to run down to school in 
 good time. Little Nestie — I mean Ernest Moly- 
 neux, sir — had stayed in a little longer, and some 
 one cried, ' Nestie 's drowning ! ' and there the little 
 6 chap was, being carried away by the current." 
 
 '' Is ' Nestie ' — drowned ? " and they all noticed 
 
 the break in Bulldog's voice, and remembered that 
 
 if he showed indulgence to any one it was to the 
 
 little English lad that had appeared in Muirtown 
 
 10 Hfe as one out of due place. 
 
 " No, sir ; Nestie 's safe, and some women have 
 
 taken him home; but he was very nearly gone," 
 
 and Duncan was plainly shaken. " He 's a good 
 
 wee man, and — and it would have been terrible 
 
 15 to see him die before our eyes." 
 
 ^' Who saved Nestie ? " Bulldog's face was white, 
 and Jock declared afterwards that tears were in 
 his eyes — but that we did not believe. 
 
 " It was one of the boys, sir," — Robertson's 
 20 voice was very proud, — " and it was a gallant 
 deed ; but I can't give his name, because he made 
 me promise not to tell." 
 
 The master looked around the school, and there 
 was a flush on his cheek. 
 26 " John Howieson," with a voice that knew no 
 refusal ; and Jock stood in his place. 
 
BOOK FOUR 
 
 121 
 
 " Give me the laddie's name who saved Nestie." 
 
 "It was Speug, sir, and — it was grand; but I 
 
 would not have told had you not asked me, and 
 
 
 — it's not my blame"; and Jock cast a glance 
 where Peter was at that instant striving to hide 5 
 himself behind a slate. 
 
 "Peter McGuffie, come out this moment"; and 
 Peter, who had obeyed this order in other cir- 
 cumstances with an immovable countenance, now 
 presented the face of one who had broken a till. 10 
 
 " Tell the story, Duncan Robertson, every word 
 of it, that each laddie in this room may remember 
 it as long as he lives." 
 
122 THE HILL READEKS 
 
 "We had nearly all dressed, and some of us 
 had started for school — and when I got back 
 McGuffie had jumped and was out in the current 
 waiting for Nestie to come up. We saw his face at 
 
 5 last, white on the water, and shouted to Peter, 
 and — he had him in a minute and made for 
 shore ; grand swimming, sir ; not one of us could 
 have done it except himself. A salmon fisher 
 showed us how to rub Nestie till he came round, 
 
 10 and — he smiled at us and said, ^I'm all right; 
 sorry to trouble you chaps.' Then we ran for school 
 as hard as we could, and — that's all, sir." 
 
 " You are not truth-telling, Duncan Robertson," 
 suddenly broke out Speug, goaded beyond endur- 
 
 15 ance ; " you helped out Nestie yourself, and you 're 
 — as much to blame as I am.'* 
 
 " All I did, sir," — and Robertson's face was 
 burning red, — " was to meet Peter and take Nestie 
 off his hands quite near the bank; he had the 
 
 20 danger ; I — did nothing — was too late, in fact, 
 to be of use." 
 
 Speug might have replied to this barefaced at- 
 tempt at getting out of trouble, but Bulldog was 
 himself again and gripped the reins of authority. 
 
 26 " Silence ! " and his emotion found vent in thun- 
 der; "no arguing in my presence. You're an 
 
BOOK FOUR 123 
 
 impudent fellow, Peter McGuffie, and have been 
 all your days the most troublesome, mischievous, 
 upsetting laddie in Muirtown School. 
 
 " You have fought with your fists, you have 
 fought with snowballs ; you have played truant 5 
 times without number; and a*^ for your tricks in 
 school, they're beyond knowledge. And now you 
 must needs put a cap on the concern with this 
 business ! 
 
 "There's no use denying it, Peter, for^the evi- lo 
 dence is plain " — and now Bulldog began to speak 
 with great deliberation. " You saw a little laddie 
 out of his depth and likely to be drowned." (Peter 
 dared not lift his head this time ; it was going to 
 be a bad case.) 15 
 
 " You might have given the alarm and got the 
 salmon fishers, but, instead of acting like any quiet, 
 decent, well-brought-up laddie, and walking down 
 to the school in time for the geometry " (the school 
 believed that the master's eye rested on William 20 
 Dowbiggin), "you jumped, clothes and all, into 
 the Tay." (There was no redeeming feature, and 
 Peter's expression was hopeless.) 
 
 " Nor was that all. The wicked spirit that 's in 
 you, Peter McGuffie, made you swim out where the 25 
 river was running strongest and an able-bodied 
 
124 THE HILL READEES 
 
 man would not care to go. And for what did you 
 forget yourself and risk your life ? " But for the 
 first time there was no bravery left in Peter to 
 answer; his wickedness was beyond excuse, as he 
 
 5 now felt. 
 
 "Just to save an orphan laddie from a watery 
 death. And you did it, Peter; and it — beats 
 everything that you have done since you came into 
 Muirtown Academy ! As for you, Duncan Robert- 
 
 10 son, you may say what you like, but it 's my opinion 
 that you are not one grain better. Peter got in 
 first, for he 's a perfect genius for mischief, — he 's 
 forever on the spot, — but you were after him as 
 soon as you could." It was clear now that Duncan 
 
 15 was in the same condemnation and would share the 
 
 same reward ; whereat Peter's heart was lifted, for 
 
 Robertson s treachery cried to Heaven for judgment. 
 
 " Boys of Muirtown, do you see those tablets ? " 
 
 and Bulldog pointed to the lists in gold of the 
 
 20 former pupils who had distinguished themselves 
 over the world, — prizemen, soldiers, travelers, 
 writers, preachers, lawyers, doctors. " It 's a grand 
 roll, and an honor to have a place in it, and there 
 are two new names to be added. 
 
 25 "Laddies" — and Bulldog came down from his 
 desk and stood opposite the culprits, whose one 
 
BOOK FOUR 125 
 
 wish was that the floor might open beneath them 
 and swallow them up — " you are the sons of men, 
 and I knew you had the beginnings of men in you. 
 I am proud — to shake hands with you, and to. be 
 
 — your master. Be off this instant ! run like mad 5 
 to your homes and change your clothes, and be 
 back inside half an hour, or it will be the worse 
 for you ! And, look ye here, I would like to know 
 
 — how Nestie is." 
 
 His walk through the room was always, full of lo 
 majesty, but on that day it passed imagination, 
 and from time to time he could be heard saying: 
 '^ A pair of young rascals ! Men of their hands, 
 though, men of their hands ! Their fathers' sons ! 
 Well done, Peter ! " To which the benches listened is 
 with awe, for never had they known Bulldog after 
 this fashion. 
 
 When the school assembled next Monday morn- 
 ing the boys read in fresh, shining letters : 
 
 PETER McGUFFIE 20 
 
 AND 
 
 DUNCAN R. S. ROBERTSON 
 
 WHO AT THE RISK OF THEIR OWN LIVES 
 SAVED A SCHOOLFELLOW FROM DROWNING 
 
 exemplary : well behaved. — Martinmas : the feast of St. Martin, 
 on the 11th of November. — goaded : tortured. 
 
126 THE HILL READERS 
 
 THE GRAPEVINE SWING 
 
 Samuel Minturn Peck 
 
 Samuel Minturn Peck (1853- ), physician and author, 
 
 was born in Tuscaloosa, Alabama. He was graduated from the 
 
 University of Alabama in 1876, and then studied medicine at 
 
 Bellevue Medical College in New York. He is the author of many 
 
 6 pieces of fiction and several volumes of verse. 
 
 When I was a boy on the old plantation, 
 
 Down by the deep bayou — 
 The fairest spot of all creation 
 
 Under the arching blue — 
 10 When the wind came over the cotton and com, 
 
 To the long slim loop I 'd spring 
 With brown feet bare and hat-brim torn. 
 
 And swing in the grapevine swing. 
 
 Swinging in the grapevine swing, 
 15 Laughing where the wild birds sing, 
 
 I dream and I sigh 
 
 For the days gone by. 
 Swinging in the grapevine swing. 
 
 Out — o'er the water-lilies, bonnie and bright, 
 20 Back — to the moss-grown trees, 
 
 I shouted and laughed with a heart as light 
 As a wild rose tossed by the breeze. 
 
BOOK FOUR 127 
 
 The mocking-bird joined in my reckless glee ; 
 
 I longed for no angel's wing ; 
 I was just as near heaven as I wanted to be, 
 
 Swinging in the grapevine swing. 
 
 Swinging in the grapevine swing, 6 
 
 Laughing where the wild birds sing, 
 
 Oh to be a boy 
 
 With a heart full of joy, 
 Swinging in the grapevine swing! 
 
 I 'm weary at noon, I 'm weary at night, lo 
 
 I 'm fretted and sore of heart, 
 And care is sowing my locks with white 
 
 As I wend through the fevered mart ; 
 I 'm tired of the world, with its pride and pomp, 
 
 And fame seems a worthless thing. is 
 
 I 'd barter it all for one day's romp. 
 
 And a swing in the grapevine swing. 
 
 Swinging in the grapevine swing, 
 Laughing where the wild birds sing, 
 
 I would I were away 20 
 
 From the world to-day, 
 Swinging in the grapevine swing. 
 
 bayou : an inlet of water from a gulf or lake. — bonnie : pretty. 
 wend : go. — mart : business place. 
 
128 THE HILL READEKS 
 
 THE TIMID HARE AND THE FLIGHT OF 
 THE BEASTS 
 
 The Jataka 
 
 The JXtaka (ja'ta-ka) is one of the sacred books of the priests 
 of Buddha. It contains five hundred and fifty stories. All these 
 stories are about some form of life that Buddha lived before his 
 final birth as a man and as the founder of a religion believed by 
 6 thousands. The story below gives an account of Buddha when he 
 lived in the form of a lion. 
 
 Once upon a time the Bodhisatta (Buddha) came 
 to life as a young lion. When fully grown he 
 lived in a wood. At this time there was near the 
 
 10 Western Ocean a grove of palms mixed with vilva 
 trees. A certain hare lived here beneath a palm 
 sapling, at the foot of a vilva tree. One day this 
 hare, after feeding, came and lay down beneath a 
 young palm tree. And the thought struck him : 
 
 15 "If this earth should be destroyed, what would 
 become of me ? " And at this very moment a ripe 
 vilva fruit fell on a palm leaf. At the sound of it 
 the hare thought, " This solid earth is falling in"; 
 and, starting up, he fled without so much as looking 
 
 20 behind him. Another saw him scampering off as 
 if frightened to death, and asked the cause of his 
 panic flight. " Pray, don't ask me," he said. The 
 other hare cried, "Pray, sir, what is it?" and 
 
BOOK FOUE 
 
 129 
 
 kept running after him. Then the hare stopped 
 a moment and, without looking back, said, " The 
 earth here is breaking up." And at this the second 
 hare ran after the other. And so first one and 
 then another hare caught sight of him running. 
 
 
 and joined in the chase, till one hundred thousand 
 hares all took flight together. They were seen by 
 a deer, a boar, an elk, a buffalo, a wild ox, a rhi- 
 noceros, a tiger, a lion, and an elephant. And 
 when these asked what it meant and were told 
 that the earth was breaking up, they too took 
 flight. So by degrees this host of animals extended 
 to the length of a full league. 
 
 10 
 
130 THE HILL READERS 
 
 When the Bodhisatta saw this headlong flight of 
 the animals, and heard that the cause of it was that 
 the earth was coming to an end, he thought : " The 
 earth is nowhere coming to an end. Surely it must 
 
 5 be some sound which was misunderstood by them. 
 And if I don't make a great effort, they will all 
 perish. I will save their hves." So with the speed 
 of a lion he got before them to the foot of a moun- 
 tain, and lionlike roared three times. They were 
 
 10 terribly frightened at the lion, and, stopping in 
 their flight, stood all huddled together. The lion 
 went in amongst them and asked why they were 
 running away. 
 
 " The earth is falling in," they answered. 
 
 15 "Who saw it falling in?" he said. 
 
 " The elephants know all about it," they replied. 
 
 He asked the elephants. " We don't know," 
 
 they said ; "the lions know." But the lions said, 
 
 "We don't know; the tigers know." The tigers 
 
 20 said, " The rhinoceroses know." The rhinoceroses 
 said, " The wild oxen know." The wild oxen, 
 " The buffaloes." The buffaloes, " The elks." The 
 elks, " The boars." The boars, " The deer." The 
 deer said, "We don't know; the hares know." 
 
 25 When the hares were questioned they pointed to 
 one particular hare and said, " This one told us." 
 
BOOK FOUR 131 
 
 So the Bodhisatta asked, "Is it true, sir, that 
 the earth is breaking up ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir ; I saw it," said the hare. 
 
 " Where," he asked, " were you living when you 
 saw it?" 5 
 
 " Near the ocean, sir, in a grove of palms mixed 
 with vilva trees. For as I was lying beneath the 
 shade of a palm sapling at the foot of a vilva tree 
 I thought, ^If this earth should break up, where ' 
 shall I go?' And at that very momenta I heard lo 
 the sound of breaking up of the earth, and I fled." 
 
 Thought the lion : " A ripe vilva fruit evidently 
 must have fallen on a palm leaf and made a thud, 
 and this hare jumped to the conclusion that the 
 earth was coming to an end, and ran away. I will is 
 find out the exact truth about it." So he reassured 
 the herd of animals, and said: "I will take the 
 hare and go and find out exactly whether the earth 
 is coming to an end or not, in the place pointed 
 out by him. Until I return do you stay here." 20 
 Then, placing the hare on his back, he sprang for- 
 ward with the speed of a lion, and, putting the 
 hare down in a palm grove, he said, " Come, show 
 us the place you meant." 
 
 " I dare not, my lord," said the hare. 25 
 
 " Come, don't be afraid," said the lion. 
 
132 THE HILL READERS 
 
 The hare, not venturing to go near the vilva 
 tree, stood afar off and cried, " Yonder, sir, is the 
 place of dreadful sounds"; and so saying, he re- 
 peated the first stanza: 
 
 5 " From the spot where I did dwell 
 
 Issued forth a fearful thud ; 
 What it was I could not tell, 
 Nor what caused it understood." 
 
 After hearing what the hare said, the lion went 
 10 to the foot of the vilva tree and saw the spot where 
 the hare had been lying beneath the shade of the 
 palm tree, and the ripe vilva fruit that fell on 
 the palm leaf, and having carefully found out that 
 the earth had not broken up, he placed the hare 
 15 on his back, and with the speed of a lion soon 
 came again to the herd of beasts. 
 
 Then he told them the whole story, and said, 
 " Don't be afraid." And having thus reassured the 
 herd of beasts, he let them go. Verily, if it had 
 20 not been for the Bodhisatta at that time, all the 
 beasts would have rushed into the sea and per- 
 ished. It was all owing to the Bodhisatta that 
 they escaped death. 
 
 From the JQtaka. Translated by H, N. Francis 
 
 league : a measure of distance, varying in different countries 
 from two to four miles. 
 
BOOK FOUR 133 
 
 BOB SAVES HIS FATHER'S LIFE^ 
 
 Thomas Nelson Page 
 
 Thomas Nelson Page (1853- ), one of the most promi- 
 nent of the group of Southern writers who arose after the Civil 
 War, and who have written about subjects connected with the 
 war,, was born at his father's country home, Oakland, Virginia. 
 
 He received his academic training at Washington and Lee 5 
 University, and his legal training at the University of Virginia. 
 For nearly twenty years he practiced law in Richmond. He now 
 lives in Washington and devotes himself to lecturing and writing. 
 
 His boyhood's home was situated between two of the main 
 roads leading to Richmond. Hence during the Civil War he saw 10 
 the passing and repassing of both Northern and Southern armies, 
 and learned, out of sad experience, many of the ways of war. 
 The experience of these anxious hours has found expression in 
 three books for children, — Two Little Confederates, Among the 
 Camps, and Santa Claus' Partner. Marse Chan and Red Rock are 15 
 amongst the most entertaining of his stories for older readers. 
 
 Note. Bob's father, a colonel in the Confederate army, found 
 himself not very far from home one Christmas. He had so great 
 a longing to see his family that he decided to slip through the 
 Union lines. Putting on citizens' clothes instead of his uniform, 20 
 he arrived safely, but was soon followed by soldiers who were 
 prepared to arrest him and shoot him as a spy. 
 
 As his father concealed himself, Bob had left 
 the chamber. He was in a perfect agony of mind. 
 He knew that his father could not escape, and if 25 
 he were found dressed in citizens' clothes, he felt 
 
 1 From A Captured Santa Claus. Copyright, 1892. Charles 
 Scribner's Sons, Publishers. 
 
134 THE HILL READERS 
 
 that he could have but one fate. All sorts of 
 schemes entered his boy's head to save him. Sud- 
 denly he thought of the small group of prisoners 
 he had seen pass by about dark. He would save 
 6 him ! Putting on his hat, he opened the front door 
 and walked out. A sentinel accosted him surlily 
 to know where he was going. Bob invited him in 
 to get warm, and soon had him engaged in ear- 
 nest conversation. 
 10 " What do you do with your prisoners when you 
 catch them ? " inquired Bob. 
 
 " Send some on to prison, and hang some." 
 "I mean when you first catch them." 
 " Oh, they stay in camp. We don't treat them 
 15 bad unless they be spies. There 's a batch at camp 
 now, got in this evening — sort o' Christmas gift." 
 The soldier laughed aloud as he stamped his feet 
 to keep warm. 
 
 " Where 's your camp ? " Bob asked. 
 20 "About a mile from here, right on the road, or 
 rather right on the hill at the edge of the pines 
 beyond the creek." 
 
 The boy left his companion and sauntered in and 
 
 out among the other men in the yard. Presently 
 
 25 he moved on to the edge of the lawn beyond them. 
 
 No one took further notice of him. In a second he 
 
135 
 
136 THE HILL READERS 
 
 had slipped through the gate and was flying across 
 the field. He knew every foot of ground as well as 
 a hare, for he had been hunting and setting traps 
 over it since he was as big as little Charlie. He 
 
 6 had to turn out of his way to make a detour at the 
 creek to avoid the picket, and the dense briers were 
 very bad and painful. However, he worked his way 
 through, though his face was severely scratched. 
 Into the creek he plunged. " Dutch ! " He had 
 
 10 stepped into a hole, and the water was as cold as 
 ice. However, he was through, and at the top of the 
 hill he could see the glow of the camp fires light- 
 ing up the sky. 
 
 He crept cautiously up and saw the dark forms 
 
 15 of the sentinels pacing backward and forward, 
 wrapped in their overcoats. How could he ever 
 get by them ? His heart began to beat and his 
 teeth to chatter, but he walked boldly up. 
 
 " Halt ! who goes there ? " cried the sentry, 
 
 20 bringing his gun down and advancing on him. 
 Bob kept on, and the sentinel, finding that it 
 was only a boy, looked rather sheepish. 
 
 " Don't let him capture you, Jim," called one of 
 them ; " Call the Corporal of the Guard," said an- 
 
 26 other ; " Order up the reserves," a third ; and so on. 
 Bob had to undergo something of an examination. 
 
BOOK FOUR 137 
 
 ''1 know the little Johnny," said one of them. 
 
 They made him draw up to the fire and made 
 quite a fuss over him. Bob had his wits about 
 him, and soon learned that a batch of prisoners 
 were at a fire a hundred yards further back. He 5 . 
 therefore worked his way over there, although he 
 was advised to stay where he was and get dry, 
 and had many offers of a bunk from his new 
 friends, some of whom followed him over to where 
 the prisoners were. ^ , 10 
 
 Most of them were quartered for the night in a 
 hut before which a guard was stationed. One or 
 two, however, sat around the camp fire chatting 
 with their guards. Among them was a major in 
 full uniform. Bob singled him out; he was just is 
 about his father's size. 
 
 Bob was instantly the center of attraction. 
 Again he told them he was from Holly Hill; 
 again he was recognized by one of the men. 
 
 " Run away to join the army ? " asked one. 20 
 
 "No," said Bob, his eyes flashing at the mere 
 suggestion. 
 
 "Lost?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Mother whipped you ? " 25 
 
 "No." 
 
138 THE HILL READERS 
 
 As soon as their curiosity had somewhat sub- 
 sided, Bob, who had hardly been able to contain 
 himself, said to the Confederate major in a low 
 undertone, ''My father. Colonel Stafford, is at 
 5 home, concealed, and the Yankees have taken pos- 
 session of the house." 
 
 " Well ? " said the major, looking down at him 
 as if casually. 
 
 " He cannot escape, and he has on citizens' 
 10 clothes, and — " Bob's voice choked suddenly as 
 he gazed at the major's uniform. 
 
 "Well?" The prisoner for a second looked 
 
 sharply down at the boy's earnest face. Then he 
 
 put his hand under his chin and, lifting it, looked 
 
 15 into his eyes. Bob shivered and in spite of his 
 
 efforts a sob escaped him. 
 
 The major placed his hand firmly on his knee. 
 " Why, you are wringing wet," he said aloud. " I 
 wonder you are not frozen to death." He rose and 
 20 stripped off his coat. " Here, get into this "; and 
 before the boy knew it the major had bundled him 
 into his coat and rolled up the sleeves so that 
 he could use his hands. The action attracted the 
 attention of the rest of the group, and several of 
 26 the Yankees offered to take the boy and give him 
 dry clothes. 
 
BOOK FOUR 139 
 
 "No, sir," laughed the major; "this boy is a 
 rebel. Do you think he will wear one of your 
 Yankee suits ? He 's a little major, and I 'm going 
 to give him a major s uniform." 
 
 In a minute he had stripped off his trousers 5 
 and was helping Bob into them, standing himself 
 in his underclothes in the icy air. The legs were 
 three times too long for the boy, and the waist 
 came up to his armpits. 
 
 " Now go home to your mother," said tbe major, lo 
 laughing at his appearance; "and some of you 
 fellows get me some clothes or a blanket. I '11 
 wear your Yankee uniform to-night out of sheer 
 necessity." 
 
 Bob trotted around, keeping as far away from 15 
 the light of the camp fires as possible. He soon 
 found himself unobserved, and reached the shadow 
 of a line of huts, and keeping well in it, he came 
 to the edge of the camp. He watched his oppor- 
 tunity, and when the sentry's back was turned 20 
 slipped out into the darkness. In an instant he 
 was flying down the hill. The heavy clothes im- 
 peded him, and he stopped only long enough to 
 snatch them off and roll them into a bundle, and 
 sped on his way again. He struck the main road, 25 
 and was running down the hill as fast as his legs 
 
140 THE HILL READEES 
 
 could carry him, when he suddenly found himself 
 almost on a group of dark objects who were stand- 
 ing in the road just in front of him. One of them 
 moved. It was the picket. Bob suddenly stopped. 
 
 5 His heart was in his throat. 
 
 "Who goes there?" said a stern voice. Bob's 
 heart beat as if it would spring out of his body. 
 
 "Come in; we have you," said the man, ad- 
 vancing. 
 
 10 Bob sprang across the ditch beside the road, 
 and putting his hand on the top rail of the fence, 
 flung himself over it, bundle and all, flat on the 
 other side, just as a blaze of Hght burst from 
 the picket, and the report of a carbine startled 
 
 15 the silent night. The bullet grazed the boy's arm 
 and crashed through the rail. In a second Bob 
 was on his feet. The picket was almost on him. 
 Seizing his bundle, he dived into the thicket as 
 a half dozen shots were sent ringing after him, 
 
 20 the bullets hissing and whistling over his head. 
 Several men dashed into the woods after him 
 in hot pursuit, and two more galloped up the 
 road to cut him off ; but Bob's feet were winged, 
 and he slipped through briers and brush like a 
 
 26 scared hare. They scratched his face and threw 
 him down, but he was up again. Now and then a 
 
BOOK FOUR 141 
 
 shot crashed behind him, but he did not care for 
 that ; he thought dnly of being caught. 
 
 A few hundred yards up he plunged into the 
 stream and, wading across, was soon safe from 
 his pursuers. Breathless, he climbed the hill, made 5 
 his way through the woods, and came out into the 
 open fields. Across these he sped like a deer. He 
 had almost given out. What if they should have 
 caught his father and he should be too late ! A 
 sob escaped him at the bare thought, and Jxe broke lo 
 again into a fun, wiping off with his sleeve the 
 tears that would come. The wind cut him like a 
 knife, but he did not mind that. 
 
 As he neared the house he feared that he might 
 be seen again and the clothes taken from him ; is 
 so he stopped for a moment and slipped them 
 on once more, rolling up the sleeves and legs 
 as well as he could. He crossed the yard undis- 
 turbed. He went around to the same door by 
 which he had come out, for he thought this his 20 
 best chance. The same sentinel was there, walk- 
 ing up and down, blowing his cold hands. Had 
 his father been arrested ? Bob's teeth chattered, 
 but it was with suppressed excitement. 
 
 " Pretty cold," said the sentry. 25 
 
 " Ye-es," gasped Bob. 
 
142 
 
 THE HILL HEADERS 
 
 ^' Your mother 's been out here, looking for you, 
 I guess," said the soldier with much friendliness. 
 
 "I rec-reckon so," panted Bob, moving toward 
 the door. Did that mean that his father was 
 5 caught ? He opened the door and slipped quietly 
 into the corridor. 
 
 General Denby, the Federal officer who com- 
 manded the troops now in possession of Colonel 
 Stafford's house, still sat silent before the hall fire. 
 10 Bob listened at his father's chamber door. His 
 mother was weeping; his father stood calm and 
 resolute before the fire ; he had determined to give 
 himself up. 
 
 " If you only did not have on those clothes ! " 
 15 sobbed Mrs. Stafford. " If I only had not cut up 
 the old uniform for the children ! " 
 
 " Mother 1 mother ! I have one ! " gasped Bob, 
 bursting into the room and tearing off the unknown 
 major's uniform. 
 
 I; 
 
BOOK FOUR 143 
 
 LITTLE ALVILDA^ — I 
 
 Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen 
 
 Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen (1848-1895) was born in Nor- 
 way and received a university education in that country. In 
 1869, when he was twenty-one years old, he became a citizen of 
 the United States. For some years he was professor of German 
 at Cornell University, and at the time of his death held the same 5 
 professorship in Columbia University, New York. 
 
 Young readers are especially interested in his Norseland series 
 of books for boys. These include Norseland Tales, Boyhood in 
 Norway, The Modern Viking, Against Odds, and The Qotden Calf. 
 
 There was once a clergyman who hved some- lo 
 where in the mountain valleys of Norway. He had 
 five children, all of whom were dear to him ; but 
 there was one among them who was nearer to his 
 heart than all the rest ; and that was a little girl, 
 five years old, named Alvilda. It may have been is 
 because she was the youngest of the five ; for the 
 youngest child, especially if it is a girl, is always 
 likely to be the father's pet; or it may have been 
 because she was a very sweet and lovable child, 
 who drew all hearts toward her as the sun draws 20 
 the flowers. When her mother took her to church 
 on Sunday morning she slipped like a sunbeam 
 
 1 From Norseland Tales. Copyright, 1894. Charles Scribner's 
 Sons, Publishers. 
 
144 THE HILL READERS 
 
 among the congregation, and all faces brightened 
 and a softer look stole into the eyes of old and 
 young when she passed by. In her quaint little 
 poke bonnet and her old-fashioned gown, and with 
 
 6 her chubby little hands folded over her mother's 
 h3rmn book, she did, indeed, look so bewitching 
 that it seemed a hardship not to stop and kiss her. 
 "Bless the child!" said the matrons, when her 
 bright smile beamed upon them. " Bless her dear 
 
 10 little heart ! " cried the young girls admiringly, as 
 they knelt down in the road to pat Alvilda, to kiss 
 her, or only to touch her in passing. 
 
 When Alvilda's fifth birthday came it happened 
 to be right in the middle of the berry season ; and 
 
 16 it was determined to celebrate it by a berrying 
 party to which a dozen children of the neighbor- 
 hood were invited. Fritz, Alvilda's fourteen-year- 
 old brother, whom she greatly admired, undertook 
 the duty of sending out the invitations ; and he con- 
 
 20 suited his own fancy in inviting those whom he 
 liked and leaving out those whom he did not. It 
 was found, when all the children gathered in front 
 of the parsonage about nine o'clock in the morn- 
 ing, that it was indeed Fritz's party rather than 
 
 26 Alvilda's. But Alvilda, who always thought that 
 whatever Fritz did was well done, was perfectly 
 
BOOK FOUR 145 
 
 content. She liked big boys, she said, because they 
 were not half the trouble that little girls were. 
 First, there was her brother Charles, twelve years 
 old, who was the proud possessor of a drum which 
 had been presented to him at Christmas; the 5 
 judge's Albert, thirteen years old, who was, to be 
 sure, a great tease, and inclined to run off with 
 Fritz on all sorts of mysterious errands ; and there 
 was the lawyer's Frederick, who never spoke to 
 girls in public for fear of being thought frivolous, lo 
 Of girls there were but two : Sophy, Alvilda's fif- 
 teen-year-old sister, who was almost grown up, and 
 carried a novel in her pocket which she read at odd 
 moments in the garden, in the kitchen, and, most 
 of all, in the woods ; and Albert's sister, Ingeborg, i5 
 who had so many delightful secrets which she 
 would never share with anybody except her bosom 
 friend, Sophy. 
 
 Fritz, who had provided himself with a tin trum- 
 pet, marshaled his forces in the yard and, having 20 
 arranged them in rank and file like soldiers, gave 
 the command, " Forward, march ! " 
 
 The girls followed as best they could, the two 
 elder ones leading Alvilda by the hand between 
 them. The father, who was almost afraid to send 25 
 her into the woods, fearing that she might become 
 
146 THE HILL READERS 
 
 overtired, charged them not to leave her for a 
 moment, and to see that she had an opportunity to 
 rest whenever she wished, — all of which. Sophy and 
 Ingeborg promised. 
 
 6 The weather was glorious ; the sunshine was 
 just warm enough to be agreeable, and the light 
 clouds which sailed over the sky seemed to be 
 having a happy time of it. The woods on the 
 slope of the mountain were filled with the fra- 
 
 10 grance of birch and pine and lilies of the valley; 
 and the brooks, swollen by the melting ice of the 
 glaciers, danced gayly down through the ravines 
 with a gurgling rush which fell pleasantly upon 
 the ear. 
 
 15 When the boys left the highway for the moun- 
 tain plains they broke ranks, and each scrambled 
 up the rocks as best he could. It was in vain that 
 Fritz blew his trumpet and Charles beat his drum. 
 To climb the great moss-grown rocks was too 
 
 20 inviting ; and to stand on the top of them and 
 shout against the mountain wall, which gave such 
 a splendid echo, was a delight wliich made the 
 heart leap in one's bosom. Fritz himself was not 
 proof against such temptations, and, finding his 
 
 25 commands disobeyed, joined with a will in the 
 sports of the rest. 
 
BOOK FOUR 
 
 147 
 
 When they had climbed for an hour Alvilda 
 began to grow tired; and Fritz, seeing there was 
 no likelihood of reaching the enchanted territory 
 he had in view without carrying her, undertook, 
 with the aid of his comrades, to make a litter 
 of soft pine branches. The boys then took turns 
 carrying Alvilda, addressing her all the while as 
 the Princess Kunigunde. Alvilda laughed heartily 
 
 at their fanciful speeches, and her clear voice rang 
 through the woods. But, although she found it lo 
 ridiculous, Alvilda enjoyed immensely being a prin- 
 cess and having her devoted knights kiss her hand 
 and bend their knees when they spoke to her. 
 
 It was about eleven o'clock when the party 
 reached Fritz's berrying ground, which he had i5 
 
148 THE HILL READERS 
 
 discovered a few days ago, when out in the woods 
 with Albert in search of adventures. It was just 
 then toward the end of the strawberry season and 
 the beginning of the blueberry season. The sweet 
 
 5 wild strawberry betrayed itself by its fragrance 
 under the heather, and when the boys found an 
 open patch about the roots of a tree, where the 
 berries grew in big bunches, they shouted aloud 
 and danced aur Indian war dance from excess of 
 
 10 joy, before beginning to fill their mouths, their 
 pails, and their baskets. Fritz and Albert, who 
 were the champion pickers, had soon filled the 
 tin pails they had brought with them, and set to 
 work busily to make baskets of birch bark where- 
 
 15 with to carry off what was left. There were the 
 great blueberry fields still to be ravaged ; and it 
 seemed a pity not to pick some of the fragrant 
 sweetbrier and lilies of the valley that grew so 
 abundantly among the birches and alders. Sophy 
 
 20 and Ingeborg were very happy over the nodding 
 clusters of pretty, bell-shaped flowers which, in 
 Norway, grow wild in the woods ; and they picked 
 their aprons full again and again, emptying them 
 into one of Fritz's birch-bark baskets. Of maiden- 
 
 26 hair, too, and the delicate little woodstars there 
 was no lack ; and in the open glades they found 
 
BOOK FOUR 149 
 
 some belated violets with a shy little ghost of a 
 perfume that stole into one's nostrils as a kind 
 thought steals into the heart. 
 
 Fritz and his manly comrades protested, of 
 course, against this " tomfoolery 'J with the flowers; 5 
 but as some indulgence must be granted to the 
 weaknesses of girls, they consented to assist in the 
 task. A big heap of variegated color — pink, white, 
 blue, and green — was piled up under a large, wide- 
 spreading pine, where Alvilda sat, like ^ a fairy lo 
 queen, glorying in her flower treasures. It was 
 then that Fritz lost his patience and demanded to 
 know whether it was not time to stop this non- 
 sense and go in quest of something worth wearying 
 one's limbs for. As he had brought fishing tackle i5 
 and bait, he would propose a little fishing expedition 
 on a tarn close by, and if the girls did n't care to 
 accompany him, he would go alone with his trusty 
 friends, Robin Hood and the Gray Friar, and catch 
 enough to provide luncheon for the whole army. 20 
 
 This proposition was too tempting to be resisted, 
 and presently all the boys scampered away through 
 the underbrush, leaving the three girls under the 
 pine tree. Sophy spread a shawl upon the ground 
 for Alvilda to lie down upon ; and herself drew a 25 
 favorite novel from her pocket, which she discussed 
 
150 THE HILL READERS 
 
 in whispers with Ingeborg. There were, indeed, 
 the most delightful things in this* book, — dreadful, 
 black-hearted villains, with black mustaches, who 
 prowled about in all sorts of disguises. Sophy 
 
 5 soon lost all thought of her sister, and Alvilda, 
 finding herself neglected, pouted a little and dozed 
 away into a sweet sleep. 
 
 In the meanwhile the boys were having great 
 fun down on the tarn, and, being seized with a 
 
 10 ravenous appetite, as their usual hour for luncheon 
 passed, they resolved to have a little feast all by 
 themselves before returning to the girls. They had 
 caught a dozen fine trout and no end of perch, and 
 their mouths watered to test the flavor of the former 
 
 15 on the spot. They accordingly built a stove of flat 
 stones, made a fire in it, split the fish, and broiled 
 them over the flame. 
 
 The trout in particular proved to have a superb 
 flavor, and Fritz, as a generous and magnanimous 
 
 20 freebooter, was dispensing the hospitality of the 
 woods with a royal hand. He forgot all about his 
 dear little sister in whose honor he was feasting, 
 and he forgot, too, that he had promised to return 
 in half an hour with his catch of fish. Sophy and 
 
 25 Ingeborg, having exhausted the delights of the 
 novel, began to grow hungry ; and when an hour 
 
BOOK FOUE 151 
 
 had passed they became impatient, and at last 
 angry. They could hear Fritz's shout of laughter 
 in the distance, and they began to suspect that the 
 boys were lunching without them. Now and then 
 the blare of a trumpet was heard, and the rumble 5 
 of Charles's drum. " 
 
 ^'I really think, Ingeborg," said Sophy, "that 
 those wretched boys have forgotten about us." 
 
 " I never could understand why boys were cre- 
 ated," observed Ingeborg. lo 
 
 " Well, anyway, I am hungry," cried SOphy. 
 
 " And I am ravenous ; that is, I am not averse 
 to something to eat," echoed her friend. 
 
 " Suppose we go to find those graceless scamps," 
 suggested Sophy. is 
 
 " Very well ; but what shall we do with Alvilda ? " 
 
 Alvilda — to be sure, what were they to do with 
 her ? Sophy felt a little pang of guilt as her eyes fell 
 upon the sweet, chubby face of her sleeping sister. 
 
 " She is sleeping so soundly, it would be a pity 20 
 to wake her up," she remarked, doubtfully. " What 
 do you say ? " 
 
 "Why, nothing can happen to her here," said 
 Ingeborg ; " we shall only be gone fifteen minutes 
 at the most, you know, and then we shall be back 25 
 with the boys." 
 
152 THE HILL READERS 
 
 " But suppose there were bears about here ; then 
 it might be dangerous to leave her." 
 
 "Yes, and suppose there were lions — and croco- 
 diles/' laughed Ingeborg. 
 5 This sally disposed of Sophy's scruples; and 
 having thrown a jacket over Alvilda's feet and 
 kissed her on the cheek, she flung one arm about 
 
 • her friend's waist and wandered away with her in 
 the direction from which the boys' laughter was 
 
 10 heard. It was not difficult to find those young 
 gentlemen, for they were engaged in a lively 
 wrangle as to which was the rightful owner of the 
 fish which they could not devour. Fritz maintained 
 that he, as the chieftain, had a just claim to the 
 
 15 proceeds of the labor of his vassals and slaves, and 
 the vassals and slaves loudly rebelled and declared 
 that they would never submit to such injustice ; 
 whereupon the chieftain declared that he would 
 give up his rights and surrender the booty to be 
 
 20 divided by lot among his men at arms. It was at 
 this interesting point that the girls appeared upon 
 the scene, and the gallant freebooters dropped their 
 quarrel and undertook, somewhat shamefacedly, to 
 wait upon their fair guests. And as the fair guests 
 
 25 had rather unfashionable appetites, after their 
 long fast and vigorous exercise, the fifteen minutes 
 
BOOK FOUR 153 
 
 became half an hour, and the" half hour began to 
 round itself out to a whole hour, before their con- 
 sciences smote them and they thought of Alvilda, 
 who was asleep under the big pine tree. 
 
 LITTLE ALVILDA — II 
 
 And now let us see what befell little Alvilda. 5 
 She slept quietly for about twenty minutes after 
 her sister left her; and she would have slept 
 longer if something very strange had not hap- 
 pened. She was dreaming that the big mastiff, 
 Hector, at home in the parsonage, was insisting lo 
 upon kissing her, and she, was struggling to get 
 away from his cold, wet nose, but could not. A 
 strange, wild odor was filling the air, and it pene- 
 trated into Alvilda' s dream and made her toss 
 uneasily. There was Hector again, with his cold, 15 
 wet nose, and he was blowing his warm breath 
 into her face. She tried to scold him, but not a 
 sound could she produce. In her sleep she struck 
 out with her hand and hit something warm and 
 furry. But here the filmy webs of slumber were 20 
 broken ; she opened her eyes wide and raised her- 
 self on her elbow. There stood Hector, indeed, 
 and stared straight into her eyes. But how big he 
 
154 THE HILL READEES 
 
 was ! And how his- ears had shrunk and his fur 
 grown! Alvilda rubbed her eyes to make sure 
 that she was awake. She stared once more with a 
 dim fear, and saw — yes, there could be no doubt 
 
 5 of it — she saw that it was not Hector. It was a 
 big brown beast, which might take it into its head 
 to hurt her. It was — yes, now she was quite sure 
 of it — it was a big brown bear ! 
 
 The little girl's first impulse was to cry out 
 
 10 for help. But it was so strangely still about her. 
 Where were her brothers and sister, — Fritz and 
 his freebooters, Sophy and her friend Ingeborg ? It 
 could not be possible that they had left her alone 
 here in the forest. She threw frightened glances 
 
 15 about her ; but wherever she looked she saw noth- 
 ing but the long, solemn rows of brown pine trunks. 
 And there, right in front of her, stood the bear, star- 
 ing at her with his small black eyes. It seemed to 
 her, even in her fright, that she must try to make 
 
 20 friends with this bear, in which case, perhaps, he 
 might consent not to eat her. She knew from her 
 fairy tales that there were good bears and bad bears, 
 and she hoped that her new acquaintance might 
 prove to belong to the order of good bears. So, 
 
 25 with a quaking heart and a voice that shook, she 
 arose, and, putting her hand on the bear's neck, 
 
BOOK FOUR 155 
 
 exclaimed with coaxing friendliness : " I know you 
 very well, Mr. Bear, but you don't know me. I 
 know you from my picture book. You are the 
 good bear who carried the Princess on your back, 
 away from the Troll's castle." 5 
 
 The bear seemed not displeased to know that he 
 had made so good an impression, though he wished 
 to make it plain that he couldn't be bamboozled 
 by flattery. For he shook his great shaggy head 
 and gave a low, good-natured grumble. And just lo 
 at that moment he caught sight of the hig basket 
 of strawberries that stood under the tree ; and, 
 turning toward it, he slowly hfted his right fore 
 paw^ and, putting it straight into the basket, delib- 
 erately upset it. 15 
 
 "•Why, Bear, what have you been doing?" cried 
 Alvilda, half forgetting her fear. "Why, don't 
 you know those are Fritz's berries ? And he will 
 be so angry when he gets back ! For Fritz, you 
 know, is quite high-tempered. Now, if you '11 eat 20 
 my berries, you may have them, and welcome ; 
 but, dear Mr. Bear, do let Fritz's alone." 
 
 You may be sure that the bear was not greatly 
 moved by this speech. He calmly went on eating 
 Fritz's berries, which were scattered all over the 2s 
 ground, and grumbled now and then contentedly, 
 
156 THE HILL READERS 
 
 as if to say that he found the flavor of the ber- 
 ries excellent. He paid no attention whatever to 
 Alvilda's own little basket, which she had placed 
 invitingly before his nose ; but, when he had 
 
 5 finished Fritz's berries, he selected the next big- 
 gest basket and upset that in the same deliberate 
 fashion in which he had overturned the first one. 
 "Why, now, Mr. Bear, I don't think you are 
 good at all," said Alvilda, when she saw her friend 
 
 10 make havoc among the berry baskets. " Don't 
 you know you '11 get a stomach ache if you eat so 
 .many berries ? and then you '11 have to go to 
 bed in your den and take medicine." 
 
 But, seeing that the bear was not moved by her 
 
 15 words, Alvilda put her arms about his neck and 
 tried to drive him away. She found, however, that 
 she was no match for Bruin in strength, and there- 
 fore sorrowfully made up her mind to let him do 
 as he pleased. " Now, Bear," she said, seating her- 
 
 20 self again under the tree, and quite forgetting that 
 she had been frightened, "if you'll behave your- 
 self, I am going to make you a pretty wreath of 
 flowers. Then, Mr. Bear, won't you look hand- 
 some when you get home to your family ! " 
 
 25 And, delighted at this idea of the bear return- 
 ing to his astonished family decorated with a 
 
BOOK FOUR 157 
 
 wreath, she clapped her hands, emptied a basket 
 of wild flowers in her lap, and began to tie them 
 together. Lilies of the valley, she feared. Bruin 
 would scarcely care for; but brier roses, violets, 
 and columbines, she thought, would not be beyond s 
 his taste ; and adding here and there a sprig of 
 whortleberries and of flowery heather to give 
 solidity to her wreath, she tied it securely about 
 the bear's neck and laughed aloud with joy at his 
 appearance. Bruin had clearly a notion that this lo 
 was a kindly act, for he suddenly rose -up on his 
 hind legs and, with a pleased grumble, made an 
 attempt to look at himself. 
 
 " Oh, my dear Bruin ! " cried Alvilda ; " you look 
 perfectly lovely. Your family won't know you is 
 when they see you again." 
 
 The bear lifted up his head, and as his eyes met 
 Alvilda's there was a gleam in them of mild 
 astonishment, and, as the little girl imagined, of 
 thanks. She laughed and talked on merrily for 20 
 some minutes, while her friend sat down on his 
 hind legs and continued to gaze at her with the 
 same stupid wonder. But then, suddenly, while 
 Alvilda was making another wreath for Bruin to 
 take home to his wife, the blare of a trumpet 25 
 reechoed through the woods and laughing voices 
 
158 THE HILL READERS 
 
 were heard approaching. The bear pricked up his 
 ears, sniffed the air suspiciously, and waddled 
 slowly away between the tree trunks. 
 
 "Why, no. Bear!" Alvilda cried after him; 
 
 5 " why don't you stay and meet Fritz and Sophy 
 and the judge's Albert?" 
 
 But the bear, instead of returning, broke into a 
 gentle trot, and she heard the dry branches crack 
 beneath his tread as he vanished in the under- 
 
 10 brush. And just as she lost the last glimpse of 
 him, Fritz and Sophy and the whole party of 
 children came rushing up to her, excusing them- 
 selves for their absence, calling her all manner of 
 pet names, and saying that they had hoped she 
 
 15 had not been frightened. " Oh, no, not at all," 
 answered Alvilda ; "' I have had a nice bear here, 
 who has kept me company. But I am sorry he 
 has eaten up all your berries." 
 
 The children thought, at first, that she must be 
 
 20 joking; but seeing all the baskets upset, and 
 smelling the strong, wild odor that was yet linger- 
 ing in the air, they turned pale and stood gazing 
 at each other in speechless terror. But Sophy burst 
 into tears, hugged her little sister to her bosom, and 
 
 25 cried : " Can you ever forgive me, Alvilda ? It is 
 all my fault. I promised not to leave you." 
 
159 
 
160 THE HILL READERS 
 
 It was of no use that Alvilda kept repeating: 
 "But, Sophy, he was not a bad bear. He was a 
 nice bear, and he did n't hurt me at all." 
 
 There could be no more berrying after that. 
 
 5 The girls were in haste to be gone, and the valiant 
 freebooters had no desire to detain them. They 
 picked up their belongings as fast as they could, 
 and hurried down through the forest, each taking 
 his turn, as before, in carrying Alvilda. But they 
 
 10 were neither knights nor princesses any more. They 
 were only frightened boys and girls. 
 
 When they arrived at the parsonage about five 
 o'clock in the afternoon they were too tired, breath- 
 less, and frightened to care much what became of 
 
 15 them. Sophy took upon herself to tell her father 
 what had happened. She was prepared for the 
 worst, and in her sorrow would have accepted 
 cheerfully any punishment. But imagine her as- 
 tonishment when her father uttered no word of 
 
 20 reproach, but folded Alvilda in his arms and 
 thanked God that he had his little girl once more, 
 safe and sound. 
 
 quest : search. — tarn : a mountain lake or pool. — freebooter : 
 robber sally : a witty saying. — bamboozled : cheated. 
 
BOOK FOUR 161 
 
 OLIVER CROMWELL — I 
 
 Nathaniel Hawthorne 
 
 Nathaniel Hawthorne (1804-1864), one of the greatest 
 prose writers of America, was born in Salem, Massachusetts. 
 His father, who was the last of a long line of sea captains, died 
 when his son was only four years old. The childhood of Haw- 
 thorne was sad and lonely. " We do not even live at our house," 5 
 was the pitiful remark of the child. For weeks at a time his 
 mother and sisters shut themselves up in their rooms, and little 
 Nathaniel was left to the companionship of books and dreams. 
 Often in winter he escaped from the dreariness of his room to 
 skate for hours on the near-by lake. In summer, when wearied 10 
 by long hours of reading, he would boat and fish''alone or lie 
 under the trees dreaming. 
 
 In 1825 he was graduated from Bowdoin C6llege in Maine, 
 in the class with the poet Longfellow. After graduation he went 
 back with his mother and sisters to Salem, and for thirteen 15 
 years lived practically without a companion in the world. "For 
 months together," he says, "I scarce held human intercourse 
 outside of my own family, seldom going out except at twilight 
 or only taking the nearest way to the most convenient solitude." 
 
 In these quiet years, when he burned almost every line that he 20 
 wrote, he was learning how to write and how to think. These 
 years proved the most useful of his life, as far as mastery of art 
 went, for in them he learned to be a skilled workman. 
 
 His marriage was a happy one, and in 1850, when his Scarlet 
 Letter was published, he stepped into the forefront of American 25 
 men of letters. His perfect style — graceful, clear, simple, strong 
 — and his power of working up material placed him in the first 
 rank of literary artists. 
 
 His Twice-Told Tales, Wonder Book, Tanglewood Tales, Grand- 
 father's Chair and The Snow Image are especially interesting to 30 
 the young. 
 
162 THE HILL READERS 
 
 Not long after King James the First took the 
 place of Queen Elizabeth on the throne of Eng- 
 land, there lived an English knight at a place 
 called Hinchinbrooke. His name was Sir Oliver 
 
 6 Cromwell. The old house in which he dwelt had 
 been occupied by his ancestors before him for a good 
 many years. In it there was a great hall hung 
 round with coats of arms and helmets, cuirasses 
 and swords, which his forefathers had used in 
 
 10 battle, and with horns of deer and tails of foxes 
 which they or Sir Oliver himself had killed in 
 the chase. 
 
 This Sir Oliver Cromwell had a nephew, who 
 had been called Oliver, after himself, but who was 
 
 15 generally known in the family by the name of Little 
 Noll. His father was a younger brother of Sir 
 Oliver. The child was often sent to visit his uncle, 
 who probably found him a troublesome little fellow 
 to take care of. He was forever in mischief, and 
 
 20 always running into some danger or other, from 
 which he seemed to escape only by miracle. 
 
 Even while he was an infant in the cradle a 
 strange accident had befallen him. A huge ape, 
 which was kept in the family, snatched up little 
 
 25 Noll in his fore paws and clambered with him to 
 the roof of the house. There this ugly beast sat 
 
BOOK FOUR 163 
 
 grinning at the affrighted spectators, as if it had 
 done the most praiseworthy thing imaginable. 
 Fortunately, however, he brought the child safe 
 down again; and the event was afterwards con- 
 sidered an omen that Noll would reach a very s 
 elevated station in the world. 
 
 One morning, when Noll was five or six years 
 old, a royal messenger arrived at Hinchinbrooke 
 with tidings that King James was coming to dine 
 with Sir Oliver Cromwell. This was a high honor, lo 
 to be sure, but a very great trouble; for all the 
 lords and ladies, knights, squires, guards, and yeo- 
 men, who waited on the king, were to be feasted 
 as well as himself. However, Sir Oliver expressed 
 much thankfulness for the king's intended visit, is 
 and ordered his butler and cook to make the best 
 preparations in their power. So a great fire was 
 kindled in the kitchen; and the neighbors knew 
 by the smoke which poured out of the chimney 
 that boiling, baking, stewing, roasting, and frying 20 
 were going on merrily. 
 
 By and by the sound of trumpets was heard 
 approaching nearer and nearer ; a heavy, old-fash- 
 ioned coach surrounded by guards on horseback 
 drove up to the house. Sir Oliver, with his hat in 25 
 his hand, stood at the gate to receive the king. 
 
164 
 
 THE HILL READERS 
 
 His Majesty was dressed in a suit of green, not 
 very new ; he had a feather in his hat and a triple 
 ruff round his neck, and over his shoulder was 
 
 slung a hunting horn instead of a sword. Alto- 
 5 gether he had not the most dignified aspect in the 
 world ; but the spectators gazed at him as if there 
 was something superhuman and divine in his per- 
 son. They even shaded their eyes with their 
 hands, as if they were dazzled by the glory of his 
 10 countenance. 
 
BOOK FOUR 165 
 
 "How are ye, man?" cried King James, speak- 
 ing in a Scotch accent ; for Scotland was his native 
 country. " By my crown, Sir Oliver, but I am 
 glad to see ye! " 
 
 The good knight thanked the king, at the same 5 
 time kneeling down while his Majesty alighted. 
 When King James stood on the ground he directed 
 Sir Oliver's attention to a little boy who had come 
 with him in his coach. He was six or seven years 
 old, and wore a hat and feather, and was more 10 
 richly dressed than the king himself. Though by 
 no means an ill-looking child, he seemed shy, or 
 even sulky; and his cheeks were rather pale, as 
 if he had been kept moping within doors instead 
 of being sent out to play in the sun and wind. 15 
 
 " I have brought my son Charlie to see ye," said 
 the king. " I hope. Sir Oliver, ye have a son of 
 your own to be his playmate." 
 
 Sir Oliver Cromwell made a reverential bow to 
 the little prince, whom one of the attendants had 20 
 now taken out of the coach. It was wonderful to 
 see how all the spectators, even the aged men with < 
 their gray beards, humbled themselves before this 
 child. They bent their bodies till their beards 
 almost swept the dust. They looked as if they 25 
 were ready to kneel down and worship him. 
 
166 THE HILL READERS 
 
 The poor little prince ! From his earliest in- 
 fancy not a soul had dared to contradict him ; 
 everybody around him had acted as if he were a 
 superior being, so that, of course, he naturally sup- 
 
 5 posed that the whole kingdom of Great Britain 
 and all its inhabitants had been created solely for 
 his benefit and amusement. This was a sad mis- 
 take ; and it cost him dear enough after he had 
 ascended his father's throne. 
 
 10 " What a noble little prince he is ! " exclaimed 
 Sir Oliver, lifting his hands in admiration. " No, 
 please your Majesty, I have no son to be the 
 playmate of his Royal Highness; but there is a 
 nephew of mine somewhere about the house. He 
 
 15 is near the prince's age, and will be but too happy 
 to wait upon his Royal Highness." 
 
 " Send for him, man ! send for him ! " said 
 the king. 
 
 But, as it happened, there was no need of send- 
 
 20 ing for Master Noll. While King James was 
 speaking, a rugged, bold-faced, sturdy little urchin 
 thrust himself through the throng of courtiers and 
 attendants and greeted the prince with a broad 
 stare. His doublet and hose (which had been put 
 
 25 on new and clean in honor of the king's visit) were 
 already soiled and torn with the rough play in 
 
BOOK FOUR 167 
 
 which he had spent the morning. He looked no 
 more abashed than if Kmg James were his uncle 
 and the prince one of his customary playfellows. 
 This was little Noll himself. 
 
 ^^Here, please your Majesty, is my nephew," 5 
 said Sir Oliver, somewhat ashamed of Noll's 
 appearance and demeanor. " Oliver, make your 
 obeisance to the king's Majesty." 
 
 The boy made a pretty respectful obeisance to 
 the king; for in those days children were taught lo 
 to pay reverence to their elders. King James, who 
 prided himself greatly on his scholarship, asked 
 Noll a few questions in the Latin grammar, and 
 then introduced him to his son. The little prince, 
 in a very grave and dignified manner, extended 15 
 his hand, not for Noll to shake, but that he might 
 kneel down and kiss it. 
 
 '^Nephew," said Sir Oliver, "pay your duty to 
 the prince." 
 
 "I owe him no duty," cried Noll, thrusting aside 20 
 the prince's hand with a rude laugh. " Why should 
 I kiss that boy's hand ? " 
 
 All the courtiers were amazed and confounded, 
 and Sir Oliver the most of all. But the king 
 laughed heartily, saying that little Noll had a 25 
 stubborn English spirit, and that it was well for 
 
168 THE HILL KEADERS 
 
 his son to learn betimes what sort of a people he 
 was to rule over. 
 
 So King James and his train entered the house ; 
 and the prince, with Noll and some other children, 
 
 5 was sent to play in a separate room while his 
 Majesty was at dinner. The young people soon 
 became acquainted ; for boys, whether the sons of 
 monarchs or of peasants, all like play, and are 
 pleased with one another's society. What games 
 
 10 they diverted themselves with I cannot tell. Per- 
 haps they played at ball, perhaps at blindman's 
 buff, perhaps at leapfrog, perhaps at prison bars. 
 Such games have been in use for hundreds of years, 
 and princes as well as poor children have spent 
 
 15 some of their happiest hours in playing at them. 
 
 cuirass : armor to cover the body from the neck to the waist. — 
 omen : sign. — doublet : a close-fitting coat. — abashed : ashamed. 
 — demeanor : conduct. — obeisance : a respectful bow. — betimes : 
 early. 
 
 OLIVER CROMWELL — II 
 
 Meanwhile King James and his nobles were 
 feasting with Sir Oliver in the great hall. The 
 king sat in a gilded chair, under a canopy, at the 
 head of a long table. Whenever any of the com- 
 20 pany addressed him, it was with the deepest rever- 
 ence. If the attendants offered him wine or the 
 
BOOK FOUR 169 
 
 various delicacies of the festival, it was upon their 
 bended knees. You would have thought, by these 
 tokens of worship, that the monarch was a super- 
 natural being; only he seemed to have quite as 
 much need of these vulgar matters — food and 5 
 drink — as any other person at the table. But 
 fate had ordained that good King James should 
 not finish his dinner in peace. 
 
 All of a sudden there arose a terrible uproar in 
 the room where the children were at play. Angry 10 
 shouts and shrill cries of alarm were -mixed up 
 together; while the voices of elder persons were 
 likewise heard, trying to restore order among the 
 children. The king and everybody else at the table 
 looked aghast ; for perhaps the tumult made them 15 
 think that a general rebellion had broken out. 
 
 " Mercy on us ! " muttered Sir Oliver ; " that 
 graceless nephew of mine is in mischief." 
 
 Getting up from the table, he ran to see what 
 was the matter, followed by many of the guests, 20 
 and the king among them. They all crowded to 
 the door of the play room. 
 
 On looking in they beheld little Prince Charles, 
 with his rich dress all torn and covered with the 
 dust of the floor. His royal blood was streaming 25 
 from his nose in great abundance. He gazed at 
 
170 THE HILL READERS 
 
 Noll with a mixture of rage and affright, and at 
 the same time a puzzled expression, as if he could 
 not understand how any mortal boy should dare 
 to give him a beating. As for Noll, there stood 
 
 5 his sturdy little figure, bold as a lion, looking' as 
 if he were ready to fight not only the prince but 
 the king and kingdom too. 
 
 " You little villain ! " cried his uncle. " What 
 have you been about ? Down on your knees, this 
 
 10 instant, and ask the prince's pardon." 
 
 " He struck me first," grumbled the valiant little 
 Noll ; " and I 've only given him his due." 
 
 Sir Oliver and the guests lifted up their hands 
 in astonishment and horror. No punishment seemed 
 
 15 severe enough for this wicked little varlet, who 
 had dared to resent a blow from the king's own 
 son. Some of the courtiers were of opinion that 
 Noll should be sent to the Tower of London and 
 brought to trial for high treason. Others, in their 
 
 20 zeal for the king's service, were about to lay hands 
 on the boy and chastise him in the royal presence. 
 But King James, who sometimes showed a good 
 deal of sagacity, ordered them to desist. 
 
 " Thou art a bold boy," said he, looking fixedly 
 
 26 at Noll; "and, if thou live to be a man, my son 
 Charlie would do wisely to be friends with thee." 
 
BOOK FOUR 171 
 
 " I never will ! " cried the little prince, stamping 
 his foot. 
 
 "Peace, Charlie, peace!" said the king. Then, 
 addressing Sir Oliver and the attendants : " Harm 
 not the urchin ; for he has taught my son a good 5 
 lesson, if Heaven do but give him grace to profit 
 by it. Hereafter, should he be tempted to tyran- 
 nize over the stubborn race of Englishmen, let 
 him remember little Noll Cromwell and his own 
 bloody nose." lo 
 
 So the king finished his dinner and ' departed ; 
 and for many a long year the childish quarrel 
 between Prince Charles and Noll Cromwell was 
 forgotten. The prince, indeed, might have lived 
 a happier life, and have met a more peaceful 15 
 death, had he remembered that quarrel and the 
 moral which his father drew from it. 
 
 When old King James was dead, and Charles 
 sat upon his throne, he seemed to forget that he 
 was but a man, and that his meanest subjects 20 
 were men as well as he. He wished to have the 
 property and lives of the people of England 
 entirely at his own disposal. But the Puritans, 
 and all who loved liberty, rose against him and 
 beat him in many battles and pulled him down 25 
 from his throne. 
 
172 THE HILL KEADERS 
 
 Throughout this war between the kmg and 
 nobles on one side and the people of England on 
 the other there was a famous leader, who did more 
 toward the ruin of royal authority than all the 
 
 5 rest. The contest seemed like a wrestling match 
 between King Charles and this strong man. And 
 the king was overthrown. 
 
 When the discrowned monarch was brought to 
 trial that warlike leader sat in the judgment hall. 
 
 10 Many judges were present besides himself, but he 
 alone had the power to save King Charles or to 
 doom him to the scaffold. After sentence was pro- 
 nounced this victorious general was entreated by 
 his own children, on their knees, to rescue his 
 
 15 Majesty from death. 
 
 " No ! " said he, sternly. '' Better that one man 
 perish than that the country should be ruined for 
 his sake. It is resolved that he shall die ! " 
 
 When Charles, no longer a king, was led to the 
 
 20 scaffold, his great enemy stood at a window of the 
 royal palace of Whitehall. He beheld the poor 
 victim of pride, and an evil education, and misused 
 power, as he laid his head upon the block. He 
 looked on with a steadfast gaze while a black- 
 
 25 veiled executioner lifted the fatal ax and smote 
 off that anointed head at a single blow. 
 
BOOK FOUR 173 
 
 ^^It is a righteous deed," perhaps he said. 
 " Now Englishmen may enjoy their rights." 
 
 At night, when the body of Charles lay in a 
 gloomy chamber, the general entered, lighting him- 
 self with a torch. 5 
 
 " Why was it," said Cromwell to himself, or 
 might have said, as he gazed at the pale features 
 in the coffin, — " why was it that this great king 
 fell, and that poor Noll Cromwell has gained all 
 the power of the realm?" 10 
 
 And, indeed, why was it ? 
 
 King Charles had fallen because, in his manhood 
 the same as when a child, he had disdained to feel 
 that every human creature was his brother. And 
 Cromwell rose because, in spite of his many faults, 15 
 he mainly fought for the rights and freedom of 
 his fellow-men ; and therefore the poor and the 
 oppressed all lent their strength to him. 
 
174 THE HILL EEADERS 
 
 A MUSICAL INSTRUMENT 
 
 Elizabeth Barrett Browning 
 
 The two Brownings, Robert and his gifted wife, have left 
 immortal names in English poetry. 
 
 Mrs. Browning was born in 1806. Her childhood was spent 
 in " a luxurious home standing in a park, among trees and sloping 
 5 hills all sprinkled with sheep." Her wealthy father surrounded 
 her with every comfort, but at the same time looked sharply 
 after the education of his dark -eyed, curly-haired, and winsome- 
 faced daughter. The child was an invalid, but her sickness did 
 not interfere with her love for study. "She read almost every 
 10 book worth the reading in almost every language," says Miss 
 Mitford, " and gave herself heart and soul to that poetry of which 
 she seemed born to be the priestess." 
 
 The death of her mother and her father's loss of fortune led 
 to a removal to London, where she lived until her marriage to 
 15 Robert Browning in 1846. After their marriage the two poets 
 went to Italy to live, and there Mrs. Browning died in 1861. 
 
 Mrs. Browning's poems always stand for truth and right. Her 
 Cry of the Children voiced the protest of an aroused country 
 against the practice of employing children in mines and factories. 
 20 Aurora Leigh, a versified novel, is Mrs. Browning's most 
 ambitious work, but her fame will doubtless rest on her Sonnets 
 from the Portuguese. 
 
 Note. Among the Greeks, Pan was the god of flocks, pas- 
 tures, and forests. He was born with horns, a goat's beard, and 
 25 a goat's feet. He had a crooked nose and very pointed ears. His 
 voice was terrible, and he was fond of roaring at shy and timid 
 people. He took a nap in the middle of the day, and great was 
 his fury if his slumbers were disturbed. 
 
 Pan was fond of music, and, as the following poem shows, was 
 30 believed to be the inventor of the shepherd's flute. 
 
BOOK FOUR 
 
 175 
 
 What was he doing, the great god Pan, 
 
 Down in the reeds by the river ? 
 Spreading ruin and scattering ban, 
 Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat, 
 And breaking the golden lilies afloat 5 
 
 Wfth the dragon-fly on the river. 
 
 He tore out a reed, the great god Pan, 
 
 From the deep cool bed of the river 
 The limpid water turbidly ran, 
 And the broken lilies a-dying lay. 
 And the dragon-fly had fled away. 
 
 Ere he brought it out of the river. 
 
 10 
 
 High on the shore sat the great god Pan, 
 While turbidly flowed the river ; 
 
176 THE HILL READERS 
 
 And hacked and hewed as a great god can. 
 With his hard hleak steel at the patient reed, 
 Till there was not a sign of a leaf indeed 
 To prove it fresh from the river. 
 
 5 He cut it short, did the great god Pan, - 
 
 (How tall it stood in the river !) 
 Then drew the pith, like the heart of a man. 
 Steadily from the outside ring, 
 And notched the poor dry empty thing 
 
 10 In holes, as he sat by the river. 
 
 " This is the way," laughed the great god Pan 
 
 (Laughed while he sat by the river), 
 " The only way, since gods began 
 To make sweet music, they could succeed." 
 15 Then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed. 
 
 He blew in power by the river. 
 
 Sweet, sweet, sweet, Pan ! 
 
 Piercing sweet by the river ! 
 Blinding sweet, great god Pan ! 
 20 The sun on the hill forgot to die, 
 
 And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly 
 
 Came back to dream on the river. 
 
BOOK FOUR 177 
 
 UNCLE REMUS AND HIS STORIES 
 
 The stories of Uncle Remus have gladdened the 
 lives of countless children. These stories, however, 
 did not start with the man who first wrote them. 
 Most of them, old perhaps as man, came with the 
 slaves of the South from their African homes, s 
 where for hundreds of years the black children of 
 forest and jungle had been fascinated or frightened 
 by them. 
 
 No one knows who first told these o(id stories. 
 They belonged to the negro race only as they lo 
 had belonged to other races long before. They, 
 however, particularly pleased the simple-hearted 
 negroes because their lives in the open fields and 
 in the tangled woods made them familiar with the 
 ways of the animals and birds about which the 15 
 stories were told. As they went out in the morn- 
 ing they saw Br'er Rabbit, with his '' cotton-patch " 
 tail scurrying before them. They noted the. saucy 
 cry of the blue jay as he prowled around the homes 
 of other birds. They met Br'er Bear in the silent 20 
 paths of the forest. In the evenings as they 
 returned to their bamboo shanties they caught 
 glimpses of sly Br'er Fox as he slunk out of sight, 
 and they heard with dread the " tu-whit tu-whoo " 
 
178 THE HILL READERS 
 
 of Br'er Owl as he winged his way through the 
 gathering gloom. 
 
 When the negroes came to America they brought 
 these stories with them, and as the negroes grew 
 5 in intelligence the stories improved in art, and 
 hence in interest. Story-teller after story-teller, 
 adding here a little and there a little, made the 
 stories better and better. In the cabins of the 
 cotton field and of the canebrake old and young 
 
 10 alike listened with rolling eyes and open mouth 
 to the wonderful ways of hare and fox, of bear, 
 buzzard, and terrapin. 
 
 By and by these stories made their way from 
 the cabin of the slave to the " Great House " of 
 
 15 the master. There they were enjoyed as much 
 as they had been in the slave quarters. But for 
 years no one thought of writing out these won- 
 derful stories. They were so simple and so famil- 
 iar that it never occurred to any one to make 
 
 20 '' book stories " of them. 
 
 At last Irwin Russell, of Mississippi, began to 
 write poems in the language of the plantation 
 negroes. The popularity of these poems seems to 
 have suggested to a young Georgia editor the 
 
 25 happy idea of writing out the negro stories with 
 
 . which he had all his life been familiar. 
 
BOOK FOUR 179 
 
 The writer who with much hesitation thus began 
 to tell these charming tales was Joel Chandler 
 Harris. 
 
 Mr. Harris was born in Putnam County, Georgia, 
 in 1848. One who knew him in his boyhood de- 5 
 scribes him as red-haired, freckle -faced, shy, mis- 
 chievous, yet thoughtful. In spite of a slow-moving 
 tongue, he had a wit that flashed merrily, a mem- 
 ory quick to hold whatever came within reach, a 
 mind original and strong. His parents were too lo 
 poor to give him other education than that offered 
 by the village school. 
 
 From earliest childhood young Harris was a con- 
 stant reader. The postmaster, becoming interested 
 in the boy, allowed him to curl up on an old green is 
 sofa in his office and read all the papers that were 
 not at once called for. His mother often read to 
 him. Among the books that she read was The 
 Vicar of Wakefield. This charming book so at- 
 tracted the boy that he could repeat entire pages 20 
 of it, and, while still under its spell, he began to 
 write childish stories. 
 
 All unexpectedly an opportunity came to him 
 to learn more about the art of writing. His native 
 country was filled with an unusually well-educated 25 
 class of people. A Mr. Turner, thinking to reach 
 
180 THE HILL READERS 
 
 these people with a scholarly publication, decided 
 to start a carefully edited paper on his plantation, 
 about nine miles from the town of Eatonton. 
 Needing an office boy, Mr. Turner took young 
 
 5 Harris, then twelve years old, into his office to 
 learn the printer's trade. 
 
 In his new home the shy but thoughtful boy 
 fell into the busy stream of life on a plantation in 
 the old South. He learned the ways of negroes at 
 
 10 work and at play. He listened to their songs as 
 their hoes swung along the cotton rows or as their 
 flying fingers snatched the cotton from opening 
 bolls. He joined them at night when with flaring 
 torches and yelping hounds they chased the fat 
 
 15 opossum or the hard-fighting raccoon. Especially 
 did he delight to visit them in their cabins and to 
 hear their odd stories told by the flickering light 
 of pine knots. His ready memory caught their 
 tricks of speech and gesture and stored away their 
 
 20 odd forms of humor. He heard these tales merely 
 for the pleasure of hearing them, and with no 
 thought that he would some day teach them to 
 the children of many lands. If the gray-haired 
 " uncles " and " aunties," who told him the best 
 
 25 of these tales, had ever dreamed that their quiet 
 boyish listener would before many years print and 
 
BOOK FOUR 181 
 
 scatter by thousands their stories, they would have 
 stood dumb before him. 
 
 There, too, in his country home the boy became 
 acquainted with the ways and habits of birds and 
 beasts. He petted the horses, made friends with 5 
 the dogs, rambled through the woods to catch 
 glimpses of squirrel, rabbit, fox, and deer. Like 
 little Hiawatha, he 
 
 Learned of every bird its language, 
 
 Learned their names and all their secrets. 10 
 
 He says of the office where he worked : " A 
 partridge built her nest within five paces of the 
 window wh^re I learned to set type, and hatched 
 her brood undisturbed. The cat squirrel frolicked 
 on the roof, and a gray fox, whose range was in 15 
 the neighborhood, used to' flit across the orchard 
 path in full sight." 
 
 No teller of animal stories could, then, have had 
 a better training than Harris had in Mr. Turner's 
 home, where both nature and books were loved. 20 
 
 A few years later Editor Turner began to find 
 spicy little articles in his paper, — articles which 
 he had neither written nor seen. He greatly won- 
 dered where they came from, but he was too wise to 
 question the shy boy who sat on a high stool before 26 
 
182 THE HILL READERS 
 
 the old-fashioned case of type. However, he soon 
 found that the articles were slipped into the paper 
 by this quiet printer boy. Harris took the following 
 plan to keep his authorship secret : he set his articles 
 5 into type as he composed them. Hence there was 
 never a scrap of paper, or " copy," as the printers 
 call it, to show where the articles came from. 
 
 Mr. Turner was much pleased with the ambition 
 of the bright boy, and opened his library of choice 
 
 10 books to him. In his spare hours Harris took to 
 reading, and these hours in a country library, added 
 to his habit of noticing closely everything that 
 came near him, laid the foundation on which in 
 later years he built his story-telhng art. 
 
 15 His quiet days of growth ended, however, before 
 he was eighteen. " The blood-red flower of war 
 had been brought to bloom " in our land, and the 
 young printer and writer saw the prosperous coun- 
 try around him made desolate by the Civil War. 
 
 20 The homes of his friends were broken up, the paper 
 in which he took so much pride had to be stopped, 
 and he, now an expert printer, had to say farewell 
 to those who had befriended him. 
 
 After working in several different cities Harris 
 
 25 finally, in 1876, moved to Atlanta, where he has 
 ever since lived. He became one of the editors of 
 
BOOK FOUR 183 
 
 the Atlanta Constitution, and for twenty-five years 
 his charming pen and happy nature aided in mak- 
 ing that paper one of the influential dailies of our 
 country. A few years ago Mr. Harris retired from 
 active newspaper service, and now devotes his time 5 
 to purely literary work. 
 
 During his years of active editorial writing he 
 found time to write the stories that rapidly made 
 him famous. In the quiet of his own home, after 
 the cares of the day were over, he shaped the ins lo 
 and outs of Uncle Remus' s daily doings, or followed 
 Aunt Minervy Ann, Runaway Jake, and Free Joe 
 step by step through their homely but cheery 
 lives. In the setting of his stories Mr. Harris often 
 moves out of the world of man, where strife after i5 
 dollars and after honors mars happiness. The 
 reader breathes an air fragrant with wild honey- 
 suckle, blackberry blossoms, and the flowers of 
 swamp and forest. With glad steps he follows 
 the author into a fairy world, where the slippery 20 
 Rabbit drives spurs into the flanks of the out- 
 witted Fox in a wild ride to Mis' Meadows' s 
 house, or where Tar Babies clutch the fingers of 
 Rabbits who are too fond of Foxes' cream. The 
 rare skill with which these stories are told rivals 25 
 that of Hans. Andersen. 
 
184 THE HILL READERS 
 
 His city life has never been able to wean 
 Mr. 'Harris from his love of nature. "He is," says 
 Ray Stannard Baker, "a great lover of flowers 
 and spends much time with his roses, of which he 
 
 5 grows many varieties. He knows and is fast friends 
 with every bird in his neighborhood. Two or thre.e 
 years ago, to his great delight, he discovered one 
 morning a pair of wrens building a nest in the 
 letter box on his front gatepost. He sat half the 
 
 10 forenoon watching for the postman in order to 
 warn him not to disturb the wrens, and great was 
 his solicitude until they were thoroughly estab- 
 lished. He watched and cared for them all summer 
 long, until the yoimg wrens were able to leave home. 
 
 15 One day he wrote an editorial for the Constitution 
 and entitled it ' The Sign of the Wren's Nest.' 
 Since then his home has been known among his 
 friends as ' The Sign of the Wren's Nest.' " 
 
 Among a few friends Mr. Harris is a bright, sun- 
 
 20 shiny companion, bubbling over with fun and sly 
 humor. Among strangers he is reserved and silent. 
 In his writings a big-hearted love of man and beast 
 is always uppermost. Nothing harsh or unkind 
 has ever come from his pen. 
 
 bamboo: a large, jointed grass used for many purposes. — 
 solicitude: anxiety. 
 
BOOK FOUR 185 
 
 UNCLE RAIN AND BROTHER DROUTH 
 
 Joel Chandler Harris 
 
 Note. In Mr. Harris's book, Mr. Rabbit at Home, Mrs. Mead- 
 ows, one of the characters, tells the following story to Mr. Rabbit 
 and other listeners. 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Meadows, "once upon a time 
 there lived in a country not very far from here a 5 
 man who had a wife and two children, — a boy 
 and a girl. This was not a large family,- but the 
 man was very poor, and he found it a hard matter 
 to get along. He was a farmer, and farming, no 
 matter what they say, depends almost entirely on lo 
 the weather. Now this farmer never could get 
 the weather he wanted. One year the Rain would 
 come and drown out his crops, and the next year 
 the Drouth would come and burn them- up. 
 
 "Matters went from bad to worse, and the 15 
 farmer and his wife talked of nothing else but the 
 Rain and the Drouth. One year they said they 
 would have made a living but for the Drouth, and 
 the next they said they would have been very well 
 off but for the Rain. So it went on from year 20 
 to year until the two children — the boy and the 
 girl — grew up large enough to understand what 
 
186 THE HILL KEADERS 
 
 their father and mother were talking about. One 
 year they'd hear they could have no Sunday 
 clothes and shoes because of the Drouth. The next 
 year they'd hear they could have no shoes and 
 
 5 Sunday clothes because of the Rain. 
 
 ''All this set them to thinking. The boy was 
 about ten years old and the girl was about nine. 
 One day at their play they began to talk as they had 
 heard their father and mother talk. It was early in 
 
 10 the spring, and their father was even then plowing 
 and preparing his fields for planting another crop. 
 " ' We shall have warm shoes and good clothes 
 next winter if the Rain does n't come and stay too 
 long/ said the boy. 
 
 15 " ' Yes,' replied the girl ; ' and we shall have good 
 clothes and warm shoes if the Drouth doesn't 
 come and stay too long.' 
 
 " ' I wonder why they 've got such a spite against 
 us/ remarked the boy. 
 
 20 " ' I 'm sure I don't know/ replied the girl. ' If 
 we go and see them, and tell them who we are, 
 and beg them not to make us so cold and hungry 
 when the ice grows in the ponds and on the trees, 
 maybe they '11 take pity on us.' 
 
 25 " This plan pleased the boy, and the two children 
 continued to talk it over, until finally they agreed 
 
18^ 
 
188 THE HILL READERS 
 
 to go in search of the Rain and the Drouth. ' Do 
 you/ said the boy, ' go in search of Brother Drouth, 
 and I will go in search of Uncle Rain. When we 
 have found them we must ask them to visit our 
 
 5 father's house and farm, and see the trouble and 
 ruin they have caused.' 
 
 "To this the girl agreed; and early the next 
 morning, after eating a piece of corn bread, which 
 was all they had for breakfast, they started on 
 
 10 their journey, the boy going. to the east and the 
 girl to the south. The boy traveled a long way, 
 and for many days. Sometimes he thought he 
 should never come to the end of his journey, but 
 finally he came to Cousin Mist's house, and there 
 
 15 he inquired his way. 
 
 " ' What do you want with Uncle Rain ? ' asked 
 Cousin Mist. ' He is holding court now, and he is 
 very busy. Besides, you are not dressed properly. 
 When people go to com-t they have to wear a par- 
 
 20 ticular kind of dress. In your case you certainly 
 ought to have ^a big umbrella and an oilcloth 
 overcoat.' 
 
 " ' Well,' replied the boy, ' I have n't got 'em, 
 and that's the end of that part of it. If you'll 
 
 25 show me the way to Uncle Rain's house, I'll go 
 on and be much obliged to boot.' 
 
BOOK FOUR 189 
 
 "Cousin Mist looked at the boy and laughed. 
 ^You are a bold lad/ he said; ^and since you are 
 so bold, I '11 lend you an umbrella and an oilcloth 
 overcoat, and go a part of the way with you.' 
 
 " So the boy put on the overcoat and hoisted 5 
 the umbrella, and trudged along the muddy road 
 toward the house of Uncle Rain. When they came 
 in sight of it Cousin Mist pointed it out, told the 
 boy good-by, and then went drizzling back home. 
 The boy went forward boldly and knocked at the lo 
 door of Uncle Rain's house. 
 
 " ' Who is there ? ' inquired Uncle Rain in a 
 hoarse and wheezy voice. He seemed to have the 
 asthma, the choking quinsy, and the croup, all at 
 the same time. is 
 
 "^It's only me,' said the boy. ^Please, Uncle 
 Rain, open the door.' 
 
 " With that Uncle Rain opened the door and 
 invited the little fellow in. He did more than 
 that ; he went to the closet and got out a dry 20 
 spot, and told the boy to make himself as com- 
 fortable as he could." 
 
 " Got out a — what ? " asked Buster John, try- 
 ing hard to keep from laughing. 
 
 " A dry spot," replied Mrs. Meadows solemnly. 25 
 " Uncle Rain went to the closet and got out a dry 
 
190 THE HILL READERS 
 
 spot. Of course," she continued, " Uncle Kain had 
 to keep a supply of dry spots on hand, so as to 
 make his visitors comfortable. It 's a great thing 
 to be polite. The boy sat on the dry spot, and, 
 
 5 after some remarks about the weather. Uncle Rain 
 asked him why he had come so far over the rough 
 roads. Then the boy told Uncle Rain the whole 
 story about how poor his father was, and how he 
 had been made poorer year after year, first by 
 
 10 Brother Drouth' and then by Uncle Rain. And then 
 he told how he and his little sister had to go with- 
 out shoes and wear thin clothes in cold weather, 
 all because the crops were ruined year after year, 
 either by Brother Drouth or Uncle Rain. 
 
 15 " He told his story so simply and with so much 
 feeling that Uncle Rain was compelled to wipe his 
 eyes on a corner of the fog that hung on a towel 
 rack behind the door. He asked the boy a great 
 many questions about his father and his mother. 
 
 20 "^I reckon,' said Uncle Rain finally, Hhat I 
 have done all of you a great deal of damage with- 
 out knowing it, but I think I can pay it back. 
 Bring the dry spot with you, and come with me.' 
 He went into the barnyard and the boy followed. 
 
 25 They went into the barn, and there the boy saw, 
 tied by a silver cord, a little black sheep. It was 
 
BOOK FOUR 191 
 
 very small, but seemed to be full-grown, because 
 it had long horns that curled round and round on 
 the sides of its head. And, although the horns 
 were long and hard, the little sheep was very 
 friendly. It rubbed its head softly against the boy's 5 
 hand, and seemed to be fond of him at first sight. 
 
 "Uncle Rain untied the silver cord and placed 
 the loose end in the boy's hand. ' Here is a sheep,' 
 he said, /that is worth more than all the flocks in 
 the world. When you want gold, all you have to lo 
 do is to press the golden spring undej, the left 
 horn. The horn will then come off, and you will 
 find it full of gold. When you want silver, press 
 the silver spring under the right horn. The horn 
 will come off, and you will find it full of silver, is 
 When the horns have been emptied, place them 
 back where they belong. This may be done once, 
 twice, or fifty times a day.' 
 
 " The boy did n't know how to thank Uncle 
 Rain for this wonderful gift. H3 was so eager to 20 
 get home that he would have started off at once. 
 
 " ' Wait a minute,' said Uncle Rain. ' You may 
 tell your father about this, but he must tell no 
 one else. The moment the secret of the sheep is 
 told outside your family it will no longer be 25 
 valuable to you.' 
 
192 THE HILL READERS 
 
 " The boy thanked Uncle Rain again, and started 
 for home, leading his wonderful sheep, which 
 trotted along after him, as if it were glad to go 
 with him. The boy went home much faster than 
 5 he had gone away, and it was not long before he 
 reached there." 
 
 "But what became of the little girl?" asked 
 Sweetest Susan, as Mrs. Meadows paused for a 
 moment. 
 
 10 " I am coming to her now," said Mrs. Meadows. 
 " The girl, according to the bargain that had been 
 made between her and her brother, was to visit 
 Brother Drouth and lay her complaints before 
 him. So she started on her way. As she went 
 
 15 along, the roads began to get drier and drier, and 
 the grass on the ground and the leaves on the 
 trees began to look as if they had been sprinkled 
 with yellow powder. By these signs the girl 
 knew that she was not far from the house of 
 
 20 Cousin Dust, and presently she saw it in the dis- 
 tance. She went to the door, which was open, and 
 inquired the way to Brother Drouth's. Cousin Dust 
 was much surprised to see a little girl at his door ; 
 but after a long fit of coughing he recovered 
 
 25 himself and told her that she was now in Brother 
 Drouth's country. 
 
BOOK FOUR 193 
 
 "^If you'll show me the way,' said the girl, 
 ' I '11 be more than obliged to you.' 
 
 " ^ I '11 go a part of the way with you/ said 
 Cousin Dust, ^and lend you a fan besides.' 
 
 " So they went along until they came in sight s 
 of Brother Drouth's house, and then Cousin Dust 
 went eddying back home in the shape of a small 
 whirlwind. The girl went to Brother Drouth's 
 door and knocked. Brother Drouth came at once 
 and opened the door, and invited her in. lo 
 
 " ' I '11 not deny that I 'm surprised^ said he ; 
 ' for I never expected to find a little girl knocking 
 at my door at this time of day. But I 'm glad to 
 see you. You must have come a long journey.' 
 
 " With that he went to the cupboard and got is 
 her a cool place to sit on, and this she found very 
 comfortable. But still Brother Drouth was n't sat- 
 isfied. As his visitor was a little girl, he wanted 
 to be extra polite, and so he w^ent to his private 
 closet and brought her a fresh breeze with a handle 20 
 to it ; and, as the cool place had a cushioned back 
 and the fresh breeze a handle that the girl could 
 manage, she felt better in Brother Drouth's house 
 than she had at any time during her long journey. 
 She sat there on the cool place and fanned with 25 
 the fresh breeze, and Brother Drouth sat in his 
 
194 THE HILL EEADEKS 
 
 big armchair and smiled at her. The little girl 
 noticed this after a while, " and so she said : 
 
 " ' Oh, you can laugh ; but it 's no laughing 
 matter. If you could see the trouble youVe 
 
 5 caused at our house, you 'd laugh on the other 
 side of your mouth.' 
 
 "When he heard this Brother Drouth at once 
 became very serious, and apologized. He said 
 he wasn't laughing, but just smiling because he 
 
 10 thought she was enjoying herself. 
 
 " ' I may be enjoying myself now,' said the little 
 girl, ' and I 'm much obliged to you ; but if I was 
 at home, I should n't be enjoying myself.' 
 
 " Then she went on to tell Brother Drouth how 
 
 15 her father's crops had been ruined year after year, 
 either by Uncle Rain or by Brother Drouth, and 
 how the family got poorer and poorer all the time 
 on that account, so that the little children could n't 
 have warm shoes and thick clothes in cold weather, 
 
 20 but had to go barefooted and wear rags. Brother 
 Drouth listened with all his ears; and when the 
 little girl had told her story he shook his head and 
 said that he was to blame as well as Uncle Rain. 
 He explained that for many years there had been a 
 
 25 trial of strength going on between him and Uncle 
 Rain, and they had become so much interested in 
 
BOOK FOUR 195 
 
 overcoming each other that they had paid no 
 attention to poor people's crops. He said he was 
 sorry that he had taken part in any such affair. 
 Then he told the little girl that he thought he 
 could pay her for a part of the damage he had 5 
 done, and that he would be more than glad 
 to do so. 
 
 " ' Bring your cool place and your fresh breeze 
 with you, and come with me/ said he. 
 
 "She followed Brother Drouth out into the lo 
 barnyard, and into the bam; and there,^ tied by 
 a golden cord, she saw a snow-white goat. 
 
 " ' This goat,' said Brother Drouth, ' is worth 
 more than all the goats in the world, tame or 
 wild.' With that he untied the golden cord and 15 
 placed the loose end in the girl's hand. The goat 
 was small, but seemed to be old, for its horns, 
 which were of the color of ivory, curved upward 
 and over its back. They were so long that, by 
 turning its head a bit, the snow-white goat could 20 
 scratch itself on its ham. And, though it seemed 
 to be old, it was very gentle ; for it rubbed its 
 nose and face against the little girl's frock, and 
 appeared to be very glad to see her. 
 
 '^ ' Now, then,' said Brother Drouth, ' this goat 25 
 is yours. Take it and take care of it. On the under 
 
196 THE HILL READERS 
 
 side of each horn you will find a small spring. 
 Touch it, and the horn will come off; and each 
 horn, no matter how many times you touch the 
 spring, you will always find full of gold and silver. 
 
 5 But this is not all. At each change of the moon 
 you will find the right horn full of diamonds and 
 the left horn full of pearls. Now listen to me. 
 You may tell your father about this treasure ; but 
 as soon as the secret is told out of the family your 
 
 10 goat will be worth no more to you than any other 
 goat would be.' 
 
 "The little girl thanked Brother Drouth until 
 he would allow her to thank him no more. She 
 would have left the cool place and the fresh breeze, 
 
 15 but Brother Drouth said she was welcome to both 
 of them. ^When the weather is cold,' said he, 
 'you can put them away; but when it is warm 
 you will find that the cool place and the fresh 
 breeze will come in right handy.' 
 
 20 "Thanking Brother Drouth again and again, 
 the girl started on her journey home, leading her 
 wonderful goat and carrying with her the cool 
 place and the fresh breeze. In this way she made 
 the long journey with ease and comfort, and came 
 
 25 to her father's house without any trouble. She 
 reached the gate, too, just as her brother did. 
 
BOOK FOUR 
 
 197 
 
 They were very glad to see each other, and the 
 sheep and the goat appeared to be old friends, 
 for they rubbed their noses together in friendly 
 fashion. 
 
 " ' I '11 make our father and mother rich,' said s 
 the boy proudly. 
 
 " ' And I '11 make them richer,' said the girl 
 still more proudly. 
 
 " So they took their wonderful goat and sheep 
 into the stable, gave them some hay to eat, and lo 
 then went into the house." 
 
 Copyright, 1894. Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Publishers. 
 
198 THE HILL READERS 
 
 THE LAST LEAF 
 
 Oliver Wendell Holmes 
 
 Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809-1894), poet, essayist, nov- 
 elist, and physician, was born in Cambridge, Massachusetts. 
 After being graduated at Harvard in the celebrated class of 1829, 
 he studied medicine in America and in France. In 1838 he was 
 5 elected professor of anatomy in Dartmouth College. A few years 
 later he was called to the same chair in Harvard University, and 
 for thirty-five years he filled acceptably this professorship. 
 
 When he was twenty-one years old he began his long poetic 
 career by the patriotic stanzas on Old Ironsides, — a poem that 
 
 10 saved the historic frigate Constitution from being dismantled. 
 Among his most popular poems are The Chambered Nautilus, Under 
 the Violets, Lexington, The Voiceless, The Deacon's Masterpiece, The 
 Boys, The Ploughman, How the Old Horse won the Bet. 
 
 On the launching of the Atlantic Monthly in 1857, Lowell 
 
 15 accepted the editorship on condition that Holmes should write 
 regularly for the magazine. To carry out the part assigned him. 
 Holmes turned his attention to prose, and began the charming 
 Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table series. These papers did much 
 to establish the high character of the magazine and make it 
 
 20 successful. 
 
 I saw him once before, 
 As he passed by the door, 
 
 And again 
 The pavement stones resound, 
 26 As he totters o'er the ground 
 
 With his cane. 
 
BOOK FOUR 199 
 
 They say that, in his prime, 
 Ere the pruning knife of Time 
 
 Cut him down, 
 Not a better man was found 
 By the crier on his round 6 
 
 Through the town. 
 
 But now he walks the streets, 
 And he looks at all he meets 
 
 Sad and wan. 
 And he shakes his feeble head, lo 
 
 That it seems as if he said, 
 
 " They are gone." 
 
 The mossy marbles rest 
 
 On the lips that he has prest 
 
 In their bloom, 16 
 
 And the names he loved to hear 
 Have been carved for many a year 
 
 On the tomb. 
 
 My grandmamma has said, — 
 
 Poor old lady, she is dead 20 
 
 Long ago, — 
 That he had a Roman nose. 
 And his cheek was like a rose 
 
 In the snow. 
 
200 THE HILL EEADERS 
 
 But now his- nose is thin, 
 And it rests upon his chin 
 
 Like a staff, 
 And a crook is in his back, 
 5 And a melancholy crack 
 
 In his laugh. 
 
 I know it is a sin 
 For me to sit and grin 
 
 At him here ; 
 la But the old three-cornered hat, 
 
 And the breeches, and all that, 
 
 Are so queer ! 
 
 And if I should live to be 
 The last leaf upon the tree 
 15 In the spring, — 
 
 Let them smile, as I do now. 
 At the old forsaken bough 
 Where I cling. 
 
 crier : the town crier was an officer who used to cry aloud the 
 orders of the court. 
 
BOOK FOUR 201 
 
 A CHILD'S DREAM OF A STAR 
 Charles Dickens 
 
 Charles Dickens (1812-1870), one of the greatest of Eng- 
 lish novelists, was born in Landport, but reared in London. A 
 child of poverty, he rose through his own efforts to comfort and 
 fame. Like all great novelists, he took a deep interest in the 
 world around him. It was the mission of his genius to keep 5 
 mankind from hearing "with a disdainful smile the short and 
 simple annals of the poor." 
 
 Dickens had great skill in drawing the characters of children. 
 His pen pictures of Little Nell, David Copperfield, Oliver Twist, 
 and Paul and Florence Dombey have endeared him to the children 10 
 of two continents. 
 
 There was once a child, and he strolled about a 
 good deal, and thought of a number of things. 
 He had a sister, who was a child too, and his con- 
 stant companion. These two used to wonder all i5 
 day long. They wondered at the beauty of the 
 flowers ; they wondered at the height and blueness 
 of the sky; they wondered at the depth of the 
 bright water ; they wondered at the goodness and 
 the power of God, who made the lovely world. 20 
 
 There was one clear shining star that used to 
 come out in the sky before the rest, near the 
 church spire, above the graves. It was larger and 
 more beautiful, they thought, than all the others, 
 
202 THE HILL EEADERS 
 
 and every night they watched for it, standing 
 hand in hand at the window. Whoever saw it first 
 cried out, " I see the star ! " And often they cried 
 out both together, knowing so well when it would 
 5 rise, and where. So they grew to be such friends 
 with it that, before lying down in their beds, they 
 always looked out once again, to bid it good night ; 
 and when they were turning round to sleep they 
 used to say, " God bless the star ! " 
 
 10 But while she was still very young, oh ! very, 
 very young, the sister drooped and came to be so 
 weak that she could no longer stand in the win- 
 dow at night ; and then the child looked sadly out 
 by himself, and when he saw the star, turned 
 
 15 round and said to the patient pale face on the bed, 
 " I see the star ! " and then a smile would come 
 upon the face, and a little weak voice used to say, 
 " God bless my brother and the star ! " 
 
 And so the time came, all too soon! when the 
 
 20 child looked out alone, and when there was no 
 face on the bed; and when there was a little 
 grave among the graves, not there before; and 
 when the star made long rays down toward him, 
 as he saw it through his tears. 
 
 25 Now these rays were so bright, and they seemed 
 to make such a shining way from earth to heaven, 
 
BOOK FOUR 203 
 
 that when the child went to his sohtary bed he 
 dreamed about the star; and dreamed that, lying 
 where he was, he saw a train of people taken 
 up that sparkling road by angels. And the star, 
 opening, showed him a great world of light, where 5 
 many more such angels waited to receive them. 
 
 All these angels, who were waiting, turned their 
 beaming eyes upon the people who were carried 
 up into the star ; and some came out from the long 
 rows in which they stood, and fell upon the peo- lo 
 pie's necks, and kissed them .tenderly, -and went 
 away with them down avenues of light, and were 
 so happy in their company that, lying in his bed, 
 he wept for joy. 
 
 But there were many angels who did not go is 
 with them, and among them was one that he knew. 
 The patient face that had lain upon the bed was 
 glorified and radiant, but his heart found out his 
 sister among all the host. 
 
 His sister's angel lingered near the entrance of 20 
 the star, and said to the leader among those who 
 had brought the people thither, " Is my brother 
 come?" 
 
 And he said " No." 
 
 She was turning hopefully away, when the 25 
 child stretched out his arms and cried : "0 sister ! 
 
204 THE HILL READERS 
 
 I am here. Take me." And then, she turned her 
 beaming eyes upon him, and it was night; and the 
 star was shining into the room, making long rays 
 down toward him as he saw it through his tears. 
 
 5 From that hour forth the child looked out upon 
 the star as on the home he was to go to when his 
 time should come ; and he thought that he did not 
 belong to the earth alone, but to the star too, be- 
 cause of his sister's angel gone before. 
 
 10 There was a baby born to be a brother to the 
 child ; and while he was so little that he never yet 
 had spoken a word, he stretched his tiny form out 
 on his bed and died. 
 
 Again the child dreamed of the opened star, and 
 
 15 of the company of angels, and the train of people, 
 and the rows of angels with their beaming eyes all 
 turned upon those people's faces. 
 
 Said his sister's angel to the leader, "Is my 
 brother come?" 
 
 20 And he said, " Not that one, but another." 
 
 As the child beheld his brother's angel in her 
 arms, he cried : " sister ! I am here. Take me." 
 And she turned and smiled upon him, and the star 
 was shining. 
 
 25 He grew to be a young man, and was busy at his 
 books when an old servant came to him and said: 
 
BOOK FOUR 205 
 
 " Thy mother is no more. I bring her blessing on 
 her darling son." 
 
 Again at night he saw the star, and all that for- 
 mer company. Said his sister's angel to the leader, 
 " Is my brother come ? " 5 
 
 And he said, " Thy mother." 
 
 A mighty cry of joy went forth through all the 
 star, because the mother was reunited to her two 
 children. And he stretched out his arms and cried : 
 " mother, sister, and brother ! I am here. Take 10 
 me." And they answered him, '^ Not yet"; and 
 the star was shining. 
 
 He grew to be a man whose hair was turning 
 gray, and he was sitting in his chair by the fireside, 
 heavy with grief, and with his face bedewed with 15 
 tears, when the star opened once again. 
 
 Said his sister's angel to the leader, " Is my 
 brother come ? " 
 
 And he said, ' " Nay, but his maiden daughter." 
 
 And the man who had been the child saw his 20 
 daughter, newly lost to him, a celestial creature 
 among those three ; and he said, " My daughter's 
 head is on my sister's bosom, and her arm is round 
 my mother's neck, and at her feet there is the baby 
 of old time, and I can bear the parting from her, 25 
 God be praised!" 
 
206 
 
 THE HILL EEADEKS 
 
 And the star was shining. 
 
 Thus the child came to be an old man, and his 
 once smooth face was wrinkled, and his steps were 
 slow and feeble, and his back was bent. And one 
 5 night as he lay upon his bed, his children standing 
 round, he cried, as he had cried so long ago, " I see 
 the star ! " 
 
 They whispered one to another, " He is dying." 
 
 And he said : " I am. My age is falling from me 
 
 10 like a garment, and I move toward the star as a 
 
 child. And oh, my Father, now I thank thee that it 
 
 has so often opened to receive those dear ones who 
 
 await me ! " 
 
 And the star was shining; and it shines upon 
 15 his grave. 
 
BOOK FOUE, 207 
 
 ATTACKED BY A MOOSE 
 
 William Joseph Long 
 
 William Joseph Long (1867- ), writer of out-of-door 
 stories and wilderness ways, was born in North Attleboro, Massa- 
 chusetts. His academic course was taken at Harvard University, 
 and his theological studies were pursued at Andover Seminary. 
 He also studied in Germany and took his doctor's degree at 5 
 Heidelberg. Ways of Wood Folk, Wilderness Ways, and School of 
 the Woods are fresh and original books. 
 
 The worst of them all was the big bjill moose 
 whose tracks were on the shore when we arrived. 
 He was a morose, ugly old brute, living apart by lo 
 himself, with temper always on edge, ready to bully 
 anything that dared to cross his path or question 
 his lordship. Whether he was an outcast, grown 
 surly from living too much alone, or whether he 
 bore some bullet wound to account for his hos- i5 
 tility to man, I could never find out. 
 
 Before we had found this out I stumbled upon 
 the big bull one afternoon, and came near paying 
 the penalty of my ignorance. I had been still- 
 fishing for togue, and was on my way back to camp 20 
 when, doubling a point, I ran plump upon a bull 
 moose feeding among the lily pads. My approach 
 had been perfectly silent, — that is the only way to 
 
208 THE HILL READERS 
 
 see things in the woods, — and he was quite uncon- 
 scious that anybody but himself was near. 
 
 He would plunge his great head under water till 
 only his antler tips showed, and nose around on 
 
 5 the bottom till he found a lily root. With a heave 
 and a jerk he would drag it out, and stand chewing 
 it endwise, with huge satisfaction, while the muddy 
 water trickled down over his face. When it was 
 all eaten, he would grope under the lily pads for 
 
 10 another root in the same way. 
 
 Without thinking much of the possible risk, I 
 began to creep toward him. While his liead was 
 under I would work the canoe along silently, sim- 
 ply " rolling the paddle " without lifting it from 
 
 15 the water. At the first lift of his antlers I would 
 stop and sit low in the canoe till he finished his 
 juicy morsel and ducked for more. Then one could 
 slip along again without being discovered. 
 
 Two or three times this was repeated success- 
 
 20 fully, and still the big, unconscious brute, facing 
 away from me fortunately, had no idea that he 
 was being watched. His head went under the 
 water again — not so deep this time ; but I was too 
 absorbed in the pretty game to notice that he had 
 
 26 found the end of a root above the mud, and that 
 his ears were out of water. A ripple from the bow 
 
209 
 
210 THE HILL KEADEES 
 
 of my canoe, or perhaps the faint brush of a lily 
 leaf against the side, reached him. His head burst 
 out of the pads unexpectedly; with a snort and a 
 mighty flounder he whirled upon me ; and there 
 5 he stood quivering, ears, eyes, nose — everything 
 about him, reaching out to me and shooting ques- 
 tions at my head with an insistence that demanded 
 instant answer. 
 
 I kept quiet, though I was altogether too near 
 
 10 the big brute for comfort, till an unfortunate breeze 
 brushed the bow of my canoe still nearer to where 
 he stood, threatening now instead of questioning. 
 The mane on his back began to bristle, and I knew 
 that I had but a small second in which to act. To 
 
 15 get speed I swung the bow of the canoe outward, 
 instead of backing away. The movement brought 
 me a trifle nearer, yet gave me a chance to shoot 
 by him. At the first sudden motion he leaped ; 
 the red fire blazed out of his eyes, and he plunged 
 
 20 straight at the canoe — one, two splashing jumps, 
 and the huge velvet antlers were shaking just over 
 me and the deadly forefoot was raised for a blow. 
 
 I rolled over on the instant, startling the brute 
 with a yell as I did so, and upsetting the canoe 
 
 25 between us. There was a splintering crack behind 
 me as I struck out for deep water. When I turned, 
 
BOOK FOUR 211 
 
 at a safe distance, the bull had driven one sharp 
 hoof through the bottom of the upturned canoe, 
 and was now trying awkwardly to pull his leg out 
 from the clinging cedar ribs. He seemed frightened 
 at the queer dumb thing that gripped his foot, for 5 
 he grunted and jumped back, and thrashed his big 
 antlers in excitement; but he was getting more 
 angry every minute. 
 
 To save the canoe from being pounded to pieces 
 was now the only pressing business on hand. All lo 
 other considerations took to the winds, in the 
 thought that, if the bull's fury increased and he 
 leaped upon the canoe as he does when he means 
 to kill, one jump would put the frail thing beyond 
 repair, and we would have to face the dangerous 15 
 river below in a spruce bark of our own building. 
 I swam quickly to the shore and splashed and 
 shouted and then ran away to attract the bull's 
 attention. He came after me on the instant — 
 unh ! unh ! chock, chockety -chock ! till he was close 20 
 enough for discomfort, when I took to water again. 
 The bull followed, deeper and deeper, till his sides 
 were awash. The bottom was muddy, and he trod 
 gingerly; but there was no fear of his swimming 
 after me. He knows his limits, and they stop him 25 
 shoulder deep. 
 
212 
 
 THE HILL READERS 
 
 When he would follow no further I swam to 
 the canoe and tugged it out into deep water. 
 Umquenawis stood staring now in astonishment 
 at the sight of this queer man-fish. The red light 
 
 5 died out of his eyes for the first time, and his ears 
 wigwagged like flags in the winds. He made no 
 effort to follow, but stood as he was, shoulder 
 deep, staring, wondering, till I landed on the point 
 above, whipped the canoe over, and spilled the 
 
 10 water out of it. * ^ . ^ 
 
 Adapted 
 
 morose : sullen. — togue : a large lake trout. — Umquenawis : 
 Indian name for moose. — wigwagged : waved as signals. 
 
BOOK FOUK 213 
 
 MAY DAY 
 
 John Wolcot 
 
 Doctor John Wolcot (1738-1819) was an English poet who 
 wrote under the name of " Peter Pindar." He is best known as a 
 writer of bright and amusing poems. Before his death he boasted 
 that his poems had been translated into six different languages. 
 
 The daisies peep from every field, 5 
 
 The violets sweet their odors yield ; 
 The purple blossom paints the thorn, 
 And streams reflect the blush of morn. 
 Then lads and lasses all, be gay,' 
 For this is nature's holiday. lo 
 
 Let lusty labor drop his flail. 
 Nor woodman's hook a tree assail ; 
 The ox shall cease his neck to bow. 
 And Clodden yield to rest the plow. 
 
 Then lads and lasses all, be gay, is 
 
 For this is nature's holiday. 
 
 Lo ! Sol looks down with radiant eye. 
 And throws a smile around his sky ; 
 Embracing hill, and vale, and stream. 
 And warming nature with his beam. 20 
 
 Then lads and lasses all, be gay. 
 
 For this is nature's holiday. 
 
 Clodden : a farmer. — Sol : the sun. 
 
214 THE HILL READEES 
 
 THE STRENGTH OF DOUGLAS 
 
 Walter Scott 
 
 Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832), poet and novelist, was born 
 in Edinburgh, Scotland. When he was eighteen months old he 
 was sent to the country for his health. For six years he was free 
 in the open fields. He made friends with dogs and sheep, learned 
 5 to love the flowers, streams, and trees, and stored his memory 
 with many an heroic tale and legend. 
 
 When he grew stronger he was sent to the Edinburgh high 
 school, where his companions flocked around him to hear his 
 stories. His university career was stopped by severe illness, and 
 
 10 for two years he did little but read from morning until bedtime. 
 Poetry, history, and romances especially delighted him. 
 
 Later he was licensed as a lawyer, but found less pleasure in 
 law than in exploring old castles and in packing away in a capa- 
 cious memory scraps of poetry, quaint legends, and wild adven- 
 
 15 tures of the border. An appointment as sheriff and some money 
 from his marriage enabled him to give up the practice of law 
 and to settle on the banks of the Tweed River, where literature 
 became more and more the chief business of his life. From the 
 quiet of this country home were sent forth in rajiid succession 
 
 20 those poetical tales that aroused widespread admiration and 
 enthusiasm. First came The Lay of the Last Minstrel, and this 
 was followed by Marmion, The Lady of the Lake, Rokeby, The Lord 
 of the Isles, and other poems. These were followed by a series of 
 novels, called, from the first one of the series, the Waverley Novels. 
 
 25 These stories, simple, fresh, delightful alike to old and young, 
 made the name and fame of Scott immortal. 
 
 The Douglas, who had bent his way 
 From Cambus-kenneth's abbey gray, 
 Now, as he climbed the rocky shelf, 
 
BOOK FOUR 215 
 
 Held sad communion with himself : —   
 
 " Yes ! all is true my fears could frame ; 
 
 A prisoner lies the noble Graeme ; 
 
 And fiery Roderick soon will feel 
 
 The vengeance of the royal steel. 5 
 
 I, only I, can ward their fate, — 
 
 God grant the ransom come not late ! 
 
 But hark ! what blithe and jolly peal 
 
 Makes the Franciscan steeple reel? 
 
 And see ! upon the crowded street - - lo 
 
 In motley groups what masquers meet ! 
 
 Banner and pageant, pipe and drum, 
 
 And merry morrice-dancers come. 
 
 I guess by all this quaint array. 
 
 The burghers hold their sports to-day. i5 
 
 James will be there ; he loves such show, 
 
 Where the good yeoman bends his bow. 
 
 And the tough wrestler foils his foe. 
 
 As well as where, in proud career. 
 
 The high-born tilter shivers spear. 20 
 
 I '11 follow to the Castle-park, 
 
 And play my prize ; — King James shall mark 
 
 If age has tamed these sinews stark, 
 
 Whose force so oft in happier days 
 
 His boyish wonder loved to praise." 26 
 
216 THE HILL READERS 
 
 The Castle gates were open flung, 
 
 The quivering drawbridge rocked and rung, 
 
 And echoed loud the flinty street 
 
 Beneath the coursers' clattering feet, 
 
 As slowly down the deep descent 
 
 Fair Scotland's King and nobles went. 
 
 And ever James was bending low 
 To his white jennet's saddle-bow, 
 Dofling his cap to city dame, 
 10 Who smiled and blushed for pride and shame. 
 
 And well the simperer might be vain, — 
 He chose the fairest of the train. 
 Gravely he greets each city sire, 
 
BOOK FOUR 217 
 
 Commends each pageant's quaint attire, 
 
 Gives to the dancers thanks aloud, 
 
 And smiles and nods upon the crowd, 
 
 Who rend the heavens with their acclaims, — 
 
 " Long live the Commons' King, King James ! " 5 
 
 Behind the King thronged peer and knight. 
 
 And noble dame and damsel bright, 
 
 Whose fiery steeds ill brooked the stay 
 
 Of the steep street and crowded way. 
 
 But in the train you might discern lo 
 
 Dark lowering brow and visage stern; " ' 
 
 There nobles mourned their pride restrained, 
 
 And the mean burgher's joys disdained ; 
 
 And chiefs, who, hostage for their clan. 
 
 Were each from home a banished man, 15 
 
 There thought upon their own gray tower. 
 
 Their waving woods, their feudal power. 
 
 And deemed themselves a shameful part 
 
 Of pageant which they cursed in heart. 
 
 Now, in the Castle-park, drew out 20 
 
 Their checkered bands the joyous rout. 
 
 There morricers, with bell at heel 
 
 And blade in hand, their mazes wheel ; 
 
 But chief, beside the butts, there stand 
 
 Bold Robin Hood and all his band, — 25 
 
218 THE HILL KEADERS 
 
 Friar Tuck, with quarterstaff and cowl, 
 Old Scathelocke, with his surly scowl. 
 Maid Marian, fair as ivory bone. 
 Scarlet, and Mutch, and Little John ; 
 5 Their bugles challenge all that will. 
 
 In archery to prove their skill. 
 The Douglas bent a bow of might. 
 His first shaft centered in the white, 
 And when in turn he shot again, 
 
 10 His second split the first in twain. 
 
 From the King's hand must Douglas take 
 A silver dart, the archers' stake ; 
 Fondly he watched, with watery eye, 
 Some answering glance of sympathy, — 
 
 16 No kind emotion made reply ! 
 
 Indifferent as to archer wight. 
 The Monarch gave the arrow bright. 
 
 Now, clear the ring ! for, hand to hand. 
 The manly wrestlers take their stand. • 
 
 20 Two o'er the rest superior rose, 
 
 And proud demanded mightier foes, — 
 Nor called in vain ; for Douglas came. — 
 For life is Hugh of Larbert lame ; 
 Scarce better John of Alloa's fare, 
 
 26 Whom senseless home his comrades bare. 
 
BOOK FOUR 219 
 
 Prize of the wrestling match, the King 
 
 To Douglas gave a golden ring, 
 
 While coldly glanced his eye of blue, 
 
 As frozen drop of wintry dew. 
 
 Douglas would speak, but in his breast 5 
 
 His struggling soul his words suppressed ; 
 
 Indignant then he turned him where 
 
 Their arms the brawny yeomen bare, 
 
 To hurl the massive bar in air. 
 
 When each his utmost strength had shown, lo 
 
 The Douglas rent an earth-fast stone ' 
 
 From its deep bed, then heaved it high. 
 
 And sent the fragment through the sky 
 
 A rood beyond the farthest mark ; 
 
 And still in Stirling's royal park, 15 
 
 The gray-haired sires, who know the past. 
 
 To strangers point the Douglas cast. 
 
 And moralize on the decay 
 
 Of Scottish strength in modern day. 
 
 motley: mixed. — masquers : merrymakers in masks morrice 
 
 dancers : leading figures in parades of the time. They imperson- 
 ated popular characters like Robin Hood, etc. — burghers : free men 
 of a village or borough. — stark: strong. — coursers: war horses. 
 — jennet: a Spanish pony. — acclaims: shouts. — peer: lord. — 
 brooked : bore. — butts : marks to be shot at. — wight : active. 
 
220 THE HILL READERS 
 
 GRACIE OF ALABAMA 
 Francis Orrery Ticknor 
 
 Francis Orrery Ticknor (1822-1874), an American poet of 
 delicate fancy and rich imagination, was a native of Georgia. 
 He lived near Columbus and spent his life as a busy physician. 
 From childhood he was a melody lover, and, in the presence 
 5 of the beautiful, the pathetic, the heroic, or when touched by 
 nature, he fell into song as naturally as birds do. 
 
 Little Giffen, The Virginians of the Valley, and April Morning are 
 representative of his power. 
 
 Gracie of Alabama 
 10 Walked down the lines with Lee, 
 
 Marking through mists of gunshot 
 The clouds of enemy. 
 
 Thrice Alabama's warning 
 Fell on a heedless ear, 
 16 While the relentless lead-storm, 
 
 Converging, hurtled near ; 
 
 Till, straight before his chieftain, 
 
 Without a word or sign. 
 He stood, a shield the grandest, 
 20 Against the Union line. 
 
 And then the glass was lowered, 
 A voice that faltered not 
 
BOOK FOUR 221 
 
 Said in its measured cadence, 
 
 " Why, Gracie, you '11 be shot ! " 
 
 And Alabama answered, 
 
 " The South will pardon me 
 If the ball that goes through Gracie 5 
 
 Comes short of Robert Lee ! " 
 
 Swept a swift flash of crimson 
 
 Athwart the chieftain's cheek, 
 And the eye whose glance was knighthood 
 
 Spake as no king could speak. lo 
 
 And side by side with Gracie 
 
 He turned from shot and flame — 
 
 Side by side with Gracie 
 
 Up the grand aisle of fame. 
 
 relentless : without mercy. — converging : coming to one point. 
 — hurtled: rushed with a crashing sound. — measured cadence: 
 
 even tone. 
 
222 ' THE HILL READERS 
 
 DAYBREAK 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822), an English poet of high 
 rank, had a short and unhappy life. Expelled from the University 
 of Oxford for his religious views, he began his poetical career, in 
 his nineteenth year, with his crude Queen Mab. Before he was 
 5 thirty delicate health drove him to the soft climate of Italy, where 
 he and Lord Byron became fast friends. In 1822, while indulging 
 in his favorite sport of boating, the young poet was drowned. 
 
 Shelley's restless, rebellious spirit found expression in many 
 
 beautiful and powerful poems, but some of them are marred by 
 
 10 unwise attacks on society, government, and religion. Many of 
 
 his shorter poems, such as The Skylark, The Sensitive Plant, and 
 
 The Cloud, are models of poetic beauty and grace. 
 
 Day had awakened all things that be, — 
 The lark and the thrush and the swallow free, 
 15 And the milkmaid's song and mower's scythe. 
 And the matin bell and the mountain bee. 
 Fireflies were quenched on the dewy corn ; 
 Glowworms went out on the river's brim. 
 Like lamps which a student forgets to trim ; 
 20 The beetle forgot to wind his horn ; 
 
 The crickets were still in the meadow and hill : 
 Like a flock of rooks at a farmer's gun, 
 Night's dreams and terrors, every one, 
 Fled from the brains which are their prey 
 25 From the lamp's death to the morning ray. 
 
BOOK FOUR 223 
 
 DAFFYDOWNDILLY — I 
 Nathaniel Hawthorne 
 
 Daffydowndilly was so called because in his 
 nature he resembled a flower, and loved to do 
 only what was beautiful and agreeable, and took 
 no delight in labor of any kind. But while Daffy- 
 downdilly was yet a little boy his mother sent 5 
 him away from his pleasant home, and put him 
 under the care of a very strict schoolmaster, who 
 went by the name of Mr. Toil. Those who knew 
 him best affirmed that this Mr. Toil was a very 
 worthy character ; and that he had done more lo 
 good, both to children and grown people, than 
 anybody else in the world. Certainly he had lived 
 long enough to do a great deal of good ; for, if all 
 stories be true, he had dwelt upon earth ever since 
 Adam was driven from the Garden of Eden. i5 
 
 Nevertheless, Mr. Toil had a severe and ugly 
 countenance, especially for such little boys or big 
 men as were inclined to be idle ; his voice, too, 
 was harsh ; and all his ways and customs seemed 
 very disagreeable to our friend Daffy downdilly. 20 
 The whole day long this terrible old schoolmaster 
 sat at his desk overlooking the scholars, or stalked 
 
224 THE HILL READERS 
 
 about the schoolroom with a certain awful birch 
 rod in his hand. Now came a rap over the shoul- 
 ders of a boy whom Mr. Toil had caught at play ; 
 now he punished a whole class who were behind- 
 
 5 hand with their lessons ; and, in short, unless a 
 lad chose to attend quietly and constantly to his 
 book, he had no chance of enjoying a quiet moment 
 in the schoolroom of Mr. Toil. 
 
 Now the whole of Daffy do wndilly's life had 
 
 10 hitherto been passed with his dear mother, who 
 had always been very indulgent to her little boy. 
 No wonder, therefore, that poor Daffydowndilly 
 found it a woeful change to be sent away from 
 the good lady's side and put under the care of 
 
 15 this ugly-visaged schoolmaster, who never gave 
 
 him any apples or cakes, and seemed to think 
 
 that little boys were created only to get lessons. 
 
 "I can't bear it any longer," said Daffydown- 
 
 dilly to himself, when he had been at school about 
 
 20 a week. " I '11 run away and try to find my dear 
 mother; and, at any rate, I shall never find any- 
 body half so disagreeable as this old Mr. Toil." 
 
 So, the very next morning, off started poor 
 Daffydowndilly, with only some bread and cheese 
 
 26 for his breakfast and very little pocket money to 
 pay his expenses. But he had gone only a short 
 
BOOK FOUB 225 
 
 distance when he overtook a man of grave and 
 sedate appearance, who was trudging at a mod- 
 erate pace along the road. 
 
 " Good morning, my fine lad," said the stranger ; 
 and his voice seemed hard and severe, but yet had 5 
 a sort of kindness in it. " Whence do you come 
 so early, and whither are you going ? " 
 
 Little Daffydowndilly was a boy of very frank 
 disposition, and had never been known to tell 
 a lie in all his life. Nor did he tell one now. He 10 
 hesitated a moment or two, but finally confessed 
 that he had run away from school on account of 
 his great dislike to Mr. Toil ; and that he was 
 resolved to find some place in the world where he 
 should never see or hear of that disagreeable old 15 
 schoolmaster again. 
 
 " Oh, very well, my little friend," answered the 
 stranger. " Then we will go together ; for I, like- 
 wise, have had a good deal to do with Mr. Toil, 
 and should be glad to find some place where he 20 
 was never heard of." 
 
 Our friend Daffydowndilly would have been 
 better pleased with a companion of his own age, 
 with whom he might have gathered flowers along 
 the roadside, or have chased butterflies, or have 25 
 done many other things to make the journey 
 
226 THE HILL READERS 
 
 pleasant. But he had wisdom enough to under- 
 stand that he should get along through the world 
 much more easily by having a man of experi- 
 ence to show him the way. So he accepted the 
 
 5 stranger's proposal, and they walked on very 
 sociably together. 
 
 They had not gone far when the road passed 
 by a field where some haymakers were at work, 
 mowing down the tall grass and spreading it out 
 
 10 in the. sun to dry. Daffydowndilly was delighted 
 with the sweet smell of the new-mown grass, and 
 thought how much pleasanter it must be to make 
 hay in the sunshine, under the blue sky, and with 
 the birds singing sweetly in the neighboring trees 
 
 15 and bushes, than to be shut up in a dismal school- 
 room, learning lessons all day long, and continu- 
 ally scolded by old Mr. Toil. But in the midst of 
 these thoughts, "while he was stopping to peep 
 over the stone wall, he started back and caught 
 
 20 hold of his companion's hand. 
 
 " Quick, quick ! " cried he. " Let us run away, 
 or he will catch us." 
 
 " Who will catch us ? " asked the stranger. 
 "Mr. Toil, the old schoolmaster," answered 
 
 25 Daffydowndilly. "Don't you see him amongst 
 the haymakers?" 
 
227 
 
228 THE HILL READERS 
 
 And Daffydowndilly pointed to an elderly man, 
 who seemed to be the owner of the field, and 
 the employer of the men at work there. He had 
 stripped off his coat and waistcoat, and was busily 
 
 5 at work in his shirt sleeves. The drops of sweat 
 stood upon his brow; but he gave himself not a 
 moment's rest, and kept crying out to the hay- 
 makers to make hay while the sun shone. Now, 
 strange to say, the figure and features of this old 
 
 10 farmer were . precisely the same as those of old 
 Mr. Toil, who, at that very moment, must have 
 been just entering his schoolroom. 
 
 "Don't be afraid," said the stranger. "This is 
 not Mr. Toil, the schoolmaster, but a brother of 
 
 15 his, who was bred a farmer ; and people say he is 
 the more disagreeable man of the two. However, 
 he won't trouble you unless you become a laborer 
 on the farm." 
 
 Little Daffydowndilly believed what his com- 
 
 20 panion said, but was very glad, nevertheless, when 
 they were out of sight of the old farmer, who bore 
 such a singular resemblance to Mr. Toil. The two 
 travelers had gone but little farther when they 
 came to a spot where some carpenters were erects 
 
 25 ing a house. Daffydowndilly begged his compan- 
 ion to stop a moment, for it was a very pretty 
 
BOOK FOUE 229 
 
 sight to see how neatly the carpenters did their 
 work, with their broadaxes, and saws, and planes, 
 and hammers, shaping out the doors, and putting 
 in the window sashes, and nailing on the clap- 
 boards ; and he could not help thinking that he s 
 should like to take a broadax, a saw, a plane, and 
 a hammer, and build a little house for himself. 
 And then, when he should have a house of his own, 
 old Mr. Toil would never dare to molest him again. 
 
 But just when he was delighting himself with lo 
 this idea, little Daffydowndilly beheld ^ojnething 
 that made him catch hold of his companion's hand, 
 all in a fright. 
 
 " Make haste ! Quick, quick !" cried he. " There 
 he is again ! " 15 
 
 " Who ? " asked the stranger, very quietly. 
 
 " Old Mr. Toil," said Daffydowndilly, trembling. 
 " There ! He that is overseeing the carpenters. 
 'T is my old schoolmaster, as sure as I 'm alive." 
 
 D AFF YDOWNDILLY — II 
 
 The stranger cast his eyes where Daffydowndilly 20 
 pointed his finger, and he saw an elderly man with 
 a carpenter's rule and compasses in his hand. 
 This person went to and fro about the unfinished 
 
230 THE HILL READERS 
 
 house, measuring pieces of timber, and marking 
 out the work that was to be done, and continually 
 urging the other carpenters to be diligent. And 
 wherever he turned his hard and wrinkled visage 
 5 the men seemed to feel that they had a taskmaster 
 over them, and sawed, and hammered, and planed, 
 as if for dear life. 
 
 " Oh, no ; this is not Mr. Toil, the schoolmaster,'' 
 said the stranger. "It is another brother of his, 
 
 10 who follows the trade of carpenter." 
 
 "I am very glad to hear it," quoth Daffydown- 
 dilly ; " but if you please, sir, I should like to get 
 out of his way as soon as possible." 
 
 Then they went on a little farther, and soon 
 
 15 heard the sound of a drum and fife. Dalfydown- 
 dilly pricked up his ears at this, and" besought his 
 companion to hurry forward that they might not 
 miss seeing the soldiers. Accordingly they made 
 what haste they could, and soon met a company 
 
 20 of soldiers, gayly dressed, with beautiful feathers 
 in their caps and bright muskets on their shoul- 
 ders. In front marched two drummers and two 
 fifers, beating on their drums and playing on their 
 fifes with might and main, and making such lively 
 
 25 music that little Daffydowndilly would gladly have 
 followed them to the end of the world. And if he 
 
BOOK FOUR 231 
 
 was only a soldier, then, he said to himself, old 
 Mr. Toil would surely never venture to look him 
 in the face. 
 
 " Quick step! Forward, march!" shouted a loud, 
 gruff voice. 5 
 
 Little Daffydowndilly started in great dismay; 
 for this voice which had spoken to the soldiers 
 sounded precisely the same as that which he had 
 heard every day in Mr. Toil's schoolroom, out of 
 Mr. Toil's own mouth. And, turning his eyes to 10 
 the captain of the company, what should, he see 
 but the very image of old Mr. Toil himself, with a 
 smart cap and feather on his head, a pair of gold 
 epaulets on his shoulders, a laced coat on his back, 
 a purple sash round his waist, and a long sword, 15 
 instead of a birch rod, in his hand. And though 
 he held his head so high, and strutted like a turkey 
 cock, still he looked quite as ugly and disagreeable 
 as when he was hearing lessons in the schoolroom. 
 
 " This is certainly old Mr. Toil," said Daffy- 20 
 downdilly in a trembling voice. " Let us run away 
 for fear he should make us enlist in his company." 
 
 " You are mistaken again, my little friend," 
 replied the stranger, very composedly. "This is 
 not Mr. Toil, the schoolmaster, but a brother of 25 
 his, who has served in the army all his life. People 
 
232 THE HILL KEADERS 
 
 say he's a terribly severe fellow; but you and I 
 need not be afraid of him." 
 
 "Well, well/' said little Daffydowndilly ; "but, 
 if you please, sir, I don't want to see the soldiers 
 
 5 any more." 
 
 So the child and the stranger resumed their jour- 
 ney; and by and by they came to a house by the 
 roadside, where a number of people were making 
 merry. Young men and rosy-cheeked girls, with 
 
 10 smiles on their faces, were dancing to the sound 
 of a fiddle. It was the pleasant est sight that Daffy- 
 downdilly had yet met with, and it comforted him 
 for all his disappointments. 
 
 " Oh, let us stop here ! " cried he to his compan- 
 
 15 ion ; " for Mr. Toil will never dare to show his 
 face where there is a fiddler, and where people 
 are dancing and making merry. We shall be quite 
 safe here." 
 
 But these last words died away on Daffydown- 
 
 20 dilly's tongue ; for, happening to cast his eyes on 
 the fiddler, whom should he behold again but the 
 likeness of Mr. Toil, holding a fiddle bow instead 
 of a birch rod, and flourishing it with as much ease 
 and skill as if he had been a fiddler all his life. 
 
 25 He had somewhat the air of a Frenchman, but 
 still looked exactly like the old schoohnaster ; and 
 
BOOK FOUR 233 
 
 Daffydowndilly even fancied that he nodded and 
 winked at him, and made signs for him to join 
 in the dance. 
 
 "Oh dear me!" whispered he, turning pale. " It 
 seems as if there was nobody but Mr. Toil in the 5 
 world. Who could have thought of his playing 
 on a fiddle!" 
 
 "This is not your old schoolmaster," observed 
 the stranger, " but another brother of his, who was 
 bred in France, where he learned the profession of lo 
 a fiddler. He is ashamed of his family, -and gen- 
 erally calls himself Monsieur le Plaisir; but his 
 real name is Toil, and those who have known him 
 best think him still more disagreeable than his 
 brothers." 15 
 
 "Pray let us go a little farther," said Daffy- 
 downdilly. " I don't like the looks of this fiddler." 
 
 Well, thus the stranger and little Daffydown- 
 dilly went wandering along the highway, and in 
 shady lanes, and through pleasant villages; and 20 
 whithersoever they went, behold, there was the 
 image of old Mr. Toil ! He stood like a scarecrow 
 in the cornfields. If they entered a house, he sat in 
 the parlor; if they peeped into the kitchen, he 
 was there. He made himself at home in every cot- 25 
 tage, and stole^ under one disguise or anotherj into 
 
234 THE HILL KEADERS 
 
 the most splendid mansions. Everywhere there- 
 was sure to be somebody who wore the likeness 
 of Mr. Toil, and who, as the stranger affirmed, was 
 one of the old schoolmaster's many brethren. 
 
 5 Little Daffydowndilly was almost tired to death, 
 when he perceived some people reclining lazily in 
 a shady place by the side of the road. The poor 
 child entreated his companion that they might sit 
 down there and take &ome repose. 
 
 10 " Old Mr. Toil will never come here," said he ; 
 " for he hates to see people taking their ease." 
 
 But even while he spoke Daffy do wndilly's eyes 
 fell upon a person who seemed the laziest, and 
 heaviest, and most torpid of all those lazy and 
 
 15 heavy and torpid people who had lain down to 
 sleep in the shade. Who should it be again but 
 the 'very image of Mr. Toil ! 
 
 "There is a large family of these Toils," re- 
 marked the stranger. " This is another of the old 
 
 20 schoolmaster's brothers, who was bred in Italy, 
 where he acquired very idle habits, and goes by 
 the name of Signor Far Niente. He pretends to 
 lead an easy life, but is really the most miserable 
 fellow in the family." 
 
 25 " Oh, take me back ! take me back ! " cried poor 
 little Daffy downdilly, bursting into tears. " If 
 
BOOK FOUR 235 
 
 there is nothing but Toil all the world over, I 
 may just as well go back to the schoolhouse." 
 
 "Yonder it is; there is the schoolhouse," said 
 the stranger ; for though he and little Daffydown- • 
 dilly had taken a great many steps, they had 5 
 traveled in a circle instead of a straight line. 
 " Come ; we will go back to school together." 
 
 There was something in his companion's voice 
 that little Daffydowndilly now remembered; and 
 it is strange that he had not remembered it sooner. 10 
 Looking up into his face, behold, there again was 
 the likeness of old Mr. Toil! So that the poor 
 child had been in company with Toil all day, even 
 while he was doing his best to run away from 
 him. Some people, to whom I have told little 15 
 Daffy downdilly's story, are of opinion that old 
 Mr. Toil was a magician and possessed the power 
 of multiplying himself into as many shapes as he 
 saw fit. 
 
 Be this as it may, little Daffydowndilly -had 20 
 learned a good lesson, and from that time forward 
 was diligent at his task, because he knew that 
 diligence is not a whit more toilsome than, sport or 
 idleness. And when he became better acquainted 
 with Mr. Toil he began to think that his ways 25 
 were not so very disagreeable, and that the old 
 
236 THE HILL READERS 
 
 schoolmaster's smile of approval made his face al- 
 most as pleasant as that of Daffydowndilly's mother. 
 
 affirmed: said. — sedate: calm and staid. — besought: begged. 
 — Monsieur le Plaisir : Mr. Pleasure. — Signor Far Niente : Mr. 
 Do-Nothing. 
 
 HOPE 
 
 Irwin Russell 
 
 Irwin Russell (1853-1878) was born in Port Gibson, Mis- 
 sissippi, and educated at Washington University, St. Louis. He 
 5 was, by special act of the legislature of Mississippi, admitted to 
 the bar of that state when he was only nineteen years old. He 
 died at the early age of twenty-five. 
 
 Russell was a clever caricaturist, a musican, a lover of nature, 
 and a constant student of poetry. He was one of the first of our 
 10 writers to use the negro dialect in verse. 
 
 No matter where we sail 
 
 A storm may come to wreck us, 
 A bitter wind to check us 
 
 In the quest for unknown lands, 
 15 And cast us on the sands. 
 
 No matter where we sail. 
 
 Still in spite of storm. 
 
 From all we feel or fear 
 . A rescue may be near : 
 20 Though tempests blow their best, 
 
 A manly heart can rest 
 Still, in spite of storm. 
 
BOOK FOUE 
 
 237 
 
 THE COMING OF ARTHUR 
 
 Frances Nimmo Greene 
 
 Frances Nimmo Greene, an American author, lives in 
 Montgomery, Alabama. Her Ring Arthur and His Court gives an 
 interesting account of the knightly legend which has been so 
 famous in our literature. 
 
 Who should be king save him who makes us free? 5 
 
 Tennyson 
 
 When Uther Pendragon was king in Britain 
 there lived in that country a wonderful magician 
 named Merlin. Now this Merlin, though not a 
 
238 THE HILL EEADEKS 
 
 bad man, was at one time persuaded to help the 
 king do an evil deed. In return for tliis help 
 Merlin exacted a promise from Uther that when 
 a son should be born to the king, he, Merlin, 
 
 5 should be allowed to have the child and rear him 
 as he shpjild choose. 
 
 The magician could read the future, and of 
 course knew that a little prince would be born. 
 He also knew that the king would die shortly, 
 
 10 and that great dangers awaited his heir. Maybe 
 
 the old magician made Uther promise to give the 
 
 future prince to him that he might protect the lad 
 
 in his tender years and prepare him to be king. 
 
 Time passed on, and a son was born to the 
 
 15 king ; but instead of the little prince's birth being 
 received with rejoicings by a glad people, the infant 
 heir to the proudest throne in Britain was slipped 
 by night out of the castle gates and given to Merlin 
 to be carried away; and nobody was told that a 
 
 20 future king had come into the world. 
 
 King Uther trusted Merlin. He believed that 
 the mighty magician would care for his son, and 
 would in time bring Arthur (for so the child was 
 named) to the throne which was rightfully his. 
 
 25 And Merlin proved worthy, of that trust. He gave 
 the child to a good old knight, Sir Anton, to rear. 
 
BOOK FOUR 239 
 
 and himself watched over the boy through all the 
 days which followed. 
 
 Nor was Merlin's the only hand that guided the 
 steps of Arthur's youth. There came to the child 
 from time to time three beautiful, mysterious queens, 5 
 who taught him many wonderful things. 
 
 But greatest among all the friends of his boy- 
 hood was the Lady of the Lake. No mere mortal 
 was she, but a mystic being who dwelt down in 
 the blue depths of the lake. lo 
 
 When Uther Pendragon died the unhappy land 
 was for many years ravaged by rival knights, 
 each of whom struggled to make himself king 
 It was during this dark period that Arthur, all 
 unconscious of his kingly origin, grew up to 15 
 splendid manhood ; grew up to catch the sunlight 
 of a brighter day in his tresses, and the blue truth 
 of heaven in his eyes. And no man save Merlin 
 knew him to be King Uther' s son. 
 
 Once, when Arthur and MerHn were walking 20 
 along the shore, the young prince complained that 
 he had no weapon ; when suddenly from out the 
 bosom of the lake there rose a mighty arm, holding 
 a splendid sword. Arthur rowed across and took 
 the brand. When he examined the bright, jew- 25 
 eled hilt he found written on one side, ^'^Take 
 
240 THE HILL READERS 
 
 me"; but when he turned the other side he read, 
 " Cast me away." And his face was very sad till 
 Merlin said, "Take thou and strike; the time to 
 cast away is yet far off." Arthur took the sword 
 5 and called its name " Excalibur " (cut steel). 
 
 Now^ when the time was ripe for Arthur to be 
 
 declared king, Merlin advised the quarreling lords 
 
 and barons to gather together on a certain day in 
 
 the largest church in London, to see if God would 
 
 10 not show them who should be king. 
 
 The people respected and feared the old magician ; 
 so at his suggestion a mighty concourse gathered 
 on the day appointed, to wait for a sign from God. 
 
 When mass was ended, lo ! Merlin stood before 
 15 them with Arthur at his side. He placed the young 
 prince on a high seat and proclaimed to the people, 
 " Here is Uther's heir, your king ! " 
 
 Then were loud shouts of denial, and a hundred 
 voices cried : "Away with him ! No king of ours ! " 
 20 But Merlin by his magic caused Arthur to be 
 crowned, and as " the savage yells of Uther's peer- 
 age died," Arthur's warriors cried, " Be thou the 
 king, and we who love thee will work thy will ! " 
 Then the people went down on their knees; and, 
 25 lifting up their eyes, they beheld a sight so fair 
 and wonderful that a hush fell upon the throng. 
 
BOOK FOUR 241 
 
 In the center of the dais sat the fair-haired king. 
 Through the casement above him three rays of light 
 — flame-color, green, and azure — fell upon three 
 fair queens who had silently taken their places about 
 him. No one knew whence they had come ; but 5 
 they were ever by Arthur's side in time of need. 
 
 MerHn, the enchanter, stood beside him; and 
 also near the king, " clothed in white samite, 
 mystic, wonderful," was the Lady of the Lake. 
 
 Those who were truest and best, the flower of lo 
 Britain's chivalry, crowded about the king on his 
 coronation day and desired that he knight them 
 with his wonderful sword, Excalibur. As Arthur 
 looked upon them his own truth and purity seemed 
 mirrored in their faces. 15 
 
 In low, deep tones the young king administered 
 to them the oath of knighthood. So sacred and 
 so exalted were the vows which he required of 
 them that, when they arose from their knees, their 
 faces bore witness to the solemnity of the cere- 20 
 mony. Some were deadly pale, some flushed, and 
 others dazed, " as one who wakes half blinded at 
 the coming of a light." 
 
 mystic : mysterious. — brand : sword, — concourse : crowd. — 
 dais: raised platform. — samite: a kind of silk cloth. 
 
242 THE HILL READERS 
 
 FAIRY SONG 
 
 William Shakespeare 
 
 William Shakespeare, the greatest of English poets, was 
 born in Stratford-on-Avon in 1564. Stratford was then a town of 
 about fourteen hundred inhabitants. 
 
 His father, John Shakespeare, was, during the early years of 
 
 5 the poet's life, a prosperous man. He made and sold gloves, 
 
 farmed land, and, although he probably could not sign his own 
 
 name, held high offices in the town government. The poet's 
 
 mother, Mary Arden, came of good family and was a landowner. 
 
 William was the oldest son. He no doubt went to the free 
 
 10 grammar school of the town. There he was in all probability 
 
 taught not only English but some Latin and perhaps a little 
 
 Greek. Later he may have studied French and possibly Italian. 
 
 About the time that Shakespeare was thirteen or fourteen 
 
 years old his father lost most of his property. As Shakespeare, 
 
 15 now a bright, stirring, intelligent lad, was the eldest of the chil- 
 dren, he no doubt had to quit school and help his family in some 
 way. What he did to lighten the household load is not known. 
 Some say that he was a butcher's boy, others that he taught a 
 country school, still others that he worked in a lawyer's office. 
 
 20 We know, however, that in his nineteenth year he married 
 Anne Hathaway, who was eight years older than her boy hus- 
 band. His first child, Susanna, was baptized in 1583. Twin 
 children, Hamnet and Judith, were born in 1585. A few years 
 later Shakespeare went to London to seek his fortune. There he 
 
 25 lived until about 1610. His family remained in Stratford during 
 
 these years, but he seems to have visited them at regular intervals. 
 
 In his new home he became an actor, a writer of plays, and 
 
 part owner of a theater. After a time he stood foremost among 
 
 the gifted playwriters of his day. He saved money and invested 
 
 30 it in his native town. A few years before his death he returned 
 to Stratford and lived in ease and comfort. He died in 1616. 
 
BOOK FOUR 
 
 243 
 
 As long as men read anything they will read Lear and Hamlet^ 
 As You Like It and Midsummer Night's Dream, and Shakespeare's 
 great historical plays. 
 
 Over hill, over dale, 
 
 Thorough bush, thorough brier, 
 Over park, over pale, 
 
 Thorough flood, thorough fire, 
 I do wander every where. 
 Swifter than the moon's sphere ; 
 And I serve the fairy queen, 
 To dew her orbs upon the -green. 
 The cowslips tall her pensioners be : 
 In their gold coats spots you see ; 
 Those be rubies, fairy favors, 
 ^ In those freckles live their savors : 
 
 I must go seek some dewdrops here 
 And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. 
 
 thorough : through. — pale : inclosure. — sphere : orbit or 
 course. — orbs: rings or fairy circles. — pensioners: bodyguard. 
 Queen Elizabeth's gentlemen attendants wore much gold lace on 
 their coats. 
 
 10 
 
 15 
 
244 THE HILL READERS 
 
 CHRIMHILDE'S TREASURES 
 
 Margaret Junkin Preston 
 
 Margaret Junkin Preston (1820-1897), a gifted American 
 poet, was born in Philadelphia, but spent most of her life in the 
 historic town of Lexington, Virginia. She was the daughter of 
 Reverend George Junkin, founder of Lafayette College, and for 
 5 many years president of Washington College (now Washington 
 and Lee University). She married Colonel J. T. L. Preston, a 
 professor in the Virginia Military Institute. Mrs. Preston died 
 at the home of her son in Baltimore. 
 
 Count Conrad sate in his castle tower, 
 10 And leaned his head on his mailed hands, 
 As he gazed below on the leaguer ing foe 
 
 Who battered his walls and spoiled his lands. 
 
 " I can do no more : not a crust is left ; 
 My men lie starved by the donjon keep ; 
 15 Sweet Chrimhilde alone gives forth no groan. 
 As she rocks her boy on her breast asleep. 
 
 " If they were but saved ! " and as he sighed, 
 
 He heard her low footstep on the stair ; 
 And his stout heart bled as he turned his head 
 20 To hide the trace of his blank despair. 
 
 There gleamed a hope in her sunken eye 
 
 As she dropped at his side with a gesture fond, 
 
BOOK FOUR 245 
 
 And sought, in a way that would bide no nay, 
 For leave to pass to the hosts beyond. 
 
 " Our archers perish : bare ten are left. 
 And strengthless they, to draw the bow; 
 
 But, if we must yield, give me thy shield, 5 
 
 Nor question the errand on which I go. 
 
 " I '11 seek the besieger in his camp, 
 And hither will haste with his reply : 
 
 Thine honor, be sure, is well secure 
 
 With her who would live for thee, or die." lo 
 
 The Count looked up with a vacant air. 
 As the slow nay rose to his lips so wan ; 
 
 And he flung his arm as to clasp from harm 
 The tender pleader, but — she was gone. 
 
 And, ere he could order his wildered thought, is 
 The postern opened and closed again ; 
 
 And he saw, in affright, with pennon white. 
 His Chrimhilde glide o'er the tented plain. 
 
 " By the pity of God, your grace I " she cried, 
 And on unchallenged her way she went, 20 
 
 All weak as she was, till her step had pause 
 In front of the startled chieftain's tent. 
 
246 THE HILL READERS 
 
 And stately she stood as stands a queen 
 Who sovranlj makes her mandates known : 
 
 " I have come to yield this dinted shield, 
 Sir Baron, if thou the terms will own. 
 
 5 " Count Conrad's castles shall hence be thine, 
 If out of the garrison's chosen men. 
 Who have nobly fought as the noblest ought. 
 Thou passest in freedom only ten. 
 
 ^^ Count Conrad's riches shall fill thine hands, 
 10 If forth thou grantest me leave to take 
 Some treasures I hold priced over gold : 
 
 Now promise it, for thy knighthood's sake ! " 
 
 The Baron all dazed by her royal mien. 
 And awed by her beauty, nothing loth 
 15 To answer a prayer so seeming fair, 
 
 Swore on the battered shield his oath. 
 
 ''And now, my treasures — they are but twain, 
 
 Husband and child — thou grantest so ? " 
 She paused : for reply, in the Baron's eye 
 20 There sparkled a tear, as he bade her go. 
 
 leaguering : laying siege. — donjon (dfin'jtin) keep : the strongest 
 part of a castle. — postern: small gate. — mandate: command. 
 — mien: bearing. 
 
BOOK FOUR 247 
 
 HIS WINGS AND TAIL 
 
 Olive Thorne Miller 
 
 Harriet Mann Miller (1831- ), who has made her 
 pen name of " Olive Thorne Miller " familiar to a generation 
 of young readers, is a New York naturalist and lecturer on birds. 
 
 Among her popular books are Little Folks in Feathers and Fur, 
 Queer Pets at Marcy's, First Book of Birds, Bird Ways, and Our 5 
 Home Pets. 
 
 A bird's wing does not look much like a human 
 arm and hand, yet the bones of each show that 
 they are the same. The bird has a shoulder, elbow, 
 and wrist, just as we have. He even has fingers, lo 
 though they are so covered by feathers that one 
 would never know of their existence unless told of 
 them. The bird has not so many fingers as we 
 have and they are not movable as ours are. 
 
 A bird's wing is a wonderful flying machine, is 
 which men have been trying to imitate these many 
 years. It is made of long, stiff feathers, which fold 
 down smoothly over one another at his side when 
 he is resting, but which can be spread in an instant 
 into a broad fan to beat the air and carry him away. 20 
 
 One would not think that feathers could have so 
 much power, but when the wing is spread the barbs 
 of the feathers hook together with tiny hooks so 
 
248 THE HILL KEADEKS 
 
 small that a microscope is needed to see them. 
 
 This hooking, aided by the overlapping of the 
 
 edges of the feathers, makes the wing almost one 
 
 solid surface. 
 5 Wings are not alike in shape. The wing of a 
 
 swallow is long and narrow, while that of a grouse 
 
 is short and round. We can tell by the shape of 
 
 the wing how the bird flies. 
 
 A short, round wing shows that a bird has a 
 10 strong flight for short distances. These wings are 
 
 found mostly on heavy birds like grouse. 
 
 Water birds such as the petrel and the frigate 
 
 bird have the longest wings. On the other hand, 
 
 the shortest wings, also, are found among the 
 15 water birds. These are found on such birds as 
 
 the auks, birds that swim more than they fly. 
 All the feathers of the wing are named, and 
 
 it will be well to remember that the long, stiff 
 
 quills are called remiges, or "rowers." These are 
 20 firmly rooted in the flesh and are the hardest to 
 
 pull out. They are of the utmost importance to 
 
 the safety of the bird. 
 
 Birds have another use for their wings. They 
 
 are strong weapons with which either to defend 
 25 themselves or to fight enemies. A large bird can 
 
 give a severe blow with its wing, and when 
 
BOOK FOUR 249 
 
 pigeons fight, it is said that they hold up one 
 wing to protect themselves, while with the other 
 they strike at their enemy. 
 
 Sometimes wings serve as musical instruments. 
 Woodcocks make whistling sounds with their 5 
 wings as they fly, and mourning doves give out a 
 softly murmuring noise with theirs. Ruffed grouse 
 produce with theirs a rolling, drumlike sound, and 
 other birds rattle theirs like castanets. 
 
 If wings are not used, they slowly become 10 
 smaller and weaker. Each generation of thirds not 
 -using its wings finds them more and more useless, 
 until after a time the wings are forceless and the 
 birds cannot fly at all. This has happened, it is 
 supposed, to the ostrich family and to some birds 15 
 living in iiie sea. 
 
 The tail of a bird is formed of an equal number 
 of feathers arranged in pairs. The number of pairs 
 is most often twelve. When spread the tail feath- 
 ers are shaped like a fan, but when closed they lie 20 
 over one another with the middle pair on top. 
 
 The tail feathers are not always of the same 
 length, and this difference in length makes a 
 difference in the shape of the end of the tail. 
 Sometimes the feathers are even ; then the tail 25 
 is called square. Sometimes the middle feathers 
 
250 THE HILL EEADEKS 
 
 are longer than the outside ones, and then the tail 
 is said to be rounded or pointed. If the outside 
 feathers are longest, the tail is forked. 
 
 The feathers of the tail are called rectrices, or 
 
 5 " rudders," because they are supposed to be used 
 to steer or to direct the bird's course in flying. 
 The tail is also used as a brake to check the speed 
 in alighting. 
 
 The tail is used more than any other organ to 
 
 10 express the emotions. Some birds, like the catbird 
 and the thrasher, keep their tails moving all the 
 time, jerking them this way and that, and tossing, 
 them upward. 
 
 The tail feathers of woodpeckers and swifts are 
 
 15 not soft at the end as are those of other birds. 
 In these birds the stems or shafts of the tail 
 feathers project beyond the feathery part and are 
 stiff like the tail of the sapsucker, or sharp like 
 that of the chimney swift. These birds use their 
 
 20 tails as props to hold them against the tree trunk 
 or chimney wall, and to help them in climbing. 
 
 Tail feathers are not so strongly rooted as wing 
 feathers, and are easily pulled out. Sometimes 
 when a man or boy tries to catch a bird by the 
 
 26 tail, the bird will escape, leaving the tail in the 
 hands of the would-be captor. 
 
BOOK FOUR 251 
 
 EVENING AT THE FARM 
 
 John Townsend Trowbridge 
 
 John Townsend Trowbridge (1827- ), an American 
 poet and novelist, was born in Ogden, New York. He lived on 
 a farm until he was seventeen years old. Being ambitious and 
 bright, he taught himself Latin, Greek, and French, and kept 
 up his other studies at school. For some years he united the 5 
 occupations of teacher and farmer. In 1874 he went to New 
 York to do newspaper work. In 1878 he moved to Boston, and 
 since that time has been actively engaged in editing and con- 
 tributing to magazines and papers. 
 
 The Vagabonds, The Charcoal Man, and Farmer Johfi represent 10 
 Mr. Trowbridge's best poetical work. In prose The Two Biddl- 
 cutt Boys, The Drummer Boy, and many others have made his 
 name familiar to a wide circle of young readers. 
 
 Over the hill the farm-boj goes, 
 
 His shadow lengthens along the land, is 
 A giant staff in a giant hand. 
 In the poplar-tree, about the spring. 
 The katydid begins to sing ; 
 
 The early dews are falling ; 
 Into the stone heap darts the mink ; 20 
 
 The swallows skim the river's brink ; 
 And home to the woodland fly the crows. 
 When over the hill the farm-boy goes, 
 
 Cheerily calling, 
 
 Uneerily calling, 
 
 " Co', boss ! co', boss ! co' ! co' ! 
 
 25 
 
252 THE HILL REABEKS 
 
 Farther, farther, over the hill, 
 Faintly calling, calling still, 
 
 " Co', boss ! co', boss ! co' ! co' ! " 
 
 Into the yard the farmer goes, 
 5 With grateful heart, at the close of day ; 
 Harness and chain are hung away ; 
 In the wagon-shed stand yoke and plow ; 
 The straw 's in the stack, the hay in the mow. 
 The cooling dews are falling : 
 10 The friendly sheep his welcome bleat, 
 The pigs come grunting to his feet. 
 The whinnying mare her master knows, 
 When into the yard the farmer goes, 
 His cattle calling : 
 15 " Co', boss ! co', boss ! co' ! co' ! co' ! " 
 
 While still the cow-boy, far away. 
 Goes seeking those that have gone astray — 
 ^^ Co', boss! co', boss! co' ! co' ! " 
 
 Now to her task the milkmaid goes, 
 20 The cattle come crowding through the gate. 
 Lowing, pushing, little and great ; 
 About the trough, by the farm-yard pump. 
 The frolicsome yearlings frisk and jump, 
 While the pleasant dews are falling : 
 
253 
 
254 THE HILL READERS 
 
 The new-milch heifer is quick and shy, 
 But the old cow waits with tranquil eye, 
 And the white stream into the bright pail flows, 
 When to her task the milkmaid goes, 
 5 Soothingly calling, 
 
 " So, boss ! so, boss ! so ! so ! so ! " 
 The cheerful milkmaid takes her stool. 
 And sits and milks in the twilight cool, 
 
 Saying, '^ So ! so, boss ! so ! so ! " 
 
 10 To supper at last the farmer goes. 
 The apples are pared, the paper read, 
 The stories are told, then all to bed. 
 Without, the cricket's ceaseless song 
 Makes shrill the silence all night long ; 
 
 15 The heavy dews are falling. 
 
 The housewife's hand has turned the lock ; 
 Drowsily ticks the kitchen clock ; 
 The household sinks to deep repose. 
 But still in sleep the farm-boy goes 
 
 20 Singing, calling — 
 
 " Co', boss ! co', boss ! co' ! co' ! co' ! " 
 And *oft the milkmaid, in her dreams. 
 Drums in the pail with the flashing streams, 
 Murmuring, " So, boss ! so ! " 
 
BOOK FOUR 255 
 
 THE HERITAGE 
 
 James Eussell Lowell 
 
 'James Russell Lowell (1819-1891) was born in Cambridge, 
 Massachusetts, and most of his life was spent in that university 
 town. He was graduated from the academic department of Har- 
 vard University in 1838, and from the law department in 1840. 
 For a few years after graduation he practiced law and wrote for 5 
 the magazines. As soon, however, as his pen earned a scanty 
 support he closed his law office. 
 
 In 1855 he succeeded Longfellow as professor of modern 
 languages in Harvard. Like most men of genius, Lowell was a 
 tireless worker. According to George William Curtis, he often 10 
 worked fourteen hours a day. To his duties as teacher he added 
 editorial work, — ^^being editor of the Atlantic Monthly for four 
 years, and one of the editors of the the North American Review 
 for nine years. 
 
 In 1877 he was sent as United States Minister to succeed 15 
 Caleb Cushing at the court of Spain. In 1880 he was trans- 
 ferred to London as minister to England. Here Lowell's per- 
 sonal charm, combined with his ready humor, unusual learning, 
 and power as a talker and as a speaker, made him a social favor- 
 ite. His four years of successful diplomatic service did much 20 
 to bind closer the ties of friendship between England and Arner- 
 ica. Six years after his return from England he died at his 
 beautiful home in Cambridge. 
 
 Lowell, in his many-sidedness, is one of our greatest men of 
 letters. He was delightful as a letter writer, a critic whose criti- 25 
 cisms themselves are literature, a public man with large and 
 healthful views, an orator fresh and vigorous, and a poet rich in 
 imagination and culture. 
 
 The rich man's son inherits lands, 
 
 And piles of brick and stone, and gold, 30 
 
256 THE HILL READERS 
 
 And he inherits soft white hands, 
 
 And tender flesh that fears the cold, 
 Nor dares to wear a garment old ; 
 
 A heritage, it seems to me, 
 5 One scarce would wish to hold in fee. 
 
 The rich man's son inherits cares ; 
 
 The bank may break, the factory burn, 
 A breath may burst his bubble shares. 
 
 And soft white hands could hardly earn 
 10 A living that would serve his turn ; 
 
 A heritage, it seems to me. 
 One scarce would wish to hold in fee. 
 
 The rich man's son inherits wants. 
 
 His stomach craves for dainty fare ; 
 15 With sated heart, he hears the pants 
 
 Of toiling hinds with brown arms bare, 
 And wearies in his easy-chair ; 
 A heritage, it seems to me, 
 One scarce would wish to hold in fee. 
 
 20 What doth the poor man's son inherit ? 
 Stout muscles and a sinewy heart, 
 A hardy frame, a hardier spirit ; 
 
 King of two hands, he does his part 
 In every useful toil and art ; 
 
BOOK FOUR 257 
 
 A heritage, it seems to me, 
 
 A king might wish to hold in fee. 
 
 What doth the poor man's son inherit ? 
 
 Wishes o'er joyed with humble things, 
 A rank adjudged by toil-won merit, s 
 
 Content that from employment springs, 
 
 A heart that in his labor sings ; 
 A heritage, it seems to me, 
 A king might wish to hold in fee. 
 
 What doth the poor man's son inherit ? lo 
 
 A patience learned of being poor, 
 
 Courage, if sorrow come, to bear it, 
 A fellow-feeling that is sure 
 To make the outcast bless his door ; 
 
 A heritage, it seems to me, is 
 
 A king might wish to hold in fee. 
 
 rich man's son ! there is a toil 
 
 That with all others level stands ; 
 
 Large charity doth never soil, 
 
 But only whiten, soft white hands ; 20 
 
 This is the best crop from thy lands, 
 
 A heritage, it seems to me, 
 
 Worth being rich to hold in fee. 
 
258 
 
 THE HILL BEADEKS 
 
 poor man's son ! scorn not thy state ; 
 There is worse weariness than thine, 
 
 In merely being rich and great ; 
 
 Toil only gives the soul to shine, 
 And makes rest fragrant and benign ; 
 
 A heritage, it seems to me, 
 
 Worth being poor to hold in fee. 
 
 10 
 
 Both, heirs to some six feet of sod. 
 Are equal in the earth at last ; 
 
 Both, children of the same dear God, 
 Prove title to your heirship vast 
 By record of a well-filled past ; 
 
 A heritage, it seems to me, 
 
 Well worth a life to hold in fee. 
 
 heritage : property or possessions handed down from one gen- 
 eration to another. — to hold in fee: to possess. — sated: sur- 
 feited. — hinds : peasants, servants. — benign: kindly. 
 
 Slill [1 
 
 Z^ 'A :'ir- 1 
 
 Wm!' 
 
 rts" 
 
 VI 
 
 m^^^ 
 
 ffw-^ywiifnim 
 
 p 
 
 
 ^ 
 
BOOK FOUR 259 
 
 A MESSAGE TO GARCIA 
 
 Elbert Hubbard 
 
 Elbert Hubbard (1859- ), author and journalist, was 
 born in Bloomington, Illinois. He was educated in the public 
 schools. In 1876 he went into journalism ; in 1894 he founded 
 and became the editor of The Philistine, published in East Aurora, 
 Xew York. He is also proprietor of the Koycroft Shop, noted 5 
 for its handsome and well-made editions of classic writers, and 
 for its profit-sharing arrangements. 
 
 Mr. Hubbard was a newspaper correspondent during the 
 Spanish-American War. 
 
 In all this Cuban business there is one man lo 
 who stands foremost in my memory. When war 
 broke out between Spain and the United States, 
 it was very necessary to communicate quickly with 
 the leader of the insurgents. Garcia was some- 
 where in the mountains of Cuba — no one knew i5 
 where. No mail nor telegraph message could reach 
 him. The President must secure his help, and 
 quickly. 
 
 What to do ! 
 
 Some one said to the President, " There is a 20 
 fellow by the name of Rowan who will find Garcia 
 for you, if anybody can." 
 
 Rowan was sent for and given a letter to be 
 delivered to Garcia. 
 
260 THE HILL READERS 
 
 How "the fellow by the name of Rowan" took 
 the letter, sealed it up in an oilskin pouch, strapped 
 it over his heart, in four days landed by night off 
 the coast of Cuba from an open boat, disappeared 
 
 5 into the jungle, and in three weeks came out on 
 the other side of the island, having traversed a 
 hostile country on foot and delivered his letter to 
 Garcia are things I have no special desire now 
 to tell in detail. The point that I wish to make is 
 
 10 this : McKinley gave Rowan a letter to be delivered 
 to Garcia; Rowan took the letter and did not ask, 
 .^^ Where is he at?" 
 
 There is a man whose form should be cast in 
 deathless bronze and the statue placed in every 
 
 15 college of the land ! It is not book learning young 
 men need, nor instruction about this and that, but 
 a stiffening of the backbone which will cause them 
 to be loyal to a trust, to act promptly, concentrate 
 their energies ; do the thing — " Carry a message 
 
 20 to Garcia." 
 
 General Garcia is dead now, but there are other 
 Garcias. No man who has endeavored to carry 
 out an entei'prise where many hands were needed 
 but has been well-nigh appalled at times by the 
 
 25 stupidity of the average man, — the inability or 
 unwillingness to concentrate on a thing and do it. 
 
BOOK FOUK 261 
 
 Slipshod assistance, foolish inattention, dowdy 
 indifference, and half-hearted work seem the rule ; 
 and no man succeeds unless by hook or crook or 
 threat he forces or bribes other men to assist him. 
 
 You, reader, put this matter to a test. You are sit- s 
 ting now in your office — six clerks are within call. 
 Summon any one and make this request : " Please 
 look in the encyclopedia and make a brief memo- 
 randum for me concerning the life of Correggio." 
 
 Will the clerk quietly say, " Yes, sir," and go do lo 
 the task? On your life he will not. He 'will look 
 at you out of a fishy eye and ask one or more of 
 the following questions : 
 
 Who was he ? 
 
 Which encyclopedia ? 15 
 
 Where is the encyclopedia ? 
 
 Was I hired for that ? 
 
 Don't you mean Bismarck ? 
 
 What 's the matter with Charlie's doing it ? 
 
 Is he dead ? 20 
 
 Is there any hurry ? 
 
 Shan't I bring you the book and let you look it 
 up yourself ? 
 
 What do you want to know for ? 
 
 Now if you are wise, you will not bother to 25 
 explain to your " assistant " that Correggio is 
 
262 THE HILL READERS 
 
 indexed under the C's, not in the K's ; but you will 
 smile sweetly and say, " Never mind/' and go look 
 it up yourself. And this incapacity for independent 
 action, this moral stupidity, this infirmity of the 
 
 5 will, this unwillingness to catch hold cheerfully and 
 lift, — these are the things that put pure socialism 
 so far into the future. If men will not act for 
 themselves, what will they do when the benefit of 
 their effort is for all ? 
 
 10 We have recently been hearing much sympathy 
 expressed for the "downtrodden worker of the 
 sweatshop " and the " homeless wanderer search- 
 ing for honest employment," and with it all often 
 go many hard words for the men in power. Noth- 
 
 15 ing is said about the employer who grows old 
 before his time in a vain attempt to get frowzy 
 ne'er-do-wells to do intelligent work ; and his long, 
 patient striving with " help " that do nothing but 
 loaf when his back is turned. In every store and 
 
 20 factory there is a constant weeding-out process go- 
 ing on. The employer is constantly sending away 
 " help " that have shown their incapacity to fur- 
 ther the interests of the business, and others are 
 being taken on. No matter how good times are, 
 
 25 this sorting continues ; only if times are liard and 
 work is scarce, the sorting is done finer; but 
 
BOOK FOUK 263 
 
 out and forever out the incompetent and unworthy 
 go. It is the survival of the fittest. Self-interest 
 prompts every employer to keep the best, — those 
 who can carry a message to Garcia. Have I put 
 the matter too strongly? Possibly I have; but 5 
 when all the world has gone a-slumming, I wish 
 to speak a word of sympathy for the man who 
 succeeds, — the man who, against great odds, has 
 directed the efforts of others, and, having suc- 
 ceeded, finds there's nothing in it, — nothing but lo 
 bare board and clothes. I have carried ^. dinner 
 pail and worked for day's wages, and I have also 
 been an employer of labor, and I know there is 
 something to be said on both sides. There is no 
 excellence in poverty; rags are no recomnlenda- 15 
 tion; and all employers are not grasping and 
 high-handed, any more than all poor men are 
 virtuous. My heart goes out to the man who does 
 his work when the '^boss" is away, as well as 
 when he is at home. And the man, who, when 20 
 given a letter for Garcia, quietly takes the missive, 
 without asking any idiotic questions, and with no 
 lurking intention of chucking it into the nearest 
 sewer, or of doing aught else but deliver it, never 
 gets " laid off " nor has to go on a strike for 25 
 higher wages. Civilization is one long, anxious 
 
10 
 
 264 THE HILL EEADERS 
 
 search for just such individuals. Anything such 
 a man asks shall be granted. He is wanted in 
 every city, town, and village, — in every office, 
 shop, store, and factory. The world cries out for 
 such ; he is needed, and needed badly, — the man 
 who can carry a message to Garcia. 
 
 insurgents : all the Cubans who were on the side of the Ameri- 
 cans during the war with Spain. — "Where is he at?": a ques- 
 tion once asked in a Congressional speech. — concentrate : unite. 
 — dowdy: careless. — Correggio : a celebrated Italian painter. — 
 infirmity : weakness. — socialism : a reform theory that looks to 
 a more even distribution of capital and labor. 
 
 THE GREENWOOD TREE 
 
 Under the greenwood tree 
 
 Who loves to lie with me. 
 
 And turn his merry note 
 
 Unto the sweet bird's throat. 
 Come hither, come hither, come hither : 
 
 Here shall we see 
 
 No enemy 
 But winter and rough weather. 
 
 Shakespeare 
 
BOOK FOUR 
 
 265 
 
 THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE 
 
 Alfred Tennyson 
 
 10 
 
 15 
 
 Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) was born at Somersby, Eng- 
 land. His father's rectory was a quiet spot, far from the clamor 
 of the world and the 
 rumors of war that 
 harassed England at 
 that time. The boy 
 grew up in a fairy- 
 land of his own mak- 
 ing, happy in the 
 companionship of 
 his brothers and sis- 
 ters, playing games 
 of chivalry and 
 knight-errantry, or 
 wandering through 
 the country lanes of 
 Lincolnshire. 
 
 The poet's first 
 book was published 
 while he was at col- 
 lege, and was the 
 joint work of himself and his brother Charles. This was followed 
 by another slender volume, which met with some ridicule and un- 
 favorable criticism. Hurt, but not discouraged, Tennyson worked 
 away by himself until, ten years later, he brought out two volumes 25 
 which placed him at once among the greatest poets. 
 
 In 1850 Wordsworth died and Tennyson became poet laureate 
 in his place. At his home in the Isle of Wight he lived an ideal 
 existence, surrounded by all that is beautiful in nature and 
 sheltered from the turmoil of city life. Yet Tennyson was 30 
 
 20 
 
266 THE HILL READERS 
 
 always keenly alive to the public questions of the day, — a 
 quality sharply contrasted with his delight in pure melody and 
 beauty. 
 
 Among his great poems are the Idylls of the King, celebrating 
 
 5 the hero of his boyish days, King Arthur. The Princess, Maud, 
 and In Memoriam are his other long poems, but his fame rests 
 on some of his shorter ones as well. In skill in the poet's art, in 
 fullness of imaginative power, in wide range of accurate knowl- 
 edge, and in variety of thought Tennyson has had few equals. 
 
 10 All things considered, he may be regarded as the most representa- 
 tive poet of his time. 
 
 Half a league, half a league, 
 
 Half a league onward, 
 All in the valley of Death 
 16 Rode the six hundred. 
 
 " Forward the Light Brigade ! 
 Charge for the guns ! " he said : 
 Into the valley of Death 
 Rode the six hundred. 
 
 20 " Forward, the Light Brigade ! " 
 
 Was there a man dismay'd ? 
 Not tho' the soldier knew 
 
 Some one had blunder d : 
 Theirs not to make reply, 
 26 Theirs not to reason why, 
 
 Theirs but to do and die : 
 Into the valley of Death 
 Rode the six hundred. 
 
BOOK FOUR 267 
 
 Cannon to right of them, 
 Cannon to left of them, 
 Cannon in front of them 
 VoUey'd and thunder'd ; 
 
 Storm' d at with shot and shell, 5 
 
 Boldly they rode and well. 
 Into the jaws of Death, 
 Into the mouth of Hell 
 Rode the six hundred. 
 
 Flash' d all their sabres bare, 10 
 
 Flash' d as they turned in air 
 Sabring the gunners there. 
 Charging an army, while 
 
 All the world wonder' d : 
 Plunged in the battery-smoke is 
 
 Right thro' the line they broke ; 
 Cossack and Russian 
 
268 THE HILL HEADERS 
 
 Reel'd from the sabre-stroke 
 Shatter' d and sunder' d. 
 
 Then they rode back, but not — 
 Not the six hundred. 
 
 5 Cannon to right of them, 
 
 Cannon to left of them, 
 Cannon behind them 
 
 Volley' d and thunder' d ; 
 Storm' d at with shot and shell, 
 
 10 While horse and hero fell. 
 
 They that had fought so well 
 Came thro' the jaws of Death, 
 Back from the mouth of Hell, 
 All that was left of them, 
 
 15 Left of six hundred. 
 
 When can their glory fade ? 
 the wild charge they made ! 
 
 All the world wonder'd. 
 Honor the charge they made ! 
 20 Honor the Light Brigade, 
 
 Noble six hundred ! 
 
BOOK FOUR 269 
 
 THE KNIGHT AND THE SARACEN— I 
 
 Walter Scott 
 
 The burning sun of Syria had not yet reached 
 its zenith, when a knight of the Red Cross, who 
 had left his distant northern home and joined the 
 host of the crusaders in Palestine, was pacing 
 slowly along the sandy deserts which lie in the 5 
 neighborhood of the Dead Sea. 
 
 The toil, the thirst, the dangers of the way, were 
 forgotten as the traveler recalled the fearful catas- 
 trophe which had changed into this parched and 
 blighted wilderness a valley which had once been lo 
 fair and fertile and well watered even as the 
 Garden of the Lord. 
 
 Crossing himself as he looked at the dark mass 
 of rolling waters, the traveler shuddered as he 
 remembered that beneath these waves lay the is 
 once proud cities of the plain, whose remains were 
 hidden by that sea which holds no Hving fish in 
 its bosom, bears no skiff upon its surface, and sends 
 not, like other lakes, its waters to the ocean. The 
 land as well as the lake might be called dead. 20 
 Nothing in the way of plants grew on the shores, 
 and the very air was without any sign of winged 
 
270 THE HILL READERS 
 
 insects, while the burning sun turned the waters 
 of the lake into sulphurous clouds. 
 
 Upon this scene the sun shone with almost 
 unbearable splendor. All living nature seemed to 
 
 5 have hidden itself from the rays, except the lonely 
 figure which appeared to be the only breathing 
 thing on the wide plain. 
 
 The dress of the rider and the trappings of his 
 horse were unfit for the traveler in such a country. 
 
 10 The knight wore a coat of mail with long sleeves, 
 metal gloves, and a steel breastplate. Suspended 
 around his neck was his shield, and upon his head 
 was a helmet of steel. His lower limbs were also 
 clothed in mail, and his feet rested in shoes of 
 
 15 metal like the gloves. In his belt on one side 
 was a broadsword with a handle framed like a 
 cross, and on the other side was a slender dag- 
 ger. He carried also, with one end resting on his 
 stirrup, a long steel-headed lance to which was 
 
 20 fastened a small flag. Over his armor there was a 
 loose coat of cloth without sleeves. This was much 
 worn and frayed, but was thus far useful, that it 
 shielded the metal from the burning rays of the 
 sun. Without it the knight could not have borne 
 
 25 the intense heat. This garment had embroidered 
 upon it in several places the owner's coat of arms, 
 
BOOK FOUR 271 
 
 which seemed to be a couchant leopard with the< 
 words, "I sleep — wake me not." 
 
 The horse's trappings consisted of a heavy saddle 
 plated with steel, uniting in front with a kind of 
 breastplate, and behind with armor made to cover 5 
 his loins. A steel ax hung at the saddlebow, the 
 reins were held by chain work, and at the front of 
 the bridle was a steel plate with openings for the 
 eyes and nostrils. 
 
 Nature, which had cast the limbs of the crusader lo 
 in a mold of uncommon strength, had fitted him 
 to wear his heavy armor with as much ease as if 
 it had been formed of cobwebs. He possessed a 
 constitution which was as strong as his limbs, and 
 which could bear the greatest fatigue and exposure is 
 to all kinds of weather. 
 
 Nature had, however, her demands for rest and 
 refreshment upon even the iron frame of the 
 Knight of the Sleeping Leopard. At noon, when 
 the Dead Sea lay at some distance on his right, he 20 
 joyfully hailed the sight of two or three palm 
 trees which arose beside the well at which he 
 intended to stop and partake of his midday meal. 
 His good horse, too, now lifted his head, expanded 
 his nostrils, and quickened his steps as he smelled 25 
 afar off the living waters which marked the place 
 
272 THE HILL EEADERS 
 
 of rest and refreshment. But labor and danger 
 were to come before the horse or horseman reached 
 the desired spot. 
 
 THE KNIGHT AND THE SARACEN — H 
 
 As the Knight of the Coiichant Leopard con- 
 
 5 tinned to fix his eyes on the yet distant cluster 
 of palm trees, it seemed to him as if some object 
 was moving among them. The distant form sepa- 
 rated itself from the trees, which partly hid its 
 motions, and came toward the knight at a speed 
 
 10 which soon showed a mounted horseman. As he 
 came nearer, his turban, long spear, and the flow- 
 ing sleeves of his green vest, girdled at the waist, 
 proved to the crusader that the horseman was 
 a Saracen. 
 
 15 "In the desert," says an Eastern proverb, "no 
 man meets a friend." The knight was quite indif- 
 ferent whether the rider, who approached as if 
 borne on the wings of an eagle, came as friend 
 or foe; perhaps, as a champion of the Cross, he 
 
 20 might have preferred the latter. 
 
 He loosened his lance from the saddle, seized 
 it with his right hand, placed it in rest with its 
 point half lifted, gathered up the reins in his left 
 
BOOK FOUR 273 
 
 hand, waked his horse's mettle with the spur, and 
 prepared to meet the stranger with the calmness 
 belonging to the victor in many contests. 
 
 The Saracen came on at the speedy gallop of an 
 Arab horseman, managing his steed more by his 5 
 limbs and the bending of his body than by the use 
 of the reins, which hung loose in his left hand. 
 On his arm he wore a light, round buckler, made 
 of the skin of the rhinoceros, and ornamented 
 with silver loops. His spear was not held like lo 
 that of the crusader, but grasped by tire middle 
 with his right hand and raised at arm's length 
 above his head. 
 
 As the Saracen approached at full speed he 
 seemed to expect that the Knight of the Leopard 15 
 should put his horse to the gallop to meet him. 
 But the Christian, knowing well the customs of 
 Eastern warriors, did not mean to tire his horse 
 without good reason. Instead of doing .as the 
 Arab expected, the crusader made a dead halt. 20 
 When the Saracen had approached to within 
 twice the length of his lance, he wheeled his horse 
 to the left and rode twice round the knight, who, 
 without quitting his ground turned his horse, keep- 
 ing his front constantly to his enemy, so that he 25 
 could not attack him at any unguarded point. 
 
274 THE HILL READERS 
 
 The Saracen, wheeling his horse, retreated to 
 the distance of a hundred yards. A second time, 
 like a hawk attacking a heron, he renewed the 
 charge, and a second time retreated without com- 
 5 ing to a close fight. A third time he approached 
 in the same manner, when the knight, growing 
 tired of this kind of warfare, suddenly seized the 
 battle-ax which hung at his saddlebow, and with 
 a strong hand and unerring aim hurled it against 
 
 10 the head of his enemy. The Saracen became aware 
 of the crusader's intention just in time to interpose 
 his light buckler between the ax and his head ; but 
 the blow forced the buckler down upon his turban, 
 and the Saracen was beaten from his horse. 
 
 15 Before the knight could do anything more, his 
 foe sprang from the ground, called his horse to his 
 side, and leaped into his saddle without touching 
 the stirrup. The crusader in the meantime had 
 recovered his ax, but the Saracen kept well out 
 
 20 of the jeach of that weapon of which he had so 
 lately felt the force. Planting his long spear in 
 the sand, he took a short bow which he carried on 
 his back, and, putting his horse to the gallop once 
 more, described two or three circles, in the course 
 
 25 of which he discharged six arrows at the knight. 
 So unerring was the Arab's aim that only the 
 
275 
 
276 THE HILL READERS 
 
 knight's armor saved him from being wounded in 
 as many places. 
 
 The seventh arrow seemed to find an unguarded 
 point in the armor, and the crusader dropped 
 
 5 heavily from his horse. The Saracen dismounted 
 to examine the condition of his fallen enemy, and 
 to his surprise found himself suddenly within the 
 grasp of the Christian, who had fallen in order to 
 bring .his foe within his reach. 
 
 10 Even in this deathly struggle the Saracen was 
 saved by his quickness and presence of mind. He 
 
 . unloosed the sword belt in which the knight had 
 fixed his hold, and, thus freeing himself, he mounted 
 his horse, which seemed to watch his motions with 
 
 15 the intelligence of a human being, and again rode 
 off. But in the struggle he had lost his sword and 
 his quiver of arrows, both of which had been fas- 
 tened to the belt left in the knight's grasp. His 
 turban also was lying at the feet of the victor. 
 
 20 These losses seemed to incline the Saracen to a 
 truce. He approached the Christian with extended 
 hand. 
 
 " There is now a truce between our nations," he 
 said ; " wherefore should there be war between thee 
 
 25 and me ? Let there be peace between us." 
 
 " I am well contented," said the Knight of the 
 
BOOK FOUR 277 
 
 Couchant Leopard ; " but what security dost thou 
 offer that thou wilt keep the truce ? " 
 
 "My word was never broken," answered the 
 Saracen. "I ask no security from thee, brave 
 knight, for I know that treachery seldom dwells 5 
 with courage." 
 
 Such confidence made the crusader ashamed of 
 his own doubts. '' By the cross on my sword," he 
 said, laying his hand on his weapon as he spoke, " I 
 will be a true companion to thee, Saracen, while our 10 
 fortune wills that we remain in company together." 
 
 " There is no treachery in my heart toward 
 thee," replied his late foe ; " and now let us go to 
 yonder fountain, for the hour of rest is at hand, 
 and the stream had hardly touched my lip when I 15 
 was called to battle by thy approach." 
 
 The Knight of the Couchant Leopard gave a 
 ready and courteous assent; and the late foes, 
 without an angry look or gesture of doubt, rode 
 side by side to the little cluster of palm trees. 20 
 
 From The Talisman 
 
 zenith: the point in the heavens directly overhead. — cru- 
 saders : bands of Christian warriors who went to Palestine in 
 order to get possession of the Holy Sepulcher. — catastrophe : 
 dreadful event. - — couchant: crouching. — Saracen: the Saracens, 
 who were hostile to the Christians, were at this time in authority 
 in Palestine. 
 
278 
 
 THE HILL READERS 
 
 10 
 
 15 
 
 TO STAY AT HOME IS BEST 
 
 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 
 
 Stay, stay at home, my heart, and rest ; 
 Home-keeping hearts are happiest, 
 For those that wander they know not where 
 Are full of trouble and full of care; 
 To stay at home is best. 
 
 Weary and homesick and distressed. 
 They wander east, they wander west. 
 And are baffled and beaten and blown about 
 By the winds of the wilderness of doubt ; 
 To stay at home is best. 
 
 Then stay at home, my heart, and rest ; 
 The bird is safest in its nest ; 
 O'er all that flutter their wings and fly 
 A hawk is hovering in the sky; 
 To stay at home is best. 
 
BOOK FOUR 279 
 
 THE RAINBOW 
 William Wordsworth 
 
 William Wordsworth (1770-1850), an English poet of high 
 rank, was born in Cumberland County, England. After leaving 
 the University of Cambridge he traveled in France, just then 
 on the verge of its terrible Revolution. The young poet was 
 charmed by the promise of " Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity " 5 
 made by the leaders of the Revolution, but later developments 
 filled him with gloom, and he says that only his sister Dorothy's 
 influence kept alive the poetic spirit within him. 
 
 Wordsworth, in 1797, formed an intimate friendship with the 
 poet Coleridge, and from this date his true poetic aV career may 10 
 be said to begin. In his cottage at Rydal Mount, Wordsworth 
 lived an ideal life for a poet ; he read little, thought much, wrote 
 as the mood swept over him, and, in the company of his gifted wife 
 and sister, set an example of <' plain living and high thinking." 
 
 Wordsworth was passionately fond of nature , and his most char- 15 
 acteristic poems are full of exquisite descriptions and illustrations 
 drawn from woods, rocks, flowers, clouds, streams, and mountains. 
 
 My heart leaps up when I behold , 
 
 A rainbow in the sky ; 
 So was it when my life began ; 20 
 
 So is it now I am a man ; 
 So be it when I shall grow old, 
 
 Or let me die ! 
 The Child is father of the Man ; 
 And I could wish my days to be 26 
 
 Bound each to each by natural piety. 
 
280 THE HILL READERS 
 
 THE DOG THAT LIED 
 
 Jean Aicard 
 
 Jean Aicard (1848- ), a French poet and story-teller, 
 was born in London. He is the author of several volumes of 
 poetry and some clever short stories. 
 
 I had trusted him for a long time; the fact is, 
 
 5 we loved each other. He was a shepherd dog, snow- 
 white, with a brown marking on the top of his 
 head. I called him Pierrot. He may, perhaps, 
 have been the son of a circus dog ; at any rate, he 
 could climb trees and ladders, and perform other 
 
 10 odd tricks. He was fairly in love with a little 
 wooden ball about the size of a billiard ball. One 
 day he brought it to me, and, sitting on his 
 haunches, said quite plainly : " Throw it away 
 out on the grass. I '11 find it, — see if I don't." 
 
 15 I did as he wanted, and he succeeded perfectly. 
 From that time on he became positively tiresome, 
 for he was forever saying, " Let 's have a game 
 of ball." Every chance he got he would come 
 rushing into my study with his ball in his mouth, 
 
 20 and, standing on his hind legs, with his fore paws 
 thrust into the midst of my papers, valuable manu- 
 scripts, and open books, he would exclaim : 
 
BOOK FOUR 281 
 
 "Look! here's the ball. Throw it out of the 
 window and I will tear after it. It 's great fun, — 
 see if it is n't. Much more amusing than your old 
 manuscripts and novels and plays and newspapers." 
 I Out the ball would seem to go ; out Pierrot 5 
 would rush, but, poor fellow, only to be deceived ; 
 for no sooner was he outside than the ball would 
 be laid on the table again to serve as a paper- 
 weight. Pierrot, out on the lawn, would look and 
 look ; then, coming back under the window, he 10 
 would cry out : " I say there, you literary fellow, 
 this is a little too much ! I can't find anything of 
 the ball. The fact is, there 's nothing here. And 
 if a passer-by hasn't taken it, then you have it, 
 as sure as can be." 15 
 
 He would come upstairs again, poke his nose 
 into my coat pockets, under the furniture, into the 
 half-open drawers, and then, all of a sudden, with 
 the air of a man who is struck with a bright idea, 
 he would say, " I '11 wager that 's the ball there 20 
 on the table." 
 
 Of course I took good care not to wager with 
 him, for it was in truth the ball. To hide it again 
 I had to be quick, and then good-by to work. 
 Those were lively times ; Pierrot would leap after 25 
 the ball, bound to have it at any cost ; he would 
 
282 THE HILL KEADERS 
 
 follow my slightest movements with the most agile 
 countermotions, all the, time in a broad smile, — 
 smiling in the only way a dog can ; that is to say, 
 constantly wagging his tail. 
 
 5 Withal he was a good watchdog, and that 's 
 worth a great deal in the country. He often made 
 
 . me think of those men, changed by magic into dogs, 
 of whom we read in fairy tales. The glance of his 
 eye had a tender, deep, and beseeching quality, 
 
 10 which seemed to say apologetically : " Don't ask 
 too much of me. I am only what you see — a dog 
 with four paws ; but my heart is a human heart, 
 a better one, indeed, than most men possess. Sor- 
 row has taught me much ; I have suffered much. 
 
 15 I suffer even at this moment because I am not 
 able to express to you, in words like your own, 
 my good will and affection. Yes, I am devoted 
 to you. I love you with the faithful love of a dog. 
 I would die for you if necessary. Your property 
 
 20 is my sacred trust. If anybody meddles with it, 
 let them look out for themselves." 
 
 But, notwithstanding, we quarreled one day, 
 and it was a bitter disappointment to me. Those 
 who put their trust in dogs will understand my 
 
 25 feelings. This is the way it happened. 
 The cook had killed two pigeons. 
 
BOOK FOUR 283 
 
 " I will serve them with peas/' she said to herself. 
 
 She went into the storeroom to get a basket 
 into which to put the feathers as she plucked the 
 pigeons. When she came back into the kitchen 
 she cried out in alarm. One of her pigeons had 5 
 flown, and yet she had n't been gone from the room 
 more than two seconds. A tramp going by had 
 undoubtedly thrust his arm through the open win- 
 dow and stolen the bird. She rushed out to capture 
 the tramp. Not a soul to be seen ! Then she 10 
 thought to herself, " The dog ! " But, -seized at 
 once with remorse, she mentally added, " What a 
 shame to suspect Pierrot ! He 's never stolen a 
 mouthful. Why, he 'd stand watch all day over 
 a leg of mutton without smelling it, even if he 15 
 were hungry. Moreover, there he is, still in the 
 kitchen, lazily sitting on his haunches, with half- 
 closed eyes, yawning from time to time. No, he 's 
 thinking precious little about my pigeons." 
 
 True enough ; there was Pierrot, half dozing, 20 
 seemingly utterly indifferent to all going on about 
 him. I was called. 
 
 " Pierrot ! " 
 
 He turned his sleepy eyes toward me as if say- 
 ing : " Eh ! what did you say, master ? I was so 25 
 comfortable. I was just thinking of the ball." 
 
284 THE HILL READERS 
 
 "Ah! of the ball," said I ; and then to the cook : 
 
 " I am of your opinion, Catherine ; Pierrot did 
 
 not steal your pigeon ; if he had, he would be busy 
 
 plucking it at the bottom of some ditch or other, 
 
 5 you may depend upon it." 
 
 "Nevertheless, look at him, sir," said Catherine. 
 " That dog has n't the look of an honest Christian." 
 " What ! would you say — " 
 " I say that at this very moment he has a guilty 
 10 look about him." 
 
 " Look at me, Pierrot ! " I said sharply. Hang- 
 ing his head a little, he at once replied, in a some- 
 what grumbling tone : "Should I be quietly sitting 
 here if I had stolen your pigeon ? No, certainly 
 15 not; I should be busy plucking it." 
 
 He was serving me with my own argument. 
 This looked suspicious. 
 
 " Look at me," I ordered him ; " straight in the 
 face — like this." 
 20 He put on an air of indifference. There was no 
 longer any room for doubt in my mind. I turned 
 sorrowfully to Catherine and exclaimed : " Ah, 
 what a pity ! it is he who is guilty. I am sure 
 of it. It is he." 
 25 I assure you, reader, that I am very serious when 
 I say that what I saw in the eyes of that dog came 
 
BOOK FOUR 285 
 
 upon me like a painful shock. I had distinctly 
 seen there a human lie. He had tried to throw a 
 false appearance of sincerity into his look, and had 
 utterly failed; for it is impossible even for man to 
 do it. As for Pierrot, he exhausted himself in vain 5 
 effort. The deep desire to deceive was, in his very 
 eyes, struggling with the feeble show of sincerity 
 which he succeeded in bringing into play. The 
 accomplished lie was a sadder revelation of his 
 guilt than actual proof. Nevertheless, in order to 10 
 be blameless in the matter, I wanted certain proof. 
 
 With a deceiver, deception is excusable. 
 
 "Here," I said to the guilty dog, " you may have 
 this"; and I gave him the odd pigeon. He looked 
 at me and said thoughtfully to himself : " Hum ! 15 
 This is surprising. I see you suspect me and 
 want to detect me. Otherwise, why now give me 
 a pigeon ? Such a thing never happened before." 
 
 He lifted the pigeon in his mouth and then 
 slowly put it down on the ground, saying, " I 'm 20 
 at least not a fool." 
 
 " But it 's yours," I said ; " I tell you, it 's yours. 
 Don't you like pigeons ? Very well ; take this one. 
 Besides, I had two of them, and I needed two. I 
 can't do anything with one. I tell you again, this 25 
 is for you." 
 
286 THE HILL READERS 
 
 I patted him, thinking all the while : " You 
 wretched thief ! you have betrayed my confidence 
 as if you were a mere man. You are a knavish 
 beast 1 " adding aloud, " Good old Pierrot ! brave 
 
 5 old Pierrot ! fine fellow !" 
 
 On this he decided to accept my gift, picked up 
 the pigeon, rose, and went out slowly, not, however, 
 without turning his face toward me several times, 
 as if trying to read my real mind. As soon as 
 
 10 he was outside I closed the door and looked out 
 through the glass panels on the side to see what 
 he would do. He took a few steps as if he proposed 
 to go to some out-of-the-way place to eat his prize ; 
 then he stopped, dropped the pigeon on the ground, 
 
 15 and pondered for a long time. Several times he 
 turned his deceitful eyes toward the door; then 
 he gave up trying to find a satisfactory expla- 
 nation of the situation, contented himself with 
 the facts as they were, picked up his pigeon, and 
 
 20 walked off. And as he disappeared, his droop- 
 ing tail, which had expressed timidity and hesita- 
 tion in all its motions during our conversation in 
 the kitchen, assumed an air of more self-respect, 
 as if Pierrot were saying : " Bah ! Take things 
 
 25 as they come. Nobody cares for me. A jolly 
 life's the thing.'' 
 
BOOK FOUR 287 
 
 I followed him at a distance and surprised him 
 in the act of digging a hole in the ground with his 
 paws in a very lively fashion. The pigeon I had 
 given him was lying beside the hole on which he 
 was working. I dug the hole a little deeper myself, 5 
 and behold ! there was the stolen pigeon skilKully 
 hidden. I was confounded. My good friend Pierrot 
 not only followed the habits of his forefathers, the 
 foxes and wolves, and buried his food, but he fol- 
 lowed the habits of civilized life, and had learned 10 
 to lie ! In the presence of the falsifier I gathered 
 and tied together some of the largest feathers of 
 my two pigeons, like a small feather duster, and 
 put them on my study table. After that, whenever 
 Pierrot brought me his ball, saying with a frank 15 
 and open smile : " What ! working ? Stop and 
 have a game with me," — I would lift the little 
 feather duster, and Pierrot would hang his head, 
 his tail would droop between his legs in shame, 
 the ball would fall from his mouth, and he would 20 
 sadly exclaim, "Will you never forgive me? " 
 
 " You do not love me," I said to him one morn- 
 ing ; " no, you do not love me, for you lied to me, 
 and lied after thinking it over." 
 
 A kindly voice — whose it was or whence it came 25 
 I do not know — replied : " Yes, he does love you, 
 
288 
 
 THE HILL READERS 
 
 my friend, and you still love him sincerely. He 
 has been sufficiently punished by this time. Let 
 bygones be bygones." 
 
 I picked up the little feather duster, and yet on 
 
 6 this occasion Pierrot did not seem to fear it. "You 
 see it for the last time," I said. " Thus shall the 
 record of your guilt perish"; and I threw the 
 thing into the fire. Pierrot, gravely seated on his 
 haunches, watched it burn. Then, without any 
 
 10 burst of emotion, without leaps or bounds, but 
 simply, nobly, he came to lick my hand. A feel- 
 ing of indescribable happiness filled my heart. It 
 was the happiness of forgiving. 
 
 And in a low voice my dog said to me : " I know 
 
 15 what you feel ; I know that happiness, too. For 
 how many things have I forgiven you without your 
 
 knowing it!" From the French 
 
 agile countermotions : quick motions made to check or match 
 those of an opponent. 
 
BOOK FOUR 289 
 
 THE BRAZEN HEAD 
 Horace Elisha Scudder 
 
 There was once a wise man named Roger Bacon. 
 In his day the wise men were almost always mem- 
 bers of some religious order, and Roger Bacon was 
 of the order of Friars, and so came to be known as 
 Friar Bacon. 5 
 
 It was a time when learned men were ttying 
 to do all manner of vain things. They thought to 
 discover some wonderful draught which would 
 make men live forever. They tried to find some 
 means by which they could turn lead or iron into 10 
 gold, and they fancied there was a kind of powder 
 which would do this ; this powder they called the 
 Philosopher's Stone. 
 
 So they mixed all kinds of powders and liquids ; 
 they were forever at work over their charcoal fires, 15 
 and as each one wished to be the great discoverer, 
 they all worked in secret chambers and behind 
 closed doors. 
 
 Thus they came to be thought of as workers in 
 magic, and people looked curiously at them and 20 
 were rather afraid of them. These wise men needed 
 servants to fetch and carry for them, and they 
 
290 THE HILL READERS 
 
 sometimes chose servants who were dull, for they 
 did not wish any one who was near to them to 
 know what they did. 
 
 Friar Bacon worked much in his cell, and he 
 5 had a friend, Friar Bungey, whom he trusted. He 
 had also a merry fellow for a servant, named Miles. 
 Friar Bungey knew what Friar Bacon was doing, 
 but Miles never bothered his head about his mas- 
 ter's work. 
 
 10 Now Friar Bacon had a great love of England, 
 his country. And as he read in old histories, he 
 saw that more than once people had come across 
 the waters and conquered England. He bethought 
 himself how he could defend the country, and 
 
 15 thought if he could only build a great brass wall 
 about England he could defend it. 
 
 As he thought longer, this did not seem possible ; 
 and then he thought if he could station a brass 
 man here and there, at points where soldiers would 
 
 20 land, and if he could make the brass man speak, 
 he might defend his country in this way ; for any- 
 body would be afraid who came near the coast and 
 saw a brass man, and heard him shout. 
 
 So he and Friar Bungey set to work and made 
 
 25 a Brazen Head. They fashioned jaws, and tongue, 
 and teeth, and all other parts of the inside of a 
 
BOOK FOUR 291 
 
 head, and set them carefully within the Brazen 
 Head. But though there was everything with 
 which to speak, the Brazen Head said never a 
 word. 
 
 They were sore perplexed ; they read and they 5 
 studied, but could find out nothing. So then they 
 did what the wise men of those days did when 
 everything else failed. They went by night into 
 a wood, and there all by themselves they called 
 on the Evil Spirit to come out of the darkness and lo 
 tell them what they were to do. 
 
 I do not know why they should call on the Evil 
 Spirit, and not on the Good Spirit, but that is the 
 way the story runs. So after they had coaxed and 
 threatened the Spirit, they got this answer. They i5 
 were to take six herbs, or simples as they were 
 called, and make a hot fire and steam these sim- 
 ples until they were a strong fume, and this fume 
 they were to let rise into the Brazen Head. 
 
 This they were to do, and to watch the fume 20 
 steadily. Some time or other, perhaps in a month 
 or less, the fume would work and the Brazen Head 
 would speak, and then they would know how it 
 was done. 
 
 So back to their cell went the two friars. They 25 
 got the precious simples and steamed them, and 
 
292 THE HILL READERS 
 
 watched the hot fumes night and day, night and 
 day. But after about three weeks of this, they 
 grew terribly sleepy, and though they tried to 
 keep each other awake, it was plain that they 
 5 might both be asleep when the Brazen Head should 
 speak. That would never do ; so Friar Bacon called 
 his servant Miles. 
 
 " Miles," said he, " sit you here and watch. This 
 Brazen Head is about to speak, but Friar Bungey 
 
 10 and I have watched so long that we must needs 
 sleep. We look to you to take our place. Have 
 no fear, but the moment you hear the Head speak, 
 on that instant come quickly and wake us." 
 
 Miles was a faithful fellow, and he promised 
 
 15 Friar Bacon that he would do as he was bid. So 
 the two friars lay down, and in a twinkling were 
 fast asleep. Miles now was left to himself, and to 
 keep awake he played on a fiddle he had and began 
 singing a song, which he made up as he went along. 
 
 20 So he kept awake, and by and by there was a 
 great rumble and quaking sound, and the Brazen 
 Head opened its mouth and spoke just two words, 
 
 ''TIME IS." 
 
 " Well, well," quoth Miles to himself ; " that 's 
 26 no news. I '11 not wake master for that. Go to, 
 
BOOK FOUR 293 
 
 old Brazen Head!" said he, aloud. "Hath the 
 great Friar Bacon worked at thee all these months, 
 and this is all that comes of it ? ' Time is ' ? I '11 
 warrant thee, old Boy : 
 
 " Time is for some to eat, , 5 
 
 Time is for some to sleep, 
 
 Time is for some to laugh, 
 
 Time is for some to weep." 
 
 So honest Miles sang to the tune of his fiddle, 
 and made up verse upon verse, wagging his head lo 
 and laughing at that great Brazen Head.. A half 
 an hour more, and the mouth opened again, and 
 there came forth the words, 
 
 "TIME WAS." 
 
 " Sure enough," said Miles, scornfully ; " and is 
 d 'ye think I would wake my master to tell him 
 that great piece of news ? ' Time was,' indeed ! 
 Away with ye ! 
 
 " Time was when thou a kettle 
 
 Wert filled with better matter ; 20 
 
 But Friar Bacon did thee spoil 
 When he thy sides did batter. " 
 
 And so did merry Miles sing to another jolly 
 tune. 
 
 Another half hour passed. Then there came 25 
 a deep rumbling and grumbling sound, and the 
 
294 THE HILL READERS 
 
 Brazen Head opened its mouth once more and 
 
 clanged out, 
 
 ^ "TIME IS PAST/' 
 
 and thereat it fell over on its face and brake all 
 
 5 to bits. And there was a terrible noise, and there 
 
 were great flashes of fire, so that poor Miles was 
 
 half dead with fear. He dropped his fiddle and 
 
 fell on his knees, and the room was full of smoke. 
 
 Now the noise and the smoke were so horri- 
 
 10 ble that Friar Bacon and Friar Bungey suddenly 
 
 waked. They rushed into the cell, and there they 
 
 saw Miles beating his breast and crying out, and 
 
 on the floor lay the Brazen Head all in bits. 
 
 " What is this ! what is this ! " cried Friar 
 15 Bacon. " What hast thou done ? " 
 
 " Sure, it fell down all of itself ! " shouted Miles. 
 
 " And did he not speak ? Did he say nothing ? " 
 
 " Nothing at all, at all," quoth Miles, " but just 
 
 some senseless words. A parrot could say more." 
 
 20 " Out upon you ! " said Friar Bacon, lifting his 
 
 hand to strike the wretch. " If you had called us 
 
 when he spake, we should all have been great 
 
 men, for we should have done that which would 
 
 have saved England from all her foes. What did 
 
 25 the Brazen Head say ? " 
 
 " It said, ' Time is/ the first time," quoth Miles. 
 
295 
 
296 THE HILL READERS 
 
 "Ah ! " said Friar Bacon ; " you have undone us. 
 Had you called us then, we should have been in 
 time. Did it speak again?" 
 
 "Aye, sir, that it did, half an hour afterward; 
 5 and it just said, ' Time was.' " 
 
 " Woe, woe ! if thou had called us then ! " said 
 Friar Bungey, shaking his head. 
 
 " Sure, sir," said Miles, " I thought it would be 
 telling some long tale, and then I would have 
 10 waked ye ; but it kept quiet for half an hour, and 
 then it babbled out, ' Time is past,' and fell down 
 head first, and there was such a clatter that I had 
 no need to wake ye. The old beast would have 
 waked the dead." 
 15 Then Friar Bacon was wroth, and would have 
 let his hand fall heavy upon poor Miles, but Friar 
 Bungey told him it was a shame to strike so igno- 
 rant a man. Friar Bacon withheld his hand, but 
 he made Miles dumb for the space of a month 
 20 in punishment, though to be sure there was not 
 much that Miles had to say. So nothing came of 
 the Brazen Head, and England had to content 
 herself with live men to guard her gates. 
 
 From The Book of Legends. Copyright, 1891). Houghton, Mifflin 
 & Co., Publishers. 
 
 Friars : a religious band or order. — bethought himself : con- 
 sidered, called to mind. — wroth : angry. 
 
BOOK FOUR 297 
 
 THE BAREFOOT BOY 
 
 John Greenleaf Whittier 
 
 John Grekleaf Whittier (1807-1892), often called the 
 <' Quaker Poet," was born in Haverhill, Massachusetts. His 
 home was a busy, methodical, economical one. To pay his next 
 term's school dues young Whittier worked all one winter making 
 slippers, which he sold for eight cents a pair. "He calculated 5 
 so closely every item of expense," says Pickard, his biographer, 
 ' ' that he knew before the beginning of the term that he would 
 have twenty-five cents to spare at its close, and he actually had." 
 He made the most of his few years at school, and was "always 
 a glutton to read." ^ 10 
 
 While Whittier was still "a barefoot boy," a copy of the 
 poems of Robert Burns fell into his hands. The glowing lines of 
 the great Scottish peasant created within the boy a desire to 
 become a poet. This desire never left him, and, in spite of pov- 
 erty and limited education, he became a poet of no mean rank. 15 
 
 His first verses, according to a family tradition, were written 
 on the beam of his mother's loom. His schoolmates say that he 
 was in the habit of covering his slate with rhymes. 
 
 In later life a friendship with William Lloyd Garrison, the 
 antislavery agitator, drew him fiercely into the movement against 20 
 slavery, and for some years his body and mind were so disturbed 
 that he had little time for purely literary work. 
 
 Later on, in his home at Amesbury, comfortable from the 
 sale of his poems and enjoying rest after the storm, he wrote 
 many of the songs and poems now familiar to all Americans. 25 
 
 Blessings on thee, little man, 
 Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan ! 
 With thy turned-up pantaloons, 
 And thy merry whistled tunes ; 
 
298 THE HILL READERS 
 
 With thy red hp, redder still 
 Kissed by strawberries on the hill ; 
 With the sunshine on thy face, 
 Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace ; 
 5 From my heart I give thee joy, — 
 
 I was once a barefoot boy ! 
 Prince thou art, — the grown-up man 
 Only is republican. 
 Let the million-dollared ride ! 
 10 Barefoot, trudging at his side. 
 
 Thou hast more than he can buy 
 In the reach of ear and eye, — 
 Outward sunshine, inward joy : 
 Blessings on thee, barefoot boy ! 
 
 15 Oh for boyhood's painless play. 
 
 Sleep that wakes in laughing day. 
 Health that mocks the doctor's rules. 
 Knowledge never learned of schools, 
 Of the wild bee's morning chase, 
 
 20 Of the wild-flower's time and place. 
 
 Flight of fowl and habitude 
 Of the tenants of the wood ; 
 How the tortoise bears his shell. 
 How the woodchuck digs his cell, 
 
 26 And the ground-mole sinks his well ; 
 
BOOK FOUR 299 
 
 How the robin feeds her young, 
 
 How the oriole's nest is hung ; 
 
 Where the whitest lilies blow, 
 
 Where the freshest berries grow, 
 
 Where the ground-nut trails its vine, 5 
 
 Where the wood-grape's clusters shine ; 
 
 Of the black wasp's cunning way. 
 
 Mason of his walls of clay. 
 
 And the architectural plans 
 
 Of gray hornet artisans ! 10 
 
 For, eschewing books and tasks, ' 
 
 Nature answers all he asks ; 
 
 Hand in hand with her he walks. 
 
 Face to face with her he talks. 
 
 Part and parcel of her joy, — 15 
 
 Blessings on the barefoot boy ! 
 
 Oh for boyhood's time of June, 
 
 Crowding years in one brief moon. 
 
 When all things I heard or saw. 
 
 Me, their master, waited for. 20 
 
 I was rich in flowers and trees. 
 
 Humming-birds and honey-bees ; 
 
 For my sport the squirrel played. 
 
 Plied the snouted mole his spade ; 
 
 For my taste the blackberry cone 25 
 
300 THE HILL READERS 
 
 Purpled over hedge and stone ; 
 Laughed the brook for my delight 
 Through the day and through the night, 
 Whispering at the garden wall, 
 5 Talked with me from fall to fall ; 
 
 Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond, 
 Mine the walnut slopes beyond, 
 Mine, on bending orchard trees. 
 Apples of Hesperides ! 
 10 Still as my horizon grew, 
 
 Larger grew my riches too ; 
 All the world I saw or knew 
 Seemed a complex Chinese toy. 
 Fashioned for a barefoot boy ! 
 
 16 Oh for festal dainties spread, 
 
 Like my bowl of milk and bread ; 
 Pewter spoon and bowl of wood. 
 On the door-stone, gray and rude ! 
 O'er me, like a regal tent, 
 
 20 Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent. 
 
 Purple-curtained, fringed with gold. 
 Looped in many a wind-swung fold ; 
 While for music came the play 
 Of the pied frogs* orchestra ; 
 
 25 And, to light the noisy choir, 
 
BOOK FOUR 301 
 
 Lit the fly his lamp of fire. 
 I was monarch : pomp and joy 
 Waited on the barefoot boy ! 
 
 Cheerily, then, my little man, 
 
 Live and laugh, as boyhood can ! 5 
 
 Though the flinty slopes be hard, 
 
 Stubble-speared the new-mown sward. 
 
 Every morn shall lead thee through 
 
 Fresh baptisms of the dew ; 
 
 Every evening from thy feet 10 
 
 Shall the cool wind kiss the heat : 
 
 All too soon these feet must hide 
 
 In the prison cells of pride. 
 
 Lose the freedom of the sod, 
 
 Like a colt's for work be shod, 15 
 
 Made to tread the mills of toil. 
 
 Up and down in ceaseless moil : 
 
 Happy if their track be found 
 
 Never on forbidden ground ; 
 
 Happy if they sink not in 20 
 
 Quick and treacherous sands of sin. 
 
 Ah ! that thou couldst know thy joy. 
 
 Ere it passes, barefoot boy ! 
 
 habitude: habit, way. — artisans: workmen. — eschewing: 
 avoiding. — apples of Hesperides : fabled apples of gold, guarded 
 by the daughters of Hesperus. 
 
302 THE HILL EEADERS 
 
 GUDBKAND OF THE MOUNTAIN 
 
 There once lived a man whose name was Gud- 
 brand ; and as he owned a farm in a remote spot 
 on the slope of a mountain, people called him Gud- 
 brand of the Mountain. 
 5 He lived so happily with his wife, and they 
 agreed so well, that she thought everything her 
 husband did was for the best, and that it could 
 not have been improved upon. This worthy couple 
 were the owners of a piece of arable land, and 
 
 10 had a hundred dollars in their strong box, besides 
 a couple of cows in the stable. One day the wife 
 said to Gudbrand : " I think that we might take 
 one of the cows to town and sell it, for we ought 
 to have a few shillings in our purse as other folk 
 
 15 have, particularly as we don't wish to touch the 
 hundred dollars in the chest. And really I don't 
 know what we should want with more than one 
 cow, and I shall be the gainer by having only one 
 to attend to, instead of being bothered with two." 
 
 20 Gudbrand thought this was all very reasonable 
 and very proper ; so he immediately took the cow 
 and went to town to sell it. But it happened that 
 there was nobody in the town that was willing to 
 buy the cow. 
 
BOOK FOUR 303 
 
 " Never mind," thought Gudbrand ; " I '11 go 
 home again with my cow ; I have both stable and 
 yoke ready for her, and the way is no longer going 
 than coming"; and with this cheering thought he 
 plodded homewards in the most contented mood. 
 
 He had not gone far before he met a man with 
 a horse that he wanted to sell. Now Gudbrand 
 
 thought it was better to have a horse than a cow, 
 so he made an exchange with the stranger. 
 
 When he had gone a little further he met lo 
 another man, who was driving a fat pig before 
 him, and then Gudbrand thought it would be still 
 better to have a fat pig than a horse, and so he 
 exchanged with the man. He then went on, and 
 after a while he met a man with a goat. "It is 15 
 certainly better anyhow to have a goat than a 
 pig," thought Gudbrand; and again he made an 
 
304 THE HILL KEADERS 
 
 exchange with the owner of the goat. He now 
 went a good deal further, till he met a man with 
 a sheep, and with him he likewise made an ex- 
 change, on the principle " that it is always better 
 
 5 to have a sheep than a goat." On going further 
 he met a man with a goose, and then Gudbrand 
 exchanged his sheep against the goose. After this 
 he went a long, long way, till he met a man with 
 a cock, and he once more made an exchange ; for 
 
 10 he thought, "After all, it is still better to have a 
 cock than a goose." 
 
 He then walked on and on till it began to grow 
 late, when, feeling very hungry, he sold the cock 
 for threepence, with which he bought something 
 
 15 to eat ; " for after all," he reasoned, " it is better to 
 bring one's self back safe and sound than to bring 
 home a cock." He then sped on his way, till he 
 reached the farm of his nearest neighbor, where 
 in he went just as the plowboy was driving home 
 
 20 the cattle. 
 
 "Well, how did you fare in town?" inquired 
 the good folk. 
 
 " Why, but so-so," answered Gudbrand. " I can't 
 say much for my luck, neither have I much reason 
 
 25 to complain." And hereupon he related all that 
 had happened from beginning to end. 
 
BOOK FOUR 305 
 
 " Well, I 'm sure you '11 get a warm reception 
 from your wife when you reach home," quoth the 
 farmer. " I should n't like to be in your shoes." 
 
 " Things might have gone worse, however,"' re- 
 plied Gudbrand, " and I have such an excellent wife s 
 that she never scolds me, let me do what I will." 
 
 "That may be," said the man; "yet somehow 
 I can't believe it." 
 
 " I will wager a hundred dollars," said Gudbrand. 
 
 " Done ! " said the neigiibor ; and as twilight lo 
 was now coming on, they both set out for Gud- 
 brand's farm. When they had reached it the 
 neighbor remained outside the door, while Gud- 
 brand went in to his wife, and they began to talk 
 in the following manner. 15 
 
 " Good evening," said Gudbrand of the Moun- 
 tain, as he walked into the room. 
 
 "Good evening," replied the wife. "Praised be 
 God ! You are come back again, are you ? " 
 
 Sure enough, he was back. Then the wife in- 20 
 quired how he had got on in town. "But so-so," 
 answered Gudbrand. " I can't much boast of my 
 luck. On reaching town nobody would purchase 
 my cow, so I changed it for a horse." 
 
 "Aye ; there, indeed, you do deserve my thanks," 25 
 said she. " We are so well oft* that we may as well 
 
306 THE HILL READERS 
 
 drive to church as other people; and if we have 
 the means of getting ourselves a horse, why should 
 not we ? Pray, goodman, go and bring him in." 
 ^^ Well," replied Gudbrand, " I have n't the horse 
 
 5 exactly, for, after going on a bit, I changed it for 
 a pig." 
 
 ^^ No ! did you ? " cried the wife. " Why, that 's 
 the very thing I should have done myself ! Thank 
 you a thousand times, my dear husband. Now I 
 
 10 shall have some bacon in the house to offer the 
 folk that come to see us. What, indeed, do we 
 want with a horse ? People would only say that 
 we had grown too grand to walk to church as we 
 used to do. Prithee, go and fetch in the pig." 
 
 15 " But I have n't the pig any more than I have 
 the horse," said Gudbrand ; " for, on going some- 
 what further, I changed it for a milch goat." 
 
 " Why, \)srhat capital notions you always have ! " 
 exclaimed the wife ; " for when I come to think of 
 
 20 it, what do we want with a pig? People would 
 
 only say, ' They are eating up their substance.' 
 
 But now I have a goat, I can have milk and 
 
 cheese, and without parting with the goat either." 
 
 " But I have n't any goat either," answered Gud- 
 
 25 brand; "for on going a little further, I changed 
 the goat for an excellent sheep." 
 
BOOK FOUR 307 
 
 "Now, did you?" cried the wife. "Well, to 
 be sure, you have done everything that I could 
 have wished, just as if I had been at your elbow 
 all the time. What, indeed, should we want a 
 goat for ? I should have always been running 5 
 after it, and climbing up hill and down dale. But 
 with a sheep, I shall not only have wool to make 
 clothes with but something to eat into the bargain. 
 So prithee, goodman, go and fetch the sheep in." 
 
 " But I no longer have the sheep," said Gud- lo 
 brand ; " for, when I had gone a little further, I 
 exchanged it for a goose." 
 
 " Oh, thank you a thousand times over for that ! " 
 cried the wife ; " for what could I have done with 
 the sheep ? I have neither distaff nor spindle, nor is 
 do I want them either, for we can just as well go 
 on buying as we have done hitherto. And now I 
 shall have an opportunity of tasting a bit of goose, 
 which I have hankered after so long, and of stuff- 
 ing my pillows with down. So now, goodman, go 20 
 and fetch in the goose." 
 
 "Aye, but I have no goose to fetch," replied 
 Gudbrand; "for, after going a little further, I 
 changed it for a cock." 
 
 " Only think now of your hitting on the very 25 
 thing I should have chosen ! " exclaimed the wife. 
 
308 THE HILL READERS 
 
 " Why, a cock is for all the world as good as if you 
 had bought an alarm watch, for the cock crows 
 every morning at four o'clock, and so we shall be 
 sure to be stirring betimes. .After all, we did not 
 
 5 want a goose, for I don't know how to dress goose's 
 flesh ; and as to my pillow, I can stuff it with sea- 
 weeds just as well. So go your ways, goodman, 
 and fetch the cock." 
 
 " But I have no cock either," said Gudbrand ; 
 
 10 " for, after going somewhat further, I felt so tre- 
 mendously hungry that I sold the cock for three- 
 pence, in order to be able to come home alive." 
 
 ^^And right well did you do!" cried the wife. 
 " Let you set about what you will, you are sure 
 
 15 to do everything just to my liking. What does it 
 matter whether we have a cock or not ? Surely we 
 are our own masters, and can lie in bed of a morn- 
 ing as long as we please. And now, thank God 
 that I have got you back again, — you who are so 
 
 20 clever at everything, — I want no cock, or goose, 
 or pig, or cow." 
 
 Gudbrand now opened the door. " Have I won 
 the hundred dollars ? " cried he. And the neighbor 
 was forced to own that he fairly had. 
 
 From an old legend 
 arable : fit for plowing. — quoth : said. 
 
BOOK FOUR 309 
 
 THE GRASSHOPPER AND THE CRICKET 
 
 John Keats 
 
 John Keats (1795-1821), one of the most imaginative of 
 English poets, was born in London. At the age of fifteen he 
 began the study of medicine, but he soon gave up his profession. 
 
 Keats's Endymion, published when he was twenty-two, was 
 severely criticised. His next volume, containing the exquisite 5 
 Eve of St. Agnes, Hyperion, To a Nightingale, etc., was received 
 with general favor. But the brilliant young poet was already 
 dying with consumption. He went to Xaples and Rome only to 
 find a foreign grave, over which he asked that this inscription 
 be put : " Here lies one whose name was writ in watejr ." 10 
 
 The poetry of earth is never dead : 
 
 When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, 
 And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run 
 
 From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead ; 
 
 That is the Grasshopper's — he takes the lead is 
 
 In summer luxury, — he has never done 
 With his delights ; for when tired out with fun, 
 
 He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed. 
 
 The poetry of earth is ceasing never : 
 
 On a lone winter evening, when the frost 20 
 
 Has wrought a silence, from the stove there 
 shrills 
 
 The Cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever. 
 And seems to one, in drowsiness half lost. 
 
 The Grasshopper's among some grassy hills. 25 
 
310 THE HILL READEKS 
 
 THE ADVENTURE OF THE MASON 
 Washington Irving 
 
 Washington Irving (1783-1859), charmingly imaginative 
 and creative as a story-teller and delightful as a biographer and 
 historian, was the first American author to win European admi- 
 ration. Although his early home was a home of love, yet so 
 5 strict were the religious ideas of his stern Presbyterian father 
 that Irving says, " I was led to think that everything which was 
 pleasant was sinful." The lad's delicate health forbade a college 
 training, but an early familiarity with good literature and an 
 intense love for reading made up in part for the lack of system - 
 
 10 atic training. 
 
 Irving 's humorous Knickerbocker's History of New York, '* a 
 piece of rollicking fun," followed in 1819 by the Sketch-Book, 
 containing his inimitable Rip Van Winkle and The Legend of 
 Sleepy Hollow, made his a household name among all the English- 
 
 15 speaking nations. Bracehridge Hall, Tales of a Traveler, Life and 
 Voyages of Columbus, The Conquest of Granada, The Companions 
 of Columbus, The Alhambra, following his first book in steady 
 succession, sustained his reputation. Among his later books are 
 Astoria, Adventures of Captain Bonneville, and lives of Goldsmith 
 
 20 and Mahomet. He closed his brilliant career with a life of 
 Washington, for whom he was named. 
 
 There was once upon a time a poor mason, or 
 
 bricklayer, in Granada, who kept all the saints' 
 
 days and holidays, and St. Monday into the bar- 
 
 25 gain, and yet, with all his devotion, he grew 
 
 • poorer and poorer, and could scarcely earn bread 
 
 for his numerous family. One night he was 
 
BOOK FOUR 311 
 
 .roused from his first sleep by a knocking at his 
 door. He opened it and beheld before him a tall, 
 thin, cadaverous-looking priest. 
 
 "Hark ye, honest friend," said the stranger; 
 "I have observed that you are a good Christian, 5 
 and one to be trusted. Will you undertake a job 
 this very night?" 
 
 " With all my heart, Senor Padre, on condition 
 that I am paid accordingly." 
 
 " That you shall be ; but you must suffer your- 10 
 self to be blindfolded." 
 
 To this the mason made no objection; so, be- 
 ing hoodwinked, he was led by the priest through 
 various rough lanes and winding passages, until 
 they stopped before the door of a house. The 15 
 priest then applied a key, turned a creaking lock, 
 and opened what sounded like a ponderous door. 
 They entered, the door was closed and bolted, and 
 the mason was led through an echoing corridor 
 and a spacious hall, to an interior part of the 20 
 building. Here the bandage was removed from 
 his eyes, and he found himself in a patio, or court, 
 dimly lighted by a single lamp. In the center 
 was the dry basin of an old Moorish fountain, 
 under which the priest requested him to form a 25 
 small vault, bricks and mortar being at hand 
 
312 
 
 THE HILL READERS 
 
 for the purpose. He accordingly worked all night, 
 but without finishing the job. Just before day- 
 break the priest put a piece of gold into his hand, 
 and, having again blindfolded him, conducted him 
 5 back to his dwelling. 
 
 " Are you willing," said he, " \jo return and 
 complete your work ? " 
 
 " Gladly, Senor Padre, provided I am so well 
 paid." 
 10 ^' Well, then, to-morrow at midnight I will call 
 again." 
 
 He did so, and the vault was completed. * 
 
BOOK FOUR 313 
 
 , "Now," said the priest, "you must help me 
 to bring forth the bodies that are to be buried in 
 this vault." 
 
 The poor mason's hair rose on his head at 
 these words. He followed the priest, with trem- 5 
 bling steps, into a retired chamber of the mansion, 
 expecting to behold some ghastly spectacle of death, 
 but was relieved on seeing three or four portly 
 jars standing in one corner. They were evidently 
 full of money, and it was with great labor that 10 
 he and the priest carried them forth and- put them 
 in their tomb. The vault was then closed, the 
 pavement replaced, and all traces of the work were 
 blotted out. The mason was again hoodwinked 
 and led forth by a route different from that by 15 
 which he had come. After they had wandered for 
 a long time through a perplexed maze of lanes 
 and alleys they halted. The priest then put two 
 pieces of gold into his hand. " Wait here," said 
 he, "until you hear the cathedral bell toll for 20 
 matins. If you presume to uncover your eyes be- 
 fore that time, evil will befall you." So saying, he 
 departed. The mason waited faithfully, amus- 
 ing himself by weighing the gold pieces in his 
 hand and clinking them against each other. The 25 
 moment the cathedral bell rang its matin peal 
 
314 THE HILL KEADEKS 
 
 he uncovered his eyes and found himself on the 
 banks of the Xenil, whence he made the best of 
 his way home, and reveled with his family for a 
 whole fortnight on the profits of his two nights' 
 
 5 work ; after which he was as poor as ever. 
 
 He continued to work a little, and pray a good 
 
 deal, and keep saints' days and holidays, from year 
 
 . to year, while his family grew vip as gaunt and 
 
 ragged as a crew of gypsies. As he was seated one 
 
 10 evening at the door of his hovel, he was accosted 
 by a rich old curmudgeon, who was noted for own- 
 ing many houses and being a griping landlord. 
 The man of money eyed him for a moment from 
 beneath a pair of anxious, shaggy eyebrows. 
 
 15 " I am told, friend, that you are very poor." 
 
 " There is no denying the fact, seiior ; it speaks 
 for itself." 
 
 " I presume, then, that you will be glad of a 
 job, and will work cheap." 
 
 20 " As cheap, my master, as any mason you can 
 find in Granada." 
 
 " That 's what I want. I have an old house 
 fallen into decay, which costs me more money than 
 it is worth to keep it in repair, for nobody will live 
 
 25 in it ; so I must contrive to patch it up and keep 
 it together at as small expense as possible." 
 
BOOK FOUR 315 
 
 The mason was accordingly conducted to a large 
 deserted house that seemed going to ruin. Pass- 
 ing through several empty halls and chambers, he 
 entered an inner court, where his eye was caught 
 by an old Moorish fountain. He paused for a mo- 5 
 ment, for a dreaming recollection of the place came 
 over him. 
 
 "Pray," said he, "who occupied this house for- 
 merly ? " 
 
 " A pest upon him ! " cried the landlord ; " it was lo 
 an old miserly priest, who cared for nobody but 
 himself. He was said to be immensely rich, and, 
 having no relations, it was thought he would leave 
 all his treasures to the church. He died suddenly, 
 and some church officers went to take possession 15 
 of his wealth ; but nothing could they find but a 
 few ducats in a leathern purse. The worst luck 
 has fallen on me, for, since his death, the old fellow 
 continues to occupy my house without paying rent, 
 and there is no taking the law of a dead man. 20 
 The people pretend to hear the clinking of gold all 
 night in the chamber where the old priest slept, as 
 if he were counting over his money, and sometimes 
 a groaning and a moaning about the coT*irt. Whether 
 true or false, these stories have brought a bad name 25 
 on my house, and not a tenant will remain in it." 
 
316 THE HILL READERS 
 
 " Enough," said the mason sturdily. " Let me 
 live in your house rent free until some better ten- 
 ant presents himself, and I will engage to put it 
 in repair and to quiet the troubled spirit that dis- 
 
 5 turbs it. I am a good Christian and a poor man, 
 and am not to be daunted by the devil himself, even 
 though he come in the shape of a big bag of money." 
 The offer of the honest mason was gladly ac- 
 cepted ; he moved with his family into the house 
 
 10 and fulfilled all his engagements. By little and 
 little he restored it to its former state; the clink- 
 ing of gold was no more heard at night in the 
 chamber of the dead priest, but began to be heard 
 by day in the pocket of the living mason. In a 
 
 15 word, he increased rapidly in wealth, to the admi- 
 ration of all his neighbors, and became one of the 
 richest men in Granada. He gave large sums to the 
 church, by way, no doubt, of satisfying his con- 
 science, and never revealed the secret of the vault 
 
 20 until on his deathbed to his son and heir. 
 
 cadaverous: pale, ghastly. — SeSor Padre: a title of respect 
 applied to priests. In English we say simply Father. — hood- 
 winked: blindfolded. — ponderous: heavy. — was accosted: was 
 spoken to. — curmudgeon: a miserly fellow. — taking the law: 
 going to law. — daunted: frightened. 
 
BOOK FOUR 317 
 
 HOW ROBIN HOOD SHOT BEFORE QUEEN 
 ELEANORS 
 
 Howard Pyle 
 
 Howard Pyle (1853- ), artist and author, was born in 
 Wilmington, Delaware. He studied art in New York, and early 
 began to furnish the periodical press with illustrated articles in 
 both verse and prose. The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood, from 
 which the following selection is taken, is deservedly popular with 5 
 a host of young readers. 
 
 And now the fame of Robin Hood had spread 
 far and wide, until at last it reached even to the 
 ears of Queen Eleanor in famous London Town. 
 " Fain would I see this bold yeoman," quoth she ; lo 
 " and fain would I behold his skill with the long- 
 bow of which we have heard so much." 
 
 Under the greenwood tree, in the cool shade 
 that spread all around upon the sward, with flicker- 
 ing lights here and there, Robin Hood and many 15 
 of his band lay upon the soft green grass, whilst 
 Allan-a-Dale, the sweet-singing minstrel of the 
 band, sang and played upon his harp. All listened 
 in silence, for young Allan's singing was one of 
 the greatest joys in all the world to them. But as 20 
 
 1 From The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood. Copyright, 1905. 
 Charles Scribner's Sons, Publishers. 
 
318 THE HILL KEADEKS 
 
 they so listened there came of a sudden a sound of 
 horses' feet, and presently Little John and Will 
 Stutly came forth from the forest path into the 
 open glade, a beautiful young page, gay with crim- 
 
 5 son and gold, riding between them upon a milk- 
 white horse. The three came toward where Robin 
 Hood sat, all the band staring with might and 
 main, for never had they seen so gay a sight as 
 this young page, nor one so richly clad in silks 
 
 10 and velvets and gold and jewels. Then Robin 
 
 Hood arose and stepped forth to meet him, and 
 
 the other leaped from his horse, and, doffing his 
 
 cap of crimson velvet, met Robin as he came. 
 
 " Now welcome ! " cried Robin. " Now welcome, 
 
 15 fair youth; and tell me, I prithee, what bringeth 
 one of so fair a presence and clad in such noble 
 garb to our poor forest of Sherwood." 
 
 Then the youth said : " If I err not, thou art 
 the famous Robin Hood, and these thy stout band 
 
 20 of outlawed yeomen. I am Richard Partington, 
 and page to her Royal Majesty. To thee I bring 
 greeting from our noble Queen Eleanor. Oft hath 
 she heard thee spoken of and thy merry doings 
 hereabouts, and fain would she behold thy face; 
 
 25 therefore she bids me tell thee that if thou wilt 
 presently come to London Town, she will do all in 
 
BOOK FOUR M9 
 
 her power to guard thee against harm, and will 
 send thee back safe to Sherwood Forest again. 
 Four days hence, in Finsbury Fields, our good King 
 Henry, of great renown, holdeth a grand shooting 
 match, and all the most famous archers of merry s 
 England will be thereat. Our Queen would fain 
 see thee strive with these, knowing that if thou 
 wilt come, thou wilt, with httle doubt, carry off the 
 prize. Therefore she hath sent me with this greet- 
 ing, and furthermore sends thee, as a sign of great lo 
 good will, this golden ring from off her own fair 
 thumb, which I give herewith into thy hands." 
 
 Then Robin Hood bowed his head, and, taking 
 the ring, kissed it right loyally, and then slipped 
 it upon his little finger. Quoth he, " Sooner would is 
 I lose my life than this ring ; and ere it departs 
 from me,' my hand shall be cold in death or 
 stricken off at the wrist. Fair Sir Page, I will 
 do our Queen's bidding." 
 
 Then Little John and Will Scarlet and Allan-a- 20 
 Dale ran leaping, full of joy, to make themselves 
 ready, whilst Robin also prepared himself for the 
 journey. After a while they all four came forth, 
 and a right fair sight they made, for Robin was 
 clad in blue from head to foot, and Little John and 25 
 Will Scarlet in good Lincoln green, and as for 
 
320 THE HILL READERS 
 
 Allan-a-Dale, he was dressed in scarlet from the 
 crown of his head to the toes of his pointed shoes. 
 Each man wore beneath his cap a little head cov- 
 ering of burnished steel set with rivets of gold, and 
 
 5 underneath his jerkin a coat of linked mail as fine 
 as carded wool, yet so tough that no arrow could 
 pierce it. Then, seeing all were ready, young Par- 
 tington mounted his horse again, and, the yeomen 
 having shaken hands all around, the five departed 
 
 10 upon their way. 
 
 Queen Eleanor sat in her royal bower, through 
 the open casements of which poured the sweet yel- 
 low sunshine in great floods of golden light. To 
 her came one who said that her page, Richard 
 
 15 Partington, and four stout yeomen waited her 
 pleasure in the court below. Then Queen Eleanor 
 arose joyously and bade them be straightway 
 shown into her presence. 
 
 Thus Robin Hood and Little John and Will 
 
 20 Scarlet and -Allan-a-Dale came before the Queen 
 into her own royal bower. Then Robin kneeled 
 before the Queen with his hands folded upon his 
 breast, saying, in simple phrase : " Here am I, 
 Robin Hood. Thou didst bid me come, and lo ! I 
 
 25 do thy bidding. I give myself to thee as thy true 
 
BOOK FOUR 321 
 
 servant, and will do thy commanding, even if it be 
 to the shedding of the last drop of my life's blood." 
 But good Queen Eleanor smiled pleasantly upon 
 him, bidding him to arise; then she made them 
 all be seated to rest themselves after their long 5 
 journey. Rich food was brought them and noble 
 wines, and she had her own pages to wait upon 
 the wants of the yeomen. At last, after they had 
 eaten all they could, she began questioning them 
 of their merry adventures. Then they told her all 10 
 of the lusty doings herein spoken of, and the Queen 
 and the ladies about her laughed again and again 
 at the joyous stories. Then, when they had told 
 all that they could bring to mind, the Queen 
 asked Allan to sing to her, for his fame as a min- 15 
 strel had reached even to the court at London 
 Town; and Allan did as he was bidden, and the 
 Queen and her ladies listened in silence. 
 
 A gay sight were famous Finsbury Fields on 
 that bright and sunny morning of lusty summer 20 
 time. Along the end of the meadow stood the 
 booths for the different bands of archers, for the 
 King's yeomen were divided into companies of 
 four score men, and each company had a captain 
 over it; so on the bright greensward stood ten 25 
 
322 
 
BOOK FOUR 323 
 
 booths of striped canvas, a booth lor each band 
 of the royal archers, and at the peak of each 
 fluttered a flag in the mellow air, and the flag was 
 the color that belonged to the captain of each 
 band. From the center booth hung the yellow 5 
 flag of Tepus, the famous bow bearer of the King ; 
 next to it, on one hand, was the blue flag of Gil- 
 bert of the White Hand, and on the other the 
 blood-red pennant of stout young Clifton of Buck- 
 inghamshire. The seven other archer captains lo 
 were also men of great renown ; among them 
 were Egbert of Kent and William of Southampton ; 
 but those first named were most famous of all. 
 The noise of many voices in talk and laughter 
 came from within the booths, and in and out ran is 
 the attendants like ants about an ant-hill. On 
 each side of the archery range were rows upon 
 rows of seats reaching high aloft, and in the center 
 of the north side was a raised dais for the King 
 and Queen, shaded by canvas of gay colors, and 20 
 hung about with streaming silken pennants of red 
 and blue and green and white. As yet the King 
 and Queen had not come, but all the other benches 
 were full of people, rising head above head high 
 aloft till it made the eye dizzy to look upon them. 25 
 Eight score yards distant from the mark from 
 
324 THE HILL KEADERS 
 
 which the archers were to shoot stood ten fair 
 targets, each target marked by a flag of the color 
 belonging to the band that was to shoot thereat. 
 So all was ready and all waited for the coming of 
 
 5 the King and Queen. 
 
 At last a great blast of bugles sounded, and into 
 the meadow came riding six trumpeters, with silver 
 trumpets, from which hung velvet banners heavy 
 with rich workings of silver and gold thread. 
 
 10 Behind these came stout King Henry upon a 
 dapple-gray stallion, with his Queen beside him 
 upon a milk-white palfrey. On either side of them 
 walked the yeomen of the guard, the bright sun- 
 light flashing from the polished blades of the steel 
 
 15 halberds they carried. Behind these came the 
 Court in a great crowd, so that presently all the 
 lawn was alive with bright colors, with silk and 
 velvet, with waving plumes and gleaming gold, 
 with flashing jewels and sword hilts; a gallant 
 
 20 sight on that bright summer day. 
 
 Then all the people arose and shouted, so that 
 their voices sounded like the storm upon the Cor- 
 nish coast, when the dark waves run upon the shore 
 and leap and break, surging amid the rocks ; so, 
 
 25 amid the roaring and the surging of the people, 
 and the waving of scarfs and kerchiefs, the King 
 
BOOK FOUR 325 
 
 and Queen came to their place, and, getting down 
 from their horses, mounted the broad stairs that 
 led to the raised platform, and there took their 
 seats on two thrones bedecked with purple silks 
 and cloths of silver and gold. 5 
 
 When all was quiet a bugle sounded, and 
 straightway the archers came marching in order 
 from their tents. Forty score they were in all, as 
 stalwart a band of yeomen as could be found in 
 all the wide world. So they came in orderly fash- 10 
 ion and stood in front of the dais where King 
 Henry and his Queen sat. King Henry looked 
 up and down their ranks right proudly, for his 
 heart warmed within him at the sight of such a 
 gallant band of yeomen. Then he bade his herald, 15 
 Sir Hugh de Mowbray, stand forth and proclaim 
 the rules governing the game. So Sir Hugh stepped 
 to the edge of the platform and spoke in a loud, 
 clear voice, so that they could hear him even to 
 the ends of the range, and thus he said : 20 
 
 That each man should shoot seven arrows at 
 the target that belonged to his band, and, of the 
 four score yeomen of each band, the three that shot 
 the best should be chosen. These three should shoot 
 three arrows apiece, and the one that shot the best 25 
 should again be chosen. Then each of these should 
 
326 THE HILL READERS 
 
 again shoot three arrows apiece, and the one that 
 shot the best should have the first prize, the one 
 that shot the next best should have the second, 
 and the one that shot the next best should have 
 
 5 the third prize. Each of the others should have 
 four score silver pennies for his shooting. The first 
 prize was to be two score and ten golden pounds, 
 a silver bugle horn inlaid with gold, and a quiver 
 with ten white arrows tipped with gold and feath- 
 
 10 ered with white swan's wing therein. The sec- 
 ond prize was to be five score of the fattest bucks 
 that run on Dallen Lea, to be shot when the yeo- 
 man that won them chose. The third was to be 
 two tuns of good Rhenish wine. 
 
 15 So Sir Hugh spoke, and when he had done all 
 the archers waved their bows aloft and shouted. 
 Then each band turned and marched in order 
 back to its place. 
 
 And now the shooting began, the captains first 
 
 20 taking stand and speeding their shafts and then 
 making room for the men, who shot, each in turn, 
 after them. Two hundred and eighty score shafts 
 were shot in all, and so deftly were they sped that 
 when the shooting was done each target looked like 
 
 25 the back of a hedgehog when the farm dog snuffs 
 at it. A long time was taken in this shooting, 
 
• BOOK FOUR 327 
 
 and when it was over the judges came forward, 
 looked carefully at the targets, and proclaimed in 
 a loud voice which three had shot the best from 
 the separate bands. Then a great hubbub of voices 
 arose, each man among the crowd that looked on 5 
 calling for his favorite archer. Then ten fresh tar- 
 gets were brought forward, and every sound was 
 hushed as the archers took their places once more. 
 
 This time the shooting was more speedily done, 
 for only nine shafts were shot by each band. Not 10 
 an arrow missed the targets, but in that of Gilbert 
 of the White Hand five arrows were in the small 
 white spot that marked the center; of these, three 
 were sped by Gilbert. The judges came forward 
 again, and, looking at the targets, called aloud the is 
 name of the archer chosen as the best bowman of 
 each band. Of these Gilbert of the White Hand led, 
 for six of the ten arrows he had shot had lodged 
 in the center ; but stout Tepus and young Clifton 
 trod close upon his heels ; yet the others stood a 20 
 fair chance for the second or third place. 
 
 Now, amid the roaring of the crowd, the ten 
 stout fellows that were left went back to their tents 
 to rest for a while and change their bowstrings, for 
 naught must fail at this next round, and no hand 25 
 must tremble or eye grow dim because of weariness. 
 
328 THE HILL READERS 
 
 Then whilst the deep buzz and hum of talking 
 sounded all around like the noise of the wind in 
 the leafy forest, Queen Eleanor turned to the King, 
 and quoth she, " Thinkest thou that these young 
 
 5 yeomen so chosen are the very best archers in all 
 merry England ? " 
 
 " Yea, truly," said the King, smiling, for he was 
 well pleased with the sport that he had seen; " and 
 I tell thee that not only are they the best archers 
 
 10 in all merry England but in all the wide world 
 beside." 
 
 "But what wouldst thou say," quoth Queen 
 Eleanor, " if I were to find three archers to match 
 the best three yeomen of all thy guard ?" 
 
 15 " I would say thou hast done what I could not do," 
 
 said the King, laughing ; " for I tell thee there lives 
 
 not in all the world three archers to match Tepus 
 
 and Gilbert and Clifton of Buckinghamshire." 
 
 "Now," said the Queen, "I know of three yeo- 
 
 20 men, and in truth I have seen them not long since, 
 that I would not fear to match against any three 
 that thou canst choose from among all thy forty 
 score archers ; and, moreover, I will match them 
 here this very day. But I will only match them 
 
 25 with thy archers, providing that thou wilt grant 
 a free pardon to all that may come in my behalf." 
 
BOOK FOUR 329 
 
 At this the King laughed loud and long. " Truly," 
 said he, " thou art taking up with strange matters 
 for a queen. If thou wilt bring those three fellows 
 that thou speakest of, I will promise faithfully to 
 give them free pardon for forty days, to come or 5 
 go wheresoever they please, nor will I harm a hair 
 of their heads in all that time. Moreover, if these 
 that thou bringest shoot better than my yeomen, 
 man for man, they shall have the prizes for them- 
 selves according to their shooting. But as thou 10 
 hast so taken up of a sudden with sports of this 
 kind, hast thou a mind for a wager ? " 
 
 "Why, in sooth," said Queen Eleanor, "I know 
 naught of such matters ; but if thou hast a mind 
 to do somewhat in that way, I will strive to pleas- 15 
 ure thee. What wilt thou wager upon thy men ? " 
 
 Then the merry King laughed again, for he 
 dearly loved a goodly jest ; so he said, amidst his 
 laughter, " I will wager thee ten tuns of Rhenish 
 wine, ten tuns of the stoutest ale, and ten score 20 
 bows of tempered Spanish yew, with quivers and 
 arrows to match." 
 
 All that stood around smiled at this, for it 
 seemed a merry wager for a king to give to a 
 queen ; but Queen Eleanor bowed her head quietly. 25 
 ^^I will take thy wager," said she, "for I know 
 
330 THE HILL READERS 
 
 right well where to place those things that thou 
 hast spoken of. Now who will be on my side in 
 this matter ? " And she looked around upon them 
 that stood about ; but no one cared to wager upon 
 
 5 the Queen's side against such archers as Tepus and 
 Gilbert and Clifton. Then the Queen spoke again : 
 " Now who will back me in this wager ? " 
 
 And then, as no one ventured, she said : " Nay, 
 I need no man's aid in this undertaking; but 
 
 10 against thy wine and beer and stout bows of Span- 
 ish yew I wager this girdle all set with jewels from 
 around my waist ; and surely that is worth more 
 than thine." 
 
 " Now I take thy wager," quoth the King. 
 
 15 "Send for thy archers straightway. Bat here 
 come forth the others ; let them shoot, and then 
 I will match those that win against all the world." 
 " So be it," said the Queen. Thereupon, beckon- 
 ing to young Richard Partington, she whispered 
 
 20- something in his ear, and straightway the page 
 bowed and left the place, crossing the meadow to 
 the other side of the range, where he was presently 
 lost in the crowd. At this all that stood around whis- 
 pered to one another, wondering what it all meant, 
 
 25 and what three men the Queen was about to set 
 against those famous archers of the King's guard. 
 
BOOK FOUR 331 
 
 And now the ten archers of the King's guard 
 took their stand again, and all the great crowd 
 was hushed to the stillness of death. Slowly and 
 carefully each man shot his shafts, and so deep 
 was the silence that you could hear every arrow 5 
 rap against the target as it struck it. Then, when 
 the last shaft had sped, a great roar went up; 
 and the shooting, I wot, was well worthy of the 
 sound. Once again Gilbert had lodged three arrows 
 in the white ; Tepus came second with two in the lo 
 white and one in the black ring next to it; but 
 stout Clifton had gone down and Hubert of Suffolk 
 had taken the third place ; for, while both those 
 two good yeomen had lodged two in the white, 
 Clifton had lost one shot upon the fourth ring, .15 
 and Hubert came in with one in the third. 
 
 All the archers around Gilbert's booth shouted 
 for joy till their throats were hoarse, tossing their 
 caps aloft and shaking hands with one another. 
 
 In the midst of all this noise and hubbub five 20 
 men came walking across the lawn toward the 
 King's pavilion. The first was Kichard Parting- 
 ton, who was known to most folk there, but the 
 others were strange to everybody. Beside young 
 Partington walked a yeoman clad in blue, and 25 
 behind came three others, two in Lincoln green 
 
332 THE HILL READERS 
 
 and one in scarlet. This last yeoman carried three 
 stout bows of yew tree, two fancifully inlaid with 
 silver and one with gold. Whilst these five men 
 came walking across the meadow a messenger came 
 5 running from the King's booth, and summoned 
 Gilbert and Tepus and Hubert to go with him. 
 And now the shouting quickly ceased, for all saw 
 that something unwonted was toward, so the folk 
 stood up in their places and leaned forward to see 
 
 10 what was the ado. 
 
 When Partington and the others came before 
 the spot where the King and Queen sat, the four 
 yeomen bent their knees and doffed their caps 
 unto her. 
 
 15 Then the Queen leaned forward and spake in a 
 clear voice. " Locksley," said she, " I have laid a 
 wager with the King that thou and two of thy 
 men can outshoot any three that he can send 
 against you. Wilt thou do thy best for my sake ?" 
 
 20 The King turned to the Queen, and quoth he, 
 "Who are these thou hast brought before us?" 
 
 Now it happened that in the company then 
 present was the Sheriff of Nottingham. When he 
 beheld the four yeomen his face turned as pale as 
 
 25 wax and then as red as a cherry. Then straight- 
 way up he spake, thinking naught either of King 
 
BOOK FOUR 333 
 
 or Queen : " Yoiir Majesty," quotk he, "yon fellow 
 in blue is a certain outlawed thief of the mid-coun- 
 try, named Robin Hood ; yon tall, strapping villain 
 goeth by the name of Little John ; the other fellow 
 in green is a certain backsliding gentleman known s 
 as Will Scarlet ; the man in red is a rogue of a 
 northern minstrel, named Allan-a-Dale." 
 
 At this speech the King's brows drew together 
 blackly, and he turned to the Queen. " Is this 
 true ? " said he sternly. lo 
 
 "Yea," said the Queen, smiling; "tte Sheriff 
 should know them well, and he hath told the 
 truth; but bear in mind that thou hast pledged 
 thy promise for the safety of these good yeomen 
 for forty days." 15 
 
 " I- will keep my promise," said the King in a 
 deep voice that showed the anger in his heart; 
 " but when these forty days are gone let this out- 
 law look to himself, for mayhap things will not go 
 so smoothly with him as he would like." Then he 20 
 turned to his archers, who stood near the Sherwood 
 yeomen, listening and wondering at all that passed. 
 Quoth he, " Gilbert, and thou, Tepus, and thou, 
 Hubert, I have pledged myself that ye shall shoot 
 against these three fellows. If ye outshoot the 25 
 knaves, I will fill your caps with silver pennies ; if 
 
334 THE HILL READERS 
 
 ye fail, ye shall lose yoiir prizes that ye have won 
 so fairly, and they go to them that shoot against 
 you, man to man. Do your best, lads, and if ye 
 win this bout, ye shall be glad of it all of your life. 
 
 5 Go, now, and get you gone to the butts." 
 
 Then the three archers of the King turned and 
 went back to their booths, and Robin and his men 
 went to their places at the mark from which they 
 were to shoot. Then they strung their bows and 
 
 10 made themselves ready, looking over their quivers 
 of arrows and picking out the roundest and the 
 best feathered. 
 
 Six fresh targets were now set up, one for each 
 man that was to shoot ; whereupon Gilbert and 
 
 15 Tepus and Hubert came straightway forth from 
 the booths. Then Robin Hood and Gilbert of the 
 White Hand tossed a farthing aloft to see who 
 should lead in the shooting, and the lot fell to 
 Gilbert's side; thereupon he called upon Hubert 
 
 20 of Suffolk to lead. 
 
 Hubert took his place, planted his foot firmly, 
 and fitted a fair, smooth arrow; then, breathing 
 upon his finger tips, he drew the string slowly and 
 carefully. The arrow sped true, and lodged in the 
 
 25 white ; again he shot, and again he hit the clout ; 
 a third shaft he sped, but this time failed of the 
 
BOOK FOUK 335 
 
 center, and but struck the black, yet not more than 
 a finger's breadth from the white. At this a shout 
 went up, for it was the best shooting that Hubert 
 had yet done that day. 
 
 Merry Robin laughed, and quoth he, '^ Thou wilt 5 
 have an ill time bettering that round, Will, for it 
 is thy turn next. Brace thy thews, lad, and bring 
 not shame upon Sherwood." 
 
 Then Will Scarlet took his place; but, because 
 of over- caution, he spoiled his target with the very lo 
 first arrow that he sped, for he hit the next ring 
 to the black, the second from the center. At this 
 Robin bit his lips. "Lad, lad," quoth he, "hold 
 not the string so long. Have I not often told thee 
 what Gaffer Swanthold s^yeth, that ' over-caution i5 
 spilleth the milk'?" 
 
 To this Will Scarlet took heed, so the next arrow 
 he shot lodged fairly in the center ring ; again he 
 shot, and again he smote the center ; but, for all 
 that, stout Hubert had outshot him, and showed 20 
 the better target. Then all those that looked on 
 clapped their hands for joy because that Hubert 
 had overcome the stranger. 
 
 Quoth the King, grimly, to the Queen, " If thy 
 archers shoot no better than that, thou art likely to 25 
 lose thy wager, lady." But Queen Eleanor smiled. 
 
336 THE HILL KEADERS 
 
 for she looked for better things from Robin Hood 
 and Little John. 
 
 And now Tepus took his place to shoot. He, 
 also, took over-heed to what he was about, and so 
 5 he fell into Will Scarlet's error. The first arrow 
 he struck into the center ring, but the second 
 missed its mark and smote the black; the last 
 arrow was tipped with luck, for it smote the very 
 center of the clout, upon the black spot that 
 
 10 marked it. Quoth Robin Hood: "That is the 
 sweetest shot that hath been sped this day ; but, 
 nevertheless, friend Tepus, thy cake is burned, 
 methinks. Little John, it is thy turn next." 
 
 So Little John took his place as bidden, and 
 
 15 shot his three arrows quickly. He never lowered 
 his bow arm in all the shooting, but fitted each 
 shaft with his longbow raised; yet all three of 
 his arrows smote the center within easy distance 
 of the black. At this no sound of shouting was 
 
 20 heard, for, although it was the best shooting that 
 had been done that day, the folk of London Town 
 did not like to see the stout Tepus overcome by 
 a fellow from the countryside, even were he as 
 famous as Little John. 
 
 25 And now stout Gilbert of the White Hand took 
 his place and shot with the greatest care ; and 
 
BOOK FOUR 337 
 
 again, for the third time in one day, he struck all 
 three shafts into the clout. 
 
 " Well done, Gilbert ! " quoth Robin Hood, smit- 
 ing him upon the shoulder. " I make my vow, 
 thou art one of the best archers that ever mine s 
 eyes beheld. Thou shouldst be a free and merry 
 ranger like us, lad, for thou art better fitted 
 for the greenwood than for the cobblestones and 
 gray walls of London Town." So saying, he took 
 his place and drew a fair, round arrow from his lo 
 quiver, which he turned over and over ere he fitted 
 it to his bowstring. 
 
 Then the King muttered in his beard, "Now, 
 blessed St. Hubert, if thou wilt but jog that 
 rogue's elbow so as to make him smite even the is 
 second ring, I will give eight score waxen candles 
 three fingers' breadth in thickness to thy chapel 
 nigh Matching." But it may be St. Hubert's ears 
 were stuffed with tow, for he seemed not to hear 
 the King's prayer this day. 20 
 
 Having gotten three shafts to his liking, merry 
 Robin looked carefully to his bowstring ere he 
 shot. " Yea," quoth he to Gilbert, who stood nigh 
 him to watch his shooting, "thou shouldst pay 
 us a visit at merry Sherwood." Here he drew 25 
 the bowstring to his ear. " In London " — here he 
 
338 THE HILL READERS 
 
   loosed his shaft — "thou canst find naught to 
 shoot at but rooks and daws ; there one can tickle 
 the ribs of the noblest stags in England." So he 
 shot even whilst he talked, yet the shaft lodged 
 
 5 not more than half an inch from the very center. 
 " By my soul ! " cried Gilbert. " Art thou the 
 devil in blue, to shoot in that wise ? " 
 
 " Nay," quoth Robin, laughing, " not quite so ill 
 as that, I trust." And he took up another shaft 
 
 10 and fitted it to the string. Again he shot, and again 
 he smote his arrow close beside the center ; a third 
 time he loosed his bowstring and dropped his arrow 
 just betwixt the other two and into the very center, 
 so that the feathers of all three were ruffled to- 
 
 15 gether, seeming from a distance to be one thick shaft. 
 
 And now a low murmur rang all among that 
 
 great crowd, for never before had London seen 
 
 such shooting as this; and never again would it 
 
 see it after Robin Hood's day had gone. All saw 
 
 20 that the King's archers were fairly beaten, and 
 stout Gilbert clapped his palm to Robin's, owning 
 that he could never hope to draw such a bowstring 
 as Robin Hood or Little John. But the King, full 
 of wrath, would not have it so, though he knew 
 
 25 in his mind that his men could not stand against 
 those fellows. '^Nay," cried he, clinching his 
 
BOOK FOUR 339 
 
 hands upon the arms of his seat ; " Gilbert is not 
 yet beaten. Did he not strike the clout thrice? 
 Although I have lost my wager, he hath not yet 
 lost the first prize. They shall shoot again, and 
 still again, till either he or that knave Robin Hood 5 
 Cometh off the best. Go thou. Sir Hugh, and bid 
 them shoot another round, and another, until one 
 or the other is overcome." Then Sir Hugh, seeing 
 how wroth the King was, said never a word, but 
 went straightway to do his bidding ; so he came to 10 
 where Robin Hood and the other stood, and told 
 them what the King had said. 
 
 " With all my heart," quoth merry Robin. " I 
 will shoot from this time till to-morrow day if it 
 can pleasure my most gracious lord and King. Take is 
 thy place, Gilbert, lad, and shoot." 
 
 So Gilbert took his place once more, but this 
 time he failed, for, a sudden little wind arising, his 
 shaft missed the center ring, but by not more than 
 the breadth of a barley straw. 20 
 
 " Thy eggs are cracked, Gilbert," quoth Robin, 
 laughing ; and straightway he loosed a shaft, and 
 once more smote the white circle of the center. 
 
 Then the King arose from his place, and not a 
 word said he ; but he looked around with a baleful 25 
 look, and it would have been an ill day for any one 
 
340 THE HILL READERS 
 
 that he saw with a joyous or a merry look upon 
 his face. Then he and his Queen and all the Court 
 left the place, but the King's heart was brimming 
 full of wrath within him. 
 
 5 After the king had gone all the yeomen of the 
 archer guard came crowding around Robin, and 
 Little John, and Will, and Allan, to snatch a look 
 at these famous fellows from the mid-country ; and 
 with them came many that had been onlookers at 
 
 10 the sport, for the same purpose. Thus it happened 
 presently that the yeomen, to whom Gilbert stood 
 talking, were all surrounded by a crowd of people 
 that formed a ring about them. "Marry," quoth 
 Little John to Will Scarlet, " one would think that 
 
 15 these poor fellows had never seen a stout yeoman 
 ranger in all their lives before, or that we were 
 some curious spectacle, like the Cumberland Giant, 
 or the Welsh Dwarf, that we saw last month at 
 the fair at Norwich." 
 
 20 After a while the three judges that had the giv- 
 ing away of the prizes came forward, and the chief 
 of them all spake to Robin and said, "According 
 to agreement, the first prize belongeth rightly to 
 thee ; so here I give thee the silver bugle, here the 
 
 25 quiver of ten golden arrows, and here a purse 
 of two score and ten golden pounds." And as he 
 
BOOK FOUR 341 
 
 spake he handed those things to Robin, and then 
 turned to Little John. " To thee," he said, " belong- 
 eth the second prize, to wit, five score of the finest 
 harts that rim on Dallen Lea. Thou mayest shoot 
 them whensoever thou dost list." Last of all he 5 
 turned to stout Hubert. "Thou," said he, "hast 
 held thine own against the yeoman with whom 
 thou didst shoot, and so thou hast kept the prize 
 duly thine, to wit, two tuns of good Rhenish wine. 
 These shall be delivered to thee whensoever thou lo 
 dost list." Then he called upon the other seven of 
 the King's archers who had last shot, and gave 
 them each four score silver pennies. 
 
 Then up spake Robin, and quoth he : " This sil- 
 ver bugle I keep in honor of this shooting match ; 15 
 but thou, Gilbert, art the best archer of all the 
 King's guard, and to thee I freely give this purse 
 of gold. Take it, man, and would it were ten 
 times as much, for thou art a right yeoman, good 
 and true, furthermore, to each of the ten that 20 
 last shot I give one of these golden shafts apiece. 
 Keep them always by you, so that ye may tell 
 your grandchildren that ye are the very stoutest 
 yeomen in all the wide world." 
 
 At this all shouted aloud, for it pleased them to 25 
 hear Robin speak so of them. 
 
342 THE HILL READERS 
 
 Then up spake Little John. " Good friend 
 Tepus," said he, " I want not those harts of Dallen 
 Lea that yon stout judge spoke of but now, for we 
 have more than enow in our own country. Two 
 5 score and ten I give thee for thine own shooting, 
 and five I give to each band for their pleasure." 
 
 At this another great shout went up, and many 
 tossed their caps aloft and swore among them- 
 selves that no better fellows ever walked the sod 
 10 than Robin Hood and his stout yeomen. 
 
 Thus ended the famous shooting match before 
 Queen Eleanor. 
 
 quoth: said. — doffing: taking off. — bower:' a lady's room. 
 
 — lusty: mighty, full of strength. — dais: a raised platform. — t 
 halberd : a long-handled weapon with a sharp, ornamented point. 
 
 — bedecked : decorated. — wot : know. — unwonted : unusual. — 
 toward : ahout to happen. — clout : the center of a target. — list : 
 choose. — bout : contest. — thews : muscles. — ranger : rover. — 
 baleful: full of evil. — enow: enough. 
 
BOOK FOUE 343 
 
 RALEIGH AND QUEEN ELIZABETH 
 
 Walter Scott 
 
 When the message of the Queen was communi- 
 cated to the Earl of Sussex, he commanded Blount, 
 his master of the horse, to take boat and go down 
 the river to the Palace of Greenwich, taking young 
 Walter and Tracy with him, and make a suitable 5 
 compliment, expressing his grateful thanks to his 
 sovereign and mentioning the cause why he had 
 not been enabled to profit by the assistance of the 
 wise and learned Doctor Masters. 
 
 " Had my lord sent me with a cartel to Leices- 10 
 ter," said Blount as he went down the stairs, " I 
 think I should have done his errand indifferently 
 well. But to go to our gracious sovereign, before 
 whom all words must be lacquered over either with 
 gilding or with sugar, is such a confectionery mat- is 
 ter as baffles my poor old English brain. Come 
 with me, Tracy ; and come you too, Master Walter 
 Wittypate, that art the cause of our having all this 
 ado. Let us see if thy neat brain, that frames so 
 many flashy fireworks, can help out a plain fellow 20 
 at need with some of thy shrewd devices." 
 
 "Never fear!" exclaimed the youth. "It is I 
 will help you through ; let me but fetch my cloak." 
 
344 THE HILL EEADERS 
 
 "Why, thou hast it on thy shoulders," said 
 Blount ; " the lad is 'mazed." 
 
 "No, this is Tracy's old mantle," answered 
 Walter. " I go not with thee to court unless as 
 5 a gentleman should." 
 
 "Why," said Blount, "thy braveries will dazzle 
 the eyes of none but some poor groom or porter." 
 
 " I know that," said the youth ; " but I am re- 
 solved I will have my own cloak — aye, and brush 
 10 my doublet to boot — ere I stir forth with you." 
 
 " Well, well," said Blount ; " here is a coil 
 about a doublet and a cloak. Get thyself ready." 
 
 They were soon launched on the princely bosom 
 of the broad Thames, upon which the sun now 
 15 shone forth in all its splendor. 
 
 " There are two things scarce matched in the 
 universe," said Walter to Blount : " the sun in 
 heaven, and the Thames on the earth." 
 
 " The one will light us to Greenwich well 
 20 enough," said Blount, " and the other would take 
 us there a little faster if it were ebb tide." 
 
 "And this is all thou think'st, all thou carest, 
 
 all thou deem'st the use of the king of elements 
 
 and the king of rivers, to guide three such poor 
 
 25 caitiffs as thyself, and me, and Tracy upon an idle 
 
 journey of courtly ceremony." 
 
BOOK FOUR 345 
 
 "It is no errajid of my seeking, faith," replied 
 Blount ; " and I could excuse both the sun and the 
 Thames the trouble of carrying me. And by my 
 honor," he added, looking out from the head of the 
 boat, " it seems to me as if our message were a sort 5 
 of labor in vain; for see, the Queen's barge lies at the 
 stairs, as if her Majesty were about to take water." 
 
 It was even so. The royal barge, manned with 
 the Queen's watermen richly attired in the regal 
 liveries, did indeed lie at the great stairs which lo 
 ascended from the river, and along with it two or 
 three other boats. The yeomen of the guard, the 
 tallest and most handsome men whom England 
 could produce, guarded with their halberds the 
 passage from the palace gate to the riverside, and i5 
 all seemed in readiness for the Queen's coming 
 forth, although the day was yet so early. ^ 
 
 At this moment the gates opened and ushers 
 began to issue forth in array, preceded and flanked 
 by the band of gentlemen pensioners. After this, 20 
 amid a crowd of lords and ladies, came Elizabeth 
 herself, then in the prime of womanhood, and in 
 the full glow of what in a sovereign was called 
 beauty, and would in the lowest rank of life have 
 been truly judged a noble figure, joined to a strik- 25 
 ing and commanding physiognomy. 
 
346 THE HILL EEADEES 
 
 The young cavalier had probably never yet 
 approached so near the person of his sovereign, 
 and he pressed forward as far as the line of 
 wardens permitted, in order to avail himself of 
 5 the present opportunity. His companion, on the 
 contrary, kept pulling him backwards, till Walter 
 shook him off impatiently, letting his rich cloak 
 drop carelessly from one shoulder, — a natural 
 action, which served, however, to display his figure 
 
 10 to the best advantage. Unbonneting at the same 
 time, he fixed his eager gaze on the Queen's 
 approach, with a mixture of respectful curiosity 
 and modest yet ardent admiration, which suited 
 so well with his fine features that the warders, 
 
 15 struck with his rich attire and noble countenance, 
 suffered him to approach somewhat closer than 
 was permitted to ordinary spectators. 
 
 Thus the adventurous youth stood full in Eliza- 
 beth's eye, — an eye never indifferent to the ad- 
 
 20 miration which she deservedly excited, or to the 
 fair external form which chanced to distinguish 
 any of her courtiers. Accordingly she fixed her 
 keen glance on the youth with a look in which 
 surprise at his boldness seemed to be unmingled 
 
 25 with resentment, while a trifling accident happened 
 which attracted her attention toward him yet 
 more strongly. 
 
BOOK FOUK 
 
 347 
 
 The night had been rainy, and just where the 
 young gentleman stood a small quantity of mud 
 interrupted the Queen's passage. As she hesitated 
 to pass on, the gallant, throwing his cloak from 
 his shoulders, laid it on the miry spot, so as to 
 
 insure her stepping over it dry-shod. Elizabeth 
 looked at the young man, who accompanied this 
 act of devoted courtesy with a profound rever- 
 ence and a blush that overspread his whole coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 The Queen was confused, and blushed in her 
 turn, nodded her head, hastily passed on, and 
 embarked in her barge without saying a word. 
 
 10 
 
348 THE HILL READERS 
 
 " Come along, Sir Coxcomb," said Blount ; " your 
 
 gay cloak will need the brush to-day, I wot. Nay, 
 
 if you had meant to make a footcloth of thy 
 
 mantle, better have kept Tracy's old coat, which 
 
 5 despises all colors." 
 
 " This cloak," said the youth, taking it up and 
 folding it, " shall never be brushed while in my 
 possession." 
 
 "And that will not be long, if you learn not a 
 10 little more economy." 
 
 Their discourse was here interrupted by one of 
 the band of pensioners. 
 
 "I was sent," said he, after looking at them 
 
 attentively, " to a gentleman who hath no cloak, 
 
 15 or a muddy one. You, sir, I think," addressing the 
 
 younger cavalier, " are the man ; you will please 
 
 to follow me." 
 
 "He is in attendance on me," said Blount — 
 " on me, the Earl of Sussex's master of horse." 
 20 "J have nothing to say to that," answered the 
 messenger ; " my orders are directly from her 
 Majesty, and concern this gentleman only." 
 
 So saying, he walked away, followed by Walter, 
 leaving the others behind, Blount's eyes almost 
 25 starting from his head with the excess of his 
 astonishment. 
 
BOOK FOUR 349 
 
 The young cavalier was, in the meanwhile, guided 
 to the water side by the pensioner, who showed 
 him considerable respect. He ushered him into 
 one of the wherries which lay ready to attend the 
 Queen's barge, which was already proceeding up 5 
 the river. 
 
 The two rowers used their oars with such expe- 
 dition, at the signal of the gentleman pensioner, 
 that they very soon brought their little skiff under 
 the stern of the Queen's boat, where she sat be- lo 
 neath an awning, attended by two or three ladies 
 and nobles of her household. She looked more 
 than once at the wherry in which the young ad- 
 venturer was seated, spoke to those around her, 
 and seemed to laugh. 15 
 
 At length one of her attendants, by the Queen's 
 order apparently, made a sign for the wherry to 
 come alongside, and the young man was desired 
 to step from his own skiff into the Queen's barge. 
 He was then brought aft to the Queen's presence, 20 
 the wherry at the same time dropping into the rear. 
 The youth underwent the gaze of majesty not the 
 less gracefully that his self-possession was mingled 
 with embarrassment. The muddied cloak still hung 
 upon his arm, and formed the natural topic with 25 
 which the Queen introduced the conversation. 
 
350 THE HILL EEADERS 
 
 " You have this day spoiled a gay mantle in our 
 behalf, young, man. We thank you for your serv- 
 ice, though the manner of offering it was unusual, 
 and something bold." 
 
 5 " In a sovereign's need," answered the youth, 
 " it is each liegeman's duty to be bold." 
 
 " That was well said, my lord," said the Queen, 
 turning to a grave person who sat by her, and 
 who answered with a mumbled assent. " Well, 
 
 10 young man, your gallantry shall not go unrewarded. 
 Go to the wardrobe keeper, and he shall supply 
 the suit which you have cast away in our service. 
 Thou shalt have a suit, and that of the newest 
 cut, I promise thee, on the word of a princess." 
 
 15 " May it please your Grace," said Walter, hesi- 
 tating, "it is not for so humble a servant of your 
 Majesty to measure out your bounties ; but if it 
 became me to choose — " 
 
 " Thou wouldst have gold, I warrant me," said 
 
 20 the Queen, interrupting him. " Yet thou mayst 
 be poor," she added, " or thy parents may be. It 
 shall be gold, if thou wilt." 
 
 Walter waited patiently until the Queen had 
 done, and then modestly assured her that gold was 
 
 25 still less in his wish than the raiment her Majesty 
 had before offered. 
 
BOOK FOUR 351 
 
 " How, boy ! " said the Queen ; " neither gold nor 
 garment ! What is it, then, that thou wouldst have 
 of me?" 
 
 " Only permission, madam, — if it is not asking 
 too high an honor, — permission to wear the cloak 5 
 which did you this trifling service." 
 
 " Permission to wear thine own cloak, thou silly 
 boy ! " said the Queen. 
 
 " It is no longer mine," said Walter. " When 
 your Majesty's foot touched it, it became a fit 10 
 mantle for a prince, but far too rich a-one for its 
 former owner." 
 
 The Queen again blushed, and endeavored to 
 cover, by laughing, a slight degree of not unpleas- 
 ing surprise and confusion. 15 
 
 "Heard you ever the like, my lords? The 
 youth's head is turned with reading romances. I 
 must know something of him, that I may send him 
 safe to his friends. What art thou ? What is thy 
 name and birth ? " 20 
 
 "Raleigh is my name, most gracious Queen, — 
 the youngest son of a large but honorable family 
 of Devonshire." 
 
 " Raleigh ! " said Elizabeth, after a moment's 
 recollection. " Have we not heard of your service 25 
 in Ireland?" 
 
352 THE HILL EEADERS 
 
 " I have been so fortunate as to do some service 
 there, madam," replied Raleigh ; " scarce, however, 
 of consequence sufficient to reach your Grace's ears." 
 " They hear farther than you think of," said the 
 5 Queen, graciously ; " and have heard of a youth 
 who defended a ford in Shannon against a whole 
 band of wild Irish rebels, until the stream ran 
 purple with their blood and his own." 
 
 " Some blood I may have lost," said the youth, 
 10 looking down, " but it was where my best is due, 
 and that is in your Majesty's service." 
 
 The Queen paused, and then said hastily : " You 
 are very young to have fought so well and to speak 
 so well. But you must not escape your penance 
 15 for turning back Masters. The poor man hath 
 caught cold on the river ; for our orders reached 
 him when he was just returned from certain visits 
 in London, and he held it a matter of loyalty and 
 conscience instantly to set forth again. So hark 
 20 ye. Master Raleigh, see thou fail not to wear thy 
 • muddy cloak, in token of penitence, till our pleas- 
 ure be farther known. And here," she added, giv- 
 ing him a jewel of gold in the form of a chessman, 
 " I give thee this to wear at the collar." 
 
 cartel: a challenge coil: disturbance. — physiognomy: coun- 
 tenance. — wherries: light, narrow boats. 
 
VB 36793 
 
 541-162 
 
 Oept 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY