Boys and Girls Bookshelf; a Practical Plan of Character Building Part 49

Little-Mouse-Sunday found a great, big bun; Little-Mouse-Monday wished that _he_ had one; Little-Mouse-Tuesday was fat enough without; Little-Mouse-Wednesday sat down to sulk and pout, Said Little-Mouse-Thursday, "_I'll_ get one for myself!"

Said Little-Mouse-Friday, "There's another on the shelf"; Little-Mouse-Sat.u.r.day began to beg and squeak; "Come on!" said all the seven, "we've enough to last a week!"

VISITING

"Good morning, Monday!

Tell me how is Tuesday?"

"Very well, Dame Wednesday.

Please to tell Miss Thursday, Also little Sat.u.r.day, To call on Mister Sunday."

LITTLE TOMMY'S MONDAY MORNING

(_In a meter neither new nor difficult_)

BY TUDOR JENKS

All was well on Sunday morning, All was quiet Sunday evening; But, behold, quite early Monday Came a queer, surprising Weakness-- Weakness seizing little Tommy!

It came shortly after breakfast-- Breakfast with wheat-cakes and honey Eagerly devoured by Tommy, Who till then was well as could be.

Then, without a moment's warning, Like a sneeze, that awful Aw-choo!

Came this Weakness on poor Tommy.

"Mother, dear," he whined, "dear mother, I am feeling rather strangely-- Don't know what's the matter with me-- My right leg is out of kilter, While my ear--my left ear--itches.

Don't you know that queerish feeling?"

"Not exactly," said his mother.

"Does your head ache, Tommy dearest?"

Little Thomas, always truthful, Would not say his head was aching, For, you know, it really wasn't.

"No, it doesn't _ache_," he answered (Thinking of that n.o.ble story Of the Cherry-tree and Hatchet); "But I'm tired, and I'm sleepy, And my shoulder's rather achy.

Don't you think perhaps I'd better Stay at home with you, dear mother?"

Thoughtfully his mother questioned, "How about your school, dear Tommy?

Do you wish to miss your lessons?"

"Well, you know," was Tommy's answer, "Sat.u.r.day we played at football; I was tired in the evening, So I didn't learn my lessons-- Left them all for Monday morning, Monday morning bright and early--"

"And this morning you slept over?"

So his mother interrupted.

"Yes, mama," admitted Tommy.

"So I have not learned my lessons: And I'd better wait till Tuesday.

Tuesday I can start in earnest-- Tuesday when I'm feeling brighter!"

Smilingly his mother eyed him, Then she said, "Go ask your father-- You will find him in his study, Adding up the week's expenses.

See what father says about it."

Toward the door went Tommy slowly, Seized the k.n.o.b as if to turn it.

Did not turn it; but, returning, Back he came unto his mother.

"Mother," said he, very slowly, "Mother, I don't feel so badly; Maybe I'll get through my lessons.

Anyway, I think I'll risk it.

Have you seen my books, dear mother-- My Geography and Speller, History and Definitions,-- Since I brought them home on Friday?"

No. His mother had not seen them.

Then began a search by Tommy.

Long he searched, almost despairing, While the clock was striking loudly.

And at length when Tommy found them-- Found his books beneath the sofa-- He'd forgotten all his Weakness, Pains and aches were quite forgotten.

At full speed he hastened schoolward.

But in vain, for he was tardy, All because of that strange Weakness He had felt on Monday morning.

Would you know the name that's given, How they call that curious feeling?

'Tis the dreaded "Idon'twantto"-- Never fatal, but quite common To the tribe of Very-lazy.

Would you know the charm that cures it-- Cures the Weakness "Idon'twantto"?

It is known as "Butyou'vegotto,"

And no boy should be without it.

Now you know the curious legend Of the paleface little Tommy, Of his Weakness and its curing By the great charm "Butyou'vegotto."

Think of it on Monday mornings-- It will save you lots of trouble.

St. Sat.u.r.day

BY HENRY JOHNSTONE

Oh, Friday night's the queen of nights, because it ushers in The Feast of good St. Sat.u.r.day, when studying is a sin, When studying is a sin, boys, and we may go to play Not only in the afternoon, but all the livelong day.

St. Sat.u.r.day--so legends say--lived in the ages when The use of leisure still was known and current among men; Full seldom and full slow he toiled, and even as he wrought He'd sit him down and rest awhile, immersed in pious thought.

He loved to fold his good old arms, to cross his good old knees, And in a famous elbow-chair for hours he'd take his ease; He had a word for old and young, and when the village boys Came out to play, he'd smile on them and never mind the noise.

So when his time came, honest man, the neighbors all declared That one of keener intellect could better have been spared, By young and old his loss was mourned in cottage and in hall, For if he'd done them little good, he'd done no harm at all.

In time they made a saint of him, and issued a decree-- Since he had loved his ease so well, and been so glad to see The children frolic round him and to smile upon their play-- That school boys for his sake should have a weekly holiday.

They gave his name unto the day, that as the years roll by His memory might still be green; and that's the reason why We speak his name with grat.i.tude, and oftener by far Than that of any other saint in all the calendar.

Then, lads and la.s.sies, great and small, give ear to what I say-- Refrain from work on Sat.u.r.days as strictly as you may; So shall the saint your patron be and prosper all you do-- And when examinations come he'll see you safely through.

#NUMBER RHYMES#

1, 2, 3, 4, 5

One Two Three Four Five I caught a hare alive.

Six Seven Eight Nine Ten I let it go again.

OVER IN THE MEADOW