Boys and Girls Bookshelf; a Practical Plan of Character Building Part 69

"Papa," she said earnestly, "I did not dig there. Truly, I didn't. The hole is there every morning. I found it to-day before you came out, but I did not dig it." There were tears in her brown eyes.

"I believe you, Chuckie Wuckie dear," said her father, earnestly.

That night the little girl stood at the gate, watching for her father to jump off the car. She could hardly wait for him to kiss her. She took his hand and led him to the canna-bed.

"Look!" she cried eagerly.

She was pointing excitedly to a hole beside the roots of a fresh, green canna plant.

"That hole again," said her father. "There's a stone in it now, isn't there?"

"No, that's what I thought; stoop down and look close, papa!" cried Chuckie Wuckie.

It was the head of a fat hop-toad, but all that could be seen was its mouth and bright eyes. It was staring at them. Papa poked it with the point of his umbrella. It scrambled deeper into the hole, until there was nothing to be seen but the dirt. It was slowly changing to the color of the black earth.

"I watched him," cried Chuckie Wuckie, excitedly--"oh, for an hour! When I found him he was just hopping on the canna-bed. He was looking for his house. He acted as if the door had been shut in his face. Then he began to open it. He crawled and scrambled round and round, and threw up the dirt, and poked and pushed. At last he had the hole made, just as it is every morning, and he crawled in. Then he lay and blinked at me."

"Clever fellow," said papa. "Well, we won't grudge him a home, and we won't shut the door again in his face, will we, Chuckie Wuckie?"

The cannas have grown very tall now--almost as tall as Chuckie Wuckie's papa--and so thick that you cannot see where the roots are; but a fat, brown hop-toad has a snug, cool, safe little nest there, and he gratefully crawls into it when the sun grows very hot.

The Conceited Mouse

BY ELLA FOSTER CASE

Once upon a time there was a very small mouse with a very, very large opinion of himself. What he didn't know his own grandmother couldn't tell him.

"You'd better keep a bright eye in your head, these days," said she, one chilly afternoon. "Your gran'ther has smelled a trap."

"Scat!" answered the small mouse--"'s if I don't know a trap when I see it!" And that was all the thanks she got for her good advice.

"Go your own way, for you will go no other," the wise old mouse said to herself; and she scratched her nose slowly and sadly as she watched her grandson scamper up the cellar stairs.

"Ah!" sniffed he, poking his whiskers into a crack of the dining-room cupboard, "cheese--as I'm alive!" Scuttle--scuttle. "I'll be squizzled, if it isn't in that cunning little house; I know what that is--a cheese-house, of course. What a very snug hall! That's the way with cheese-houses. I know, 'cause I've heard the dairymaid talk about 'em.

It must be rather inconvenient, though, to carry milk up that step and through an iron door. I know why it's so open--to let in fresh air. I tell you, that cheese is good! Kind of a reception-room in there--guess I know a reception-room from a hole in the wall. No trouble at all about getting in, either. Wouldn't grandmother open her eyes to see me here!

Guess I'll take another nibble at that cheese, and go out. What's that noise? What in squeaks is the matter with the door? This is a cheese-house, I know it is--but what if it should turn out to be a--O-o-o-eeee!" And that's just what it did turn out to be.

[Ill.u.s.tration: End of ye Tale]

#RHYMES CONCERNING "MOTHER"#

A BOY'S MOTHER[O]

BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

My mother she's so good to me, Ef I was good as I could be, I couldn't be as good--no, sir!-- Can't any boy be good as her.

She loves me when I'm glad er sad; She loves me when I'm good er bad; An', what's a funniest thing, she says She loves me when she punishes.

I don't like her to punish me-- That don't hurt--but it hurts to see Her cryin'.--Nen _I_ cry; an' nen We both cry an' be good again.

She loves me when she cuts an' sews My little cloak an' Sund'y clothes; An' when my Pa comes home to tea, She loves him 'most as much as me.

She laughs an' tells him all I said, An' grabs me up an' pats my head; An' I hug _her_, an' hug my Pa, An' love him purt' nigh much as Ma.

[O] From "Rhymes of Childhood," by James Whitcomb Riley. Used by special permission of the publishers. The Bobbs-Merrill Company.

MOTHER

BY ROSE FYLEMAN

When mother comes each morning She wears her oldest things, She doesn't make a rustle, She hasn't any rings; She says, "Good-morning, chickies, It's such a lovely day, Let's go into the garden And have a game of play!"

When mother comes at tea-time Her dress goes shoo-shoo-shoo, She always has a little bag, Sometimes a sunshade too; She says, "I am so hoping There's something left for me; Please hurry up, dear Nanna, I'm dying for my tea."

When mother comes at bed-time Her evening dress she wears, She tells us each a story When we have said our prayers; And if there is a party She looks so shiny bright It's like a lovely fairy Dropped in to say good-night.

THE GOODEST MOTHER

Evening was falling, cold and dark, And people hurried along the way As if they were longing soon to mark Their own home candle's cheering ray.

Before me toiled in the whirling wind A woman with bundles great and small, And after her tugged, a step behind, The Bundle she loved the best of all.

A dear little roly-poly boy With rosy cheeks, and a jacket blue, Laughing and chattering full of joy, And here's what he said--I tell you true:

"You're the goodest mother that ever was."

A voice as clear as a forest bird's; And I'm sure the glad young heart had cause To utter the sweet of the lovely words.

Perhaps the woman had worked all day Washing or scrubbing; perhaps she sewed; I knew, by her weary footfall's way That life for her was an uphill road.

But here was a comfort. Children dear, Think what a comfort you might give To the very best friend you can have here, The lady fair in whose house you live,

If once in a while you'd stop and say,-- In task or play for a moment pause, And tell her in sweet and winning way, "You're the GOODEST mother that ever was."

MOTHER'S WAY

BY CARRIE WILLIAMS

Nowadays girls go to cooking-school And learn to cook just so by rule; But all I know, I'm glad to say, My mother taught me day by day.