Emilie Poulsson.

In the child's world; morning talks and stories for kindergartens, primary schools and homes online

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she would do anything in the world to obtain real and lusting
relief from her affliction, for she felt th»t if she could not be re-
tailed, she should meet her end before long in tail-less despair.

The man replied that he certainly thought hers a peculiarly
hard case, and that luck seemed against her altogether. He
thought, however, that if she could go to the expense of a pint of
milk daily for a month, he could afford her a remedy with which
she would not be disappointed.

The poor Cow eagerly consented to his demand, and he then
produced an india-rubber tail, of great strength and beauty. It



1(JG IN THE CHILI) S WORLD.

was at once light enough to enable her to brush off the flies with-
out the least difficulty, pliant enough to be easily moved to and
fro at pleasure, and strong enough to resist the assaults of bram-
bles, Avhile it offered no temptation to the hay-loving horse, and
was superior to the effects of the most drenching rain that ever
descended upon the earth.

When fairly in possession of this splendid tail, the delight of
our old friend knew no bounds. There was no tail like it in the
field. She could now run, fling out her tail, and swish her sides
to her heart's content. She could brush away flies with the best
of them, and apparently there lay before her a long life of unin-
terrupted happiness. Alas! how sad it is that the bright and
beautiful fades so soon from off this earth ! The happiest moments
of our lives are always the shortest; and the sun of our prosperity
only seems to shine for a moment, that Ave may feel the contrast
more bitterly when the clouds of sorrow darken and shut it from
our sight. Man's joy is brief; and cows are no better off than
men. One short month our Cow wagged her tail in blissful
security, and then came a return of trouble.

On one memorable evening, after a day passed in the usual
routine of a cow's life, she was duly milked and driven into her
happy lodge, where she lay down peacefully to sleep. She dreamed
of grassy meadows along the river's side, where the cowslips seemed
to flourish and to kiss the streamlet's tide; and she fancied she
was wandering about the flowery mead, and stopping here and
there upon the clover-grass to feed. She thought of happy days
gone by, and Joys she used to feel; of calves that she had loved
and lost — all long since turned to veal. And she wished that
cows did not to men less valuable seem, for calves that they pre-
sent to them, than for their milk and cream. She slept, I say,
so peacefully and dreamt of former joys, and all around were
hushed to rest — she never heard a noise; but on she slept, and
seemed to feel her milk would never fail, as long as she her treas-
ure kept — that india-rubber tail!

That was the kind of dream our Cow had, full of pleasant things
and no thought of coming evil. But towards morning she woke
with a start, and looked sharply round, as she heard a pattering
of little feet hurrying away over the straw on which she lay.



iisr THE child's world. 167

Milkpails und dairymaids! What ou earth was this? More sor-
row, more trouble, more misfortune. The thievish, wicked and
ravenous rats had been at her tail. They had been sharp enough
to discover that it was not real flesh, and, this being the case,
that they could freely nibbleit without being detected by its sleep-
ing owner. And it must be confessed that the rascals had made
the best use of their opportunity. It was so gnawed, nibbled, torn,
and eaten, that a mere apology for a tail was all that remained.
No more peace — no more comfort — no more repose and happiness
for the wretched Cow. She bellowed with anguish, rendered
worse by the appearance of a venerable Rat, who sat upon the
manger hard by, licking his lips, with greedy remembrance of his
last bite.

" Oh, you vile robber!'' exclaimed the jjoor Cow; " what have
I ever done to yoit that you should treat me thus? Cowardly
thieves that you all are, I wish the rat-catchers had the whole lot
of ye!"

"Madam," returned the Rat, gravely, ''your observations are
scarcely polite; but I can make every allowance for your wounded
feelings. But let this event teach you to avoid shams. If people
will wear things which are not their own, sooner or later they are
sure to be found out; and whether it be the case of a young lady's
back hair or a cow's tail, of course it is not pleasant for deceivers
that their deceit should be exposed: this exposure, however, is
part of an honest rat's duty, and I confess I am rejoiced to have
been able to assist in detecting an impostor."

So saying, the Rat retired to his own place, leaving the un-
tailed Cow to moo out her grief alone. What could she do now?
Where could she go? Her confidence in the Farrier was really
shaken, for had he not re- tailed her five times, and each time
failed to produce an article that would really last? Straw, clay,
iron, hay, and now india rubber, all had come to nought! Was
it of any use to try once more, or should she leave off in despair,
and make the best of a bad job? In her doubt and difficulty she
bethought herself of kind Jessie the donkey, and sought her
advice.

'' Mother Cow," said Jessie, somewhat flattered at the confi-
dence in her ja:lgmont which was shown by her neighbor in con-



168 IN THE CHILl/S AVORLD.

suiting her, " I am a meek and humble animal, and fear to give
advice which may not be agreeable. At the same time, if you
value my poor opinion, which is based upon my OAvn experience
of the world, it is very much at your service. I, too, have not
been without my trials in life. I have constantly been called an
ass to my face, and that, too, possibly not without reason. I have
been told that I am stupid, when I feel that I am only somewhat
less quick than might be in understanding matters of a subtle
nature. I have been called idle and lazy when I am really only
constitutionally slow; and I have not unfrequently been termed
an obstinate brute when I was really only showing that patient
resolution which true wisdom dictated. Along with all this abuse,
I have had quite my full share of kicks and blows, and may fairly
say that my life has had more of the rough than of the smooth in
it. I have always found it best to endure patiently and quietly
the trials A/liich come upon me, and time has wrought its ou^n
cure. My skin is now so tough that I feel but little of the blows
given me, and the abuse falls upon my accustomed ears without
producing the smallest effect upon my tranquil spirit. Why
should not the same line of conduct prove of advantage in your
case? I think you have perhaps taken some unnecessary trouble,
and flurried yourself a good deal too much. Learn to put up with
that which cannot be avoided, and you will be a liap|)ier Cow, as
I am sure that my misfortunes and hardships have made me a
more contented donkey.''

The Cow listened with attention to Jessie's remarks, and then
told her of the words which had fallen from the Eat, and asked
her whether she thought there was anything in them; because,
if shams were really as wrong as he had represented, she had
certainly not done well in applying to the Farrier for false tails,
and accepting them at his hands.

'' Upon that point," replied the Donkey, " I am hardly capable
of giving an opinion. Undoubtedly it is better to be always honest
and straightforward, and not to pretend to have that which you
do not really possess. But you cannot say that a man is wrong
to wear a cork leg if he has lost his own limb; and although ladies'
hair is a matter quite out of my line of business, I don't see any
great harm in their using any device to make themselves look as



IN THE child's AVORLD. 1G!J

nice as possible. The case of a Cow and her tail is very different.
A useful article is lost, and you try to replace it by one as nearly
like it as you can get. There is no sham in the matter of which
any decent Cow need be ashamed, and the Rat's remarks only
sprang from his own evil nature and nasty disposition."

Somewhat reassured by the words of her friend, the Cow
thanked her with a grateful bellow, and, after pondering for some
time over what she had said, determined to go to the Farrier
once more; not to ask for any more tails, but to have the stump
of her old tail so treated that she might suffer as little future
inconvenience as possible.

She found the good man as kind as usual, and he expressed
both surprise and sorrow at the result of his last experiment.
He was quite ready to suggest that other tails should be tried,
and produced an article manufactured of rope, which he said
would be by no means a disagreeable substitute for the lost append-
age. But the Cow steadily refused. The words of the Donkey
had made a great impression upon her, and she Avas resolved to
endure with patience the affliction with which she had been visited.

Now, in this particular, my children, you will do Avell to follow
the example of our friend the Cow. It is true that Providence
has not adorned you with tails, and you are therefore secure from
the particular misfortune which befell this worthy animal. But
aches and pains are things to which children — and groAvn-up
people, too — are unhappily subject; and when you have these, or
any more serious illness, to bear, the great thing is to determine
to be patient and gentle, and endure the pain bravely and quietly;
by which means, not only does it really become more easy to bear,
but your conduct makes those with whom you live love you bet-
ter, and become more anxious to do all they can to help and com-
fort you. So it Avas Avith our Cow. When she returned to the
field Avith her stump of a tail properly dressed, and made no further
pretence of concealing her misfortune, the scorn and laughter of
the other animals soon gave Avay to pity. This pity grew into
admiration as they beheld the meek spirit with Avhich the Coav
submitted to her affliction, the patience which she displayed under
the attacks of the flies, and the ready kindness with which she
assisted any other animal to whom her services could be of value.



170 IX 1HE child's world.

In fact, she became celebrated among all the animals as one to
whom any one might apply for advice, with the certainty that it
would be cheerfully and wisely given. This calm disposition of
mind and contented spirit were not without their effect upon her
bodily condition. Her niilk became so plentiful and so rich that
she was soon confessed to be the most valuable Cow upon the
whole farm, and the dairymaid could never say enough in her
favor, while her owner declared that he would never part with
her while she lived.

But her chief reward was yet to come. Standing one day by
the wire fence, near the very spot where her hay-tail had been so
unceremoniously taken from her, she heard a noise of approach-
ing hoofs upon the road, and up trotted the same half-starved
Horse who had inflicted the injury upon her. Accosting her
with his politest neigh, he told her that he had heard of her good
deeds and kindly disposition from many animals, and had often
regretted the ill deed towards her of which he had been guilty.

" I do not know, madam," he continued, " how far I may be
able to make any atonement for my crime, but, in the course of
my rambles, I have met a venerable Giraffe, attached to a travel-
ling circus, who, having long studied the subject of tails, told me
that he was possessed of an ointment which had performed some
most remarkable cures in cases which had been previously deemed
hopeless. After much earnest solicitation, I obtained from him
a pot of this priceless medicine, which I respectfully offer for
your acceptance.''

The Cow was much touched by this act of kindness and gener-
osity on the part of the Tinker's Horse, and, though she had but
little faith in the ointment, and felt it but too probable that the
Giraffe might turn out to be one of those quack doctors who only
deceive i)eople and injure their constitutions by the pretended
remedies which they sell, yet she could do noless than accept the
gift so freely offered, and promised the good Horse that she would
certainly try it.

The same evening, therefore, she got Jessie, the Donkey, to rub
a little of the ointment upon her stump, and repeated the opera-
tion three times a week, according to the directions on the oint-
ment pot.



IN THE GUILDS WORLD. ]71



Extraordinary to relate, at the end of the first week a change
really ai^peared in the stumjD. Hair came upon it, and Jessie said
she could, almost fancy that it was a trifle longer. A fortnight
passed, and doubt changed to certainty. Yes! the Cow's tail was
undoubtedly growing!

In her delight, the honest creature was for hurrying off to show
the Farrier, but gave up the idea at the advice of the Donkey,
who reminded her that, as a regular doctor, he was quite certain
to be jealous of the Giraffe as a mere quack, and that mischief
might possibly follow. Besides, she was going on well, and had
better let well alone.

Accordingly, our Cow staid quietly at home, and continued to
se the ointment until the pot was empty. It had, however,
lasted her for two months, at the end of which time her tail had
grown to more than half its original length; and, having got a
start, I am glad to say that it persevered in growing, until, in
another couple of months' time, she had as good and serviceable
a tail as any of her neighbors!

Her past sorrows were now all forgotten. Kind words and
congratulations were poured in upon her from every quarter.
Her master wondered at the change for the better in her appear-
ance, and the dairymaid was delighted at the good fortune which
had befallen her favorite Cow. She herself was most thankful
for the blessing which she now enjoyed, and always felt that it
was owing to the patience with which she had borne her troubles,
and the kindness which she had shown to all around her — which
is a thing that, as in this very case, always brings its own reward.

So she lived on, a happy, ])rosperous, and contented Cow all
the days of her life. And Avhat do you think the Farrier said
when he came to hear of it? Why, he declared that the Giraffe's
ointment was all nonsense — it was his own dressing of the stump
once which had wrought the cure, and that those quacks were
always trying to claim credit for cures which the regular doct(>rs
had really made. But if the Farrier knew he could make the
Cow's tail grow all right again, why did he bother her at first
with all those false tails?

E. H. KNATCHBULL-ITrGESSEX.
Puss-Ciit-Meio Stories for my Children, Harper lirotliers



173 IS THE child's world.

LORD CORNWALLIS' KNEE-BUCKLES.

Have you ever heard about the Revolutionary War: it was
fought between the British and the Americans more than a hun-
dred years ago. I will .tell you a true story of a 11 trie girl who
lived at the time.

Her name was Anne Ran^lolph, and she lived on a farm not
far from Philadelphia. Her father and her two brothers had
joined the American army. So Anne and her mother were left
alone to take cure of the farm.

Two years before this time Anne's father had given her a beau-
tiful calf, as a pet. The two had become great friends. The
young cow knew her little mistress, and always came to be
stroked when Anne went into the field.

At one time during the war the English army was in Phila-
delphia.

One day the soldiers came to the farm of Mr. Randolph, alid
seized Anne's pet cow. They tied a rope to her horns and drove
her away. Anne begged for her pet, and was in great grief, but
her words had no effect.

It did not take long for Anne to think what she could do.
She r;in to the stable and saddled her pony, and then rode at full
speed to see Lord Cornwallis, the general of the English army.
It was a brave thing for a'little girl only twelve years of age to do.

A soldier with his gun was marching back and forth in front
of the phice where the general was.

" Wiiat do you want?" he asked Anne, as she galloped up.

" I wish to see Lord Cornwallis," she said.

" What is your business with him?" said the soldier.

" I must see him; let me pass," replied the girl.

The soldier let her pass, thinking, no doubt, she had very
important news to tell.

Lord Cornwallis and some of his friends were at dinner when
little Anne rushed into the room.

" What do you want, my child?" said the general.

" I want my cow, sir. Your soldiers have taken her away, and
I have come to get her. Oh! please, sir, you must let me have
her."



IN THE child's WORLD. 173

" And who are you, my little girl?" said the general, kindly.

" I am Anne Randolph, and I live three miles from here with
my mother. Have yon seen my cow, sir?"' "Oh, sir," she
continued, " I raised my cow myself. She has always been
mine. She can't belong to you, I must have her. I would
never steal your cow, sir," she said, proudly.

The general rose. " Come here, my child. I promise you
that your cow shall be safe in your barn to-morrow; and here,
take these," he said, unfastening a pair of silver knee-buckles.
" Keep them to remember me by, and if the soldiers trouble
your cow again, come to me at once."

The general kept his promise, and the next morning Anne's
cow was once more safely housed in her own snug stable.

The buckles were kept, and are kept to this very day. One of
Anne's grandchildren has them.

— Holmes' New Third Reader.

University Publishing Co., New York.



THE DOG.



To THE Teachek:-




The preceding talks upon animals have indi-
cated sufficientlj^ a way of dealing with such
subjects. Therefore, instead of a talk upon
•■'The Dog," this composition, written by
Helen Keller, is offered as containing the
material from which the teacher can take what
is suitable for her children.

Most people will have read of this wonder-
ful little girl, who, though blind and deaf and
formerly dumb, has acquired such a command
of language and such a fund of information,
and who has such a lovely character.

The stories and this composition are exactly
as Helen wrote them, save for the omission
of a few sentences. Anything of hers which
has been used in this book was written by
Helen when she was about ten years old and
had been under instruction about three and a
half years. E. P.



THE TALK.



THE DOG.



Come here, Lioness, I have many strange things to tell vou
about yourself. You may not believe it all, but it is true, and
you must be still, like a good dog, and listen to what I have
to say.

Of course you know that you belong to the animal kingdom.
You never could have thought you were a plant or a mineral,
and everything else in the world belongs to the animal kingdom.
You have a backbone, and that is why you are called a verte-
brate; and when you have some cunning little puppies, you will



IN THE child's WORLD. 175

feed them with milk, as other mammuls do, and that is why the
wise men put you in the class Mammalia. Then, Lioness, you
know perfectly well that yau like raw meat better than anything
else; and animals that eat raw meat are carnivorous.

How many feet have you? Can't you count four? See, here
are your two fore paws, and there are your two hind legs; and
animals which have four feet are quadrupeds.

Your legs are not as slender as Guy's, but they are very mus-
cular. You are covered with pretty, soft, brown hair. It is
straight, but generally dogs wear curled coats. Your chest is
broad and deep, so that you can take a good breath when you
wish to run swiftly. Your head is pointed, but not nearly so
much so as Spoke's. Your mouth is filled with powerful teeth,
similar in shape to the cat's teeth. You must not pull away
your head so, for it is true, You are like Pussy in many things.
Your tongue is soft, and you use it to lap up liquids. You
never perspire through your skin as other animals do. When
your body is heated, the moisture passes off from your tongue.
That is why you always run with your tongue hanging out of
your mouth. The under parts of your feet are padded, like the
cat's. There are five toes on your fore feet, and five on your
hind feet. The two middle ones are longest and equal. The
fifth toes of your hind feet never touch the ground. Each toe
has a strong, blunt claw, which is not retractile. Hence you
cannot walk as noiselessly as Kitty. Your claws are better fitted
for digging and holding.

Your senses of sight, hearing and smell are very perfect, but
your sense of taste is not well developed. If you are hungry, you
will eat things which are not good at all. You can live a long
time without food or drink. You have relations in all countries.
Wherever there is a man, the dog is his best friend. You love
people much better than the place where you live; but I am
afraid, dear, you dislike cats. You turn round many times be-
fore you lie down. Can you tell me why? You prick up your
ears, and bark at the least noise; and I am sure there never was
euch a brave and faithful dog as you are, my own Lioness.

Helen Keller.



17(5 LN THE child's AVORLD.



TEACHER'S READING.

Origin of Species, __.... Darwin

Natural History, - - - - - - J. G. Wood

Rab and his Friends, . - . - . John Brown, M. D.

A Dog of Flanders, - . - .. Ouida

To Flush, my Dog, - . . . . Mrs. Broiuning

Lewellyn and his Dog, - - - i2. Snuthey

Scragg's Mission, - - - - - - C. E. lioioen

Traj', - - - - - - - - R. Browning

Song, " Old Dog Tray,"

Elegy on a Mad Dog, - - - Goldsmith

Dog Stories, - - " St. Nicholas," November, 1SS6, March, 1881

Famous Pets ("Wide Awake," December, 1886), - Eleanor Lewis

The Dog and the Water Lily, i

On a Spaniel called Beau, > - . - - Cowper

Beau's Heply, )

FOR THE CHILDREN.
Brave Bobby, - . . _ . Monroe''s Third Reader



STORIES.

HOW FRISK CAME HOME.

One of my friends had more dogs than she knew what to do
with; so she thought, "'I will give one of my dogs to my aunt
in Troy, for I think she will like to have such a nice black-and-
white dog as Frisk.''

So Frisk went to his new home, twenty miles off.

But Frisk did not like his new home so well as his old one.
In his old home he was a great pet; but, in his new home, no
one did care much for Frisk; and they put a chain on his neck,
and tied him up in the yard.

So Frisk sat in the yard, and tried to get rid of his chain.
But this he could not do. Then he was quite sad; and he



IN THE CHILP'S WORLD. , 177

thought, "Oh! if I could hut get back to my old home — if I
could but get back to my old friends once more! "

But Frisk did not know the way back to his old home; for,
when they sent him to his new home, they had put him in a bag,
and they had tied up the top of the bag, so that Frisk might not
see the way they took him. So Frisk was sad because he was
tied by a chain, and because he did not know the way back to
his old home.

But it is said, "Where there is a will, there is a way;" and so
Frisk found it, as you shall learn.

One day, when the man took Frisk oiit in the road for a run.
Frisk thought to himself, "This man does not like me much,
for he will chain me up if I let him take me back to my new
home. So I will take a run all by myself, and not with the man.""

And then Frisk ran under a bush, and sat there till the man
was far off; and when the man turned round and did not see
Frisk at his heels, the man called out, "Frisk! Frisk! Here,
sir, here! Good dog! Here, Frisk! Frisk! Frisk!"'

" No; I will not come; I will stay here and hide/' thought
Frisk. "You may call me good dog, but I will not come. I try
to be a good dog, and yet you chain me up."

Then the man thought he should find Frisk at home; but,
when the man got home, no Frisk was to be seen. The night
came, and still no Frisk was to be seen.

" I think Frisk must be dead," said the man.

"But was Frisk dead?"

Wait, and you shall hear. A whole week went by, and noth-
ing was seen or heard of poor Frisk.

But one day when my friend, with whom Frisk had first lived,
went out with her children, Mary and Edgar, to walk, they saw,
a short way from the house, a poor, thin, black-and-white dog
by the roadside.

He was quite lame, for his feet had been cut with sharp stones,
and his hair was red with blood.

Then all at once Edgar cried out: "0, mother! look! look!
See if that is not our own poor Frisk come back to his old
home!"

" So it is our own poor Frisk," said my friend. " But Imw



178 IN THE child's WORLD.



could he have found his way back twenty miles, all the way from
Troy to this place? For he was tied up in a bag when we sent
him off. Poor Frisk! How thin and ill you look! '^



Online LibraryEmilie PoulssonIn the child's world; morning talks and stories for kindergartens, primary schools and homes → online text (page 11 of 29)