Various
The Nursery, May 1873, Vol. XIII.
SNIP'S STORY
My name is Snip. You can read it on my collar: though why my master put it there I can't tell; for everybody knows me, and almost everybody is my friend. People stop in the street to pat me; the little children love to have me play with them, because I never snarl and bite; and the butcher round the corner saves me a bone every day. I think butchers are very nice men.
Every morning I go down street to get the newspaper for my master. The bookseller always has it rolled up, waiting for me, and puts it in my mouth; and back I trot as fast as my legs will go. To-day I had a hard time of it; for, just as I got nicely started for home, some bad boys who were playing in the road saw me, and thought it would be fine fun to catch me, and take my paper away.
They ran after me, hooting and yelling; and I was so frightened, that I trembled all over. But I could run faster than they; and they soon gave up the chase. That was not the end, though; for one of them threw a stone after me, which hit me on one of my paws, and so I came home limping. But do you suppose I let the newspaper drop? Not a bit of it.
I have been barking at this door a long time; and yet nobody comes to open it. I wonder where my master is, that he doesn't hear me. Perhaps he is asleep. I am very hungry for my dinner; and I should like to get into the house, and lie down in my corner by the kitchen-fire.
I can push open the garden-gate with my nose; but this door won't move a bit when I put my paws on it. I wonder why dogs can't open doors as well as gates. I am going to bark again. Bow-wow-wow! There! Didn't you hear a footstep? Yes: there comes some one to let me in.
H. B.
BABY IN HER HIGH CHAIR
Here I am all ready: here's my little plate
Wants some 'tato on it: papa, you'll be late.
Here's the milk a-waiting in my silver cup;
I'm so hungry! will somebody please to push me up.
Didn't see me, did you, scrambling up my chair?
Got up all alone too; would you think I'd dare?
Got my clothes all twisted; 'fraid I mussed my curls:
What did papa say about frowsy-headed girls?
Dear, I have such troubles! people are so slow!
Don't they want some supper, I should like to know?
There's a fly gone swimming in my silver cup;
And I can't quite reach him, 'cause I'm not pushed up.
Here's my mamma coming; here come Sue and Fred;
Now there goes the ding-dong, just as if it said,
"Little folks and big folks, time to come and sup!"
Thank you, papa, thank you, for pushing Bessie up.
Helen Barron Bostwick.
THE BRINDLED COW
The cow is in the pasture, feeding. The pasture has been wet with the rain, and the grass is fresh and sweet. The rain makes the grass grow.
The sun is hot, and the cow has lain down under a shady tree. She is chewing her cud. It is nice and cool in the shade.
But the flies bite her, and plague her. She tries to scare them off; but they come again. Then she gets up, and rubs her nose against the tree.
Now she is standing in the water. The water feels cool to her feet; but the flies still plague her. She splashes the water to drive the flies away.
By and by the milk-maid comes out, and calls, "Co-boss, co-boss!" The cow hears her, and walks slowly along to the barn.
The cow stands quite still while the maid is milking her. But is not the maid seated on the wrong side of the cow? My cow would kick the pail over if I should milk her in that way.
W. O. C.
NAMING THE KITTEN
"What shall be the kitten's name?" asked Rachel of her younger sister, who stood holding up her apron, and begging to take the little pet.
"It is my kitten," pleaded Alice; "and I ought to have it."
"The old cat evidently thinks it is her kitten. Hark! Hear her mew! 'Mine, mine, mine,' she seems to say."
"Oh!" said Alice, "I can soon quiet the old cat with a saucer of milk. Come, give me the kitten; that's a good Rachel!"
"Well, I will give it to you on one condition."
"Name it: perhaps I can grant it."
"The condition is, that you give the kitten a name,—a name that I shall approve of."
"Oh! that I can do right off. We will call her Arabella."
"Nonsense! that is too long and grand a name for a kitten. It will do very well for a proud lady-doll from Paris, but not for this little scratcher."
"How would you like the name of Betsy?"
"Not at all. I think it a homely sort of name."
"Well, will any of these do?—Pet, Muff, Tabby, Tit, Tip-top, Scamper, Nap, Mop, Pop, Grab?"
"I think you must have got those from some story-book."
"You guessed right that time," said Alice. "Name the kitten yourself, if none of my names will satisfy you. Put her in my lap, and I will get some cream, and let her lap it."
"Lappit, did you say? That's a new name, and a good one!" cried Rachel. "You have hit upon a name at last. We will call the kitten Lappit. Now hold up your apron, and I will put Lappit in your lap."
Alice laughed at her sister's play upon the word; and, taking the kitten in her apron, she ran off into the garden, followed by the old cat.