And the wise little pig, from where he sat, Peered out and smiled, "Where's that?"

"At the Merry Garden; if you'll be fair, And it's pleasant weather, We two together At five in the morning will go there."

Ah, sly and cunning The little pig was, for as early as four He was out next day, and running, running, Hoping to get the apples before The wolf was up. But the apple-tree Proved twice as far as he thought 'twould be.

He climbed the boughs in the greatest haste, And thought to himself, "I'll only taste, As a bit of a lunch."

But soon, crunch, crunch, He had eaten a score--then what should he see But the big gray wolf just under the tree!

Yes, there he stood, Trying to look as meek as he could, And he said, "Little pig, are the apples good?"

Pig thought he should fall from where he sat, So heavy his heart went pit-a-pat.

But he answered, "The nicest under the sun!

I'll throw down one!"

The wolf ran after it as he threw it, And, before he knew it, The pig was out of the tree, and as fleet As his four little feet Could scamper he fled, On, into his house, while after him sped The wolf, with a savage voice and face, In a furious chase.

He was long and slim, But the little pig proved too swift for him.

Still, he came again the very next day, And he knocked and called "Little pig, I pray, You will go to the Shanklin Fair with me.

Be ready, and I will call at three!"

Now the pig, as he had always done, Got the start of the wolf, and went at one.

At the fair he bought him a b.u.t.ter churn, And with it started out to return; But who should he meet-- The very first one he chanced to spy-- Upon the street, But the wolf! and it frightened him dreadfully.

So he crept inside His churn to hide; It began to roll; he began to ride; Around and around, Along the ground, He pa.s.sed the wolf with a b.u.mp and bound.

He was frightened worse than he'd frightened the pig, By the funny, rumbling rig; And he fled in dismay Far out of his own and the little pig's way.

Yet in due time--for I suppose He was nearly starved--his pattering toes Were heard again at the little pig's door.

Such a haunted look his visage wore, When the tale he told Of the beast that b.u.mped and bounded and rolled, Up hill, down hill, and everywhere, And chased him away from the Shanklin Fair!

Then, with all his might, The little pig laughed outright, Giving a jocular, scornful shout With his saucy snout, As he cried, "O, how would you like to learn 'Twas a churn, and that I was in the churn!"

Then the wolf exclaimed, "I hate your tricks, Your bolted door and your house of bricks!

I'll eat you anyway--that I'll do!

I'll come down the chimney after you!"

But the pig built a fire, high and hot, And filled with water his dinner pot, And just as the wolf came down the flue, Sc.r.a.ping his ribs as he slipped through, What did he do But lift the cover, and let him fall Into the pot--hide, hair and all!

And what next he did Was to slide the lid Quick over the pot; "It's boiling hot-- It'll maybe cook him, and maybe not,"

He cried in glee, "But I'll let him be, And when it is dinner-time I'll see!"

That day he dined quite to his mind; And he mused to himself, "I'm half inclined To think, by the hair of my chinny, chin, chin, That _this_ is the best way to take wolves in!"

GOODY TWO-SHOES.

Versified by Mrs. Clara Doty Bates.

Two-Shoes, Two-Shoes, Little Goody Two-Shoes!

Do you know about her? Well, I'm ready now to tell How the little creature came By so odd a name.

It was very long ago, In the days of good Queen Bess, When upon the cold world's care, Fatherless and motherless,

There were thrown two helpless ones, Dest.i.tute as they could be; Tom, they called the little boy, And the girl was Margery.

Many a day they cried for food When the cup-board shelves were bare; Many an hour they roamed the streets Scarcely knowing why or where.

As to kindred, all were dead; As to shelter, they had none; As to shoes, Tom had a pair; Little Margery had but one!

One-Shoe, One-Shoe, Think of Little One-Shoe!

Think how never a pretty boot Was b.u.t.toned on the tender foot; Nor yet a slipper, fairy-light, With dainty knot or buckle bright!

But above our human woes Bends an always loving Heaven; And to every hungry cry Is there somewhere answer given.

Kind eyes watched the wandering ones, Pitied their forlorn distress; Grieved to note Tom's ragged coat, And Margery's tattered dress.

'Twas the village clergyman, And he sought them tenderly, Gave them warm, soft clothes to wear.

Ordered shoes for Margery.

"Two shoes, two shoes, Oh, see my two shoes!"

So did little Margery cry, When the cobbler came to try If they fitted trim and neat On the worn and tired feet: That is how and why she came By so strange a name.

Tom went off to London town; Margery went to village school; Apt she was, and quick to learn, Docile to the simplest rule.

Out from the long alphabet Letters looked at her and smiled, Almost seemed to nod and speak, Glad to know so bright a child,

Ranged themselves in winsome words; Then in sentences. Indeed, Quite before she knew the fact, Margery had learned to read.

Two-Shoes, Two-Shoes, Eager Goody Two-Shoes!

When the magic art she knew, She planned to help poor children too; And those who had no chance to learn Their letters, she would teach in turn.

Now, in the days of good Queen Bess, Few books were printed, very few-- None, scarcely, for the little folks; So Margery studied what to do.

She cut from proper blocks of wood Sets of the letters: A, B, C; And in some cosy shady place Would group the children round her knee

And teach them--not alone to read, But how to spell, and how to sing; And how to practice gentle ways, And to be kind to everything.

Two-Shoes, Two-Shoes, So grew Goody Two-Shoes!

First a maiden, comely, sweet; Then a woman, wise, discreet; Called now, as a courtesy, Little Mrs. Margery.

An honored, faithful teacher she!

And every year an added grace, More fair than youth's fair roses are, Blossomed upon her charming face.

All living things seemed drawn to her: A helpless lamb, whose dam had died, She reared and tended till he ran Tame as a kitten at her side;

A sky-lark stolen from its nest Sang on her finger, though he knew His unclipped wings were free to soar At will into the heaven's blue;

A raven which had fought and torn Its captor's hand with savage beak, And which at first could only croak, She taught in gracious words to speak;