The Goody-Naughty Book.

by Sarah Cory Rippey.

HONOR BRIGHT, PRESIDENT

When Honor Bright went to live in the country the very first thing he asked for was some real live geese, to join the chickens, and the p.u.s.s.y, and the rabbits already on the farm.

"Will you remember to feed them every day, son, if I get you a pair?"

asked his father.

"Yes, papa," said the little boy. "Honor bright!"

When he promised "Honor bright," he always kept his word. And he said "Honor bright" so many times a day that finally Honor Bright became his name.

"Quack, quack!" cried Mr. and Mrs. Goose the day Honor Bright's father brought them home. "What a fine place!"

"Isn't it!" said Mother Hen.

"And just wait till you know Honor Bright!"

"Just wait!" echoed the Rabbit Gray family, and Mr. T. Cat.

Honor Bright was as good as his word, and the geese grew fatter, and fatter, and fatter.

"Good morning, Mr. T. Cat," cried Mr. and Mrs. Goose early one morning.

"Had your breakfast?"

"Of course," answered Mr. T. Cat; "Honor Bright always feeds me the very first thing."

"You must be mistaken!" cried Mr. and Mrs, Goose. "Honor Bright always feeds us first."

"But Honor Bright gives my children their breakfast _very_ early!"

cackled Mother Hen.

"Well," squeaked Father Rabbit Gray, "we've all _had_ breakfast; and that's the main thing. Now, let's make Honor Bright president, because he's so good. That's the way people do, you know."

Just then Honor Bright came out. "Hail, President Honor Bright!" they all cried.

Honor Bright thought they said, "I love you." And really, it meant the same thing.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Every day Rose-Red cut fresh flowers and arranged them for the house]

ROSE-RED AND RUTHIE

It was Rose Mary's mother who named her Rose-Red. Rose-Ready, it was at first, because Rose Mary was always ready to help. Then it became just Rose-Red, for short.

Rose-Red had much of the sweetness of her name flower, and few of the thorns. That is why, when Ruthie slapped her, Rose-Red didn't slap back.

But she came home crying.

Rose-Red's mamma gathered her up in her arms and comforted her.

"Ruthie's probably sorry now, dear," she said. "Perhaps she will tell you so by and by. Will my little girl be Rose-Ready, if she does?"

"Rose-Ready for what, mamma?" Rose-Red sat up and dried her eyes.

"Rose-Ready-to-Forgive."

Rose-Red nodded. "I think I'll gather the posies now," was all she said.

Every day Rose-Red cut fresh flowers in the garden and arranged them for the house. It was the one thing in all the world she liked best to do.

The roses she always left till the last--"for dessert," she explained.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Rose-Red's mamma gathered her up in her arms and comforted her]

"Roses, dear," she said, as she tucked them one by one into their special bowl, "what would you do if your best friend slapped you?"

Just then a thorn p.r.i.c.ked Rose-Red's finger. "You'd p.r.i.c.k her, would you?" Rose-Red laughed. "That's because you are only a rose and don't know any better. It wouldn't be nice for a little girl to p.r.i.c.k. I _do_ know something better!"

Rose-Red chose six of the finest roses and carefully clipped off all their thorns. Then she ran to the gate between her yard and Ruthie's, and slipped them into a covered box beside it. This box was Rose-Red's and Ruthie's post office. Nearly every day something went into it from one little girl to the other.

Four o'clock was mail time. Postman Rose-Red hid behind a bush and watched.

Presently Postman Ruthie came down the path. She opened the box and took out the fragrant "letter." Then she laid something inside, drew down the cover, and ran back.

It was Postman Rose-Red's turn now to open the box. Her letter was a _real_ one. It said, "I'm sorry."

Rose-Ready-to-Forgive flew through the gate.

"Ruthie! Ruthie!" she called.

And then Rose-Red kissed Ruthie, and Ruthie kissed Rose-Red. And that was the last of Ruthie-Ready-to-Slap.

THE TREE GAME

When Margaret and Benjy were getting over the measles their mamma invented a new game to amuse them.

"You might play you are trees," she suggested.

"I'm a pine tree!" cried Margaret.