Papa laughed behind his paper to see him march out to the garden with the big, sleepy black cat under one arm and a hoe under the other.

But when Charlie began to dig, p.u.s.s.y began to struggle out from under his arm, and, getting away, she ran for her life. Charlie dropped his hoe and ran too. Tears also would have run had there been less wisdom in that little curly head. But Charlie knew that Puss would not wait while he mourned her departure!

What a race that was! Puss led him under fences, through bushes, over gates, up trees, and, at last, through the open window, Charlie of course followed, and what a fall was that!

When Charlie rose, the black cat sat calmly upon the table. Charlie thought she actually laughed at his forlorn appearance. Well, he didn't look as well as when the race began, but his courage was still good; so he resolved to try again, if the Big Rogue would help.

So Charlie asked papa to hold Puss while he dug. Papa was willing, and the digging began again. Soon papa said the hole was big enough, but he had no sooner said the word, when Puss thought it was time to run away again, and off she darted. She looked so funny, with her tail all swelled up, that Charlie forgot all about the planting and began to laugh, and then papa began to laugh too. "I don't believe she's the right kind of a cat to plant," he said, and then he and Charlie went into the house for lunch, as mama was at the window waiting for them.

LITTLE SIR CAT

Little Sir Cat and Little Boy Blue

"_Little Boy Blue, Come blow your horn, Your cows are eating Farmer Green's corn,_"

sang Robbie Redbreast as Little Sir Cat pa.s.sed through a meadow in new Mother Goose Land. And just then a little boy dressed in blue jumped out from behind a haystack and began to blow on his silver horn.

Goodness me! Dapple Gray was so startled that he stood up on his hind legs and nearly upset his small rider.

[Ill.u.s.tration: LITTLE SIR CAT AND LITTLE BOY BLUE]

"Don't blow it again till I get out of the meadow," said Little Sir Cat, and he rode away. By-and-by, after a while, he came to a neat-looking cottage with a red chimney and pink blinds. So he knocked on the door, and who do you suppose opened it? You'll never guess, so I'll tell you right away. Why, Old Mother Hubbard and her dog. Wasn't that strange?

For the last time Little Sir Cat had seen them was in Old Mother Goose Country, and of course he was surprised to meet them. All of a sudden, the Dog began to sing:

"_Old Mother Hubbard never goes to the cupboard To get me a bone any more; For she has an excuse, so what is the use?

She remembers what happened before.

So now we both go to a nice movie show, And then to a restaurant fine, Where we order a stew of giblets for two, And the orchestra plays while we dine._"

"Hurray!" cried Little Sir Cat, "things are certainly very different in this country." And pretty soon he told them he must be on his way. So off he went through the woods, and by-and-by he came to a deep pool under a great oak tree. But he didn't know that a Frog Prince lived in it. No, Siree. And perhaps it was just as well that he didn't, for the Frog Prince didn't like cats at all.

Well, as soon as he saw Little Sir Cat, he gave a dreadful loud croak and hopped out on the bank.

"Shall I kick him?" asked Dapple Gray with a toss of his head, for he wasn't afraid of that croaky old frog, not the least little bit.

"Of course not," answered Little Sir Cat. "Are you really a frog, or an enchanted prince?" he asked, turning to the Frog Prince.

And, would you believe it, the tears came to that poor frog's eyes, as he answered:

"A wicked witch has cast a spell over me. I was once a handsome prince."

"I will help you," answered Little Sir Cat, and, jumping off Dapple Gray, he hunted through the gra.s.s until he found a tiny, little flower, blue as the summer sky.

"Tomorrow morning when the c.o.c.k crows eat this flower," he said, handing it to the Frog Prince, "and you will once more be your natural self."

And before the happy frog could thank him he jumped on Dapple Gray and rode away to the next story.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater, Had a wife and couldn't keep her; He made a car of the pumpkin sh.e.l.l, And there he kept her very well.

MAY DAY FROLICS IN MERRY OLD ENGLAND

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Suppose we "go a-Maying" among old traditions and see with what ceremonies our English ancestors welcomed the "merry month." We do not celebrate the first day of May to any extent in this country, but in England, where the season is much earlier than ours, and the earth is already covered with wild flowers, May-day is more fitly celebrated; but even in England the old customs have sadly fallen away.

Once upon a time every village had its annual setting up of the May-pole, which was consecrated to the G.o.ddess of Flowers, and early on May morning the young people went out to "gather the May." The first thing was to select the May-pole. The landed gentry allowed the villagers the choice of a suitable tree on their domains. A tall, straight sapling having been selected, it was speedily cut down and dragged to the village green by oxen gayly decorated with flowers and bright colored ribbons. Following after came the youths and maidens with wreaths of flowers, which they twined around cottage doorways on their way to the green, where they were to choose from among their number a Lord and Lady of May.

After a bower was built for them and the May-pole set up, there were merry dances, the revellers donning mask and costume to represent Robin Hood, Friar Tuck, Maid Marian, Much the Miller's Son, Little John, Will Scarlet and all the other famous characters of merry Sherwood. Pantomime was also indulged in, for this was a simple age, when simple pleasures satisfied the country people. Into the ring would come a hobby-horse and a dragon, the former ambling and prancing about, while the latter hissed and shook his wings, to the great delight of the spectators. There were also morris-dancers, with bells attached to their knees and elbows, who danced and capered musically. After this came trials of skill in archery by Robin Hood and his fellows, and when all these amus.e.m.e.nts grew tiresome, the villagers thronged about the May-pole and spent the remainder of the day in dancing.

But these May-day observances were not confined only to the country. In London at one time tall poles were erected on May morning, and green arbors and branches decorated the streets. It was a great day for the milkmaids and chimney-sweeps, who paraded the streets in companies, begging a trifle from their customers.

The leader of the chimney-sweeps, called "Jack in the Green," was covered, with the exception of his legs, with green boughs, garlands and nosegays. He looked like a dancing bouquet, as he moved up and down the street. Many a penny the sweeps collected from the admiring bystanders.

This was a custom up to about one hundred years ago, and will perhaps remind some of my little readers of the ragam.u.f.fins who parade the streets of New York on Thanksgiving Day, begging a penny from every pa.s.ser-by.

Finally, many abuses arose in the observance of the day. In 1644 Parliament pa.s.sed an act forbidding the erection of May-poles. Later, during the restoration of the gay Charles the Second, the May-poles came back and flourished for a long time. Gradually, however, as the ancient simplicity of manners departed from the lower orders of the people, who were its chief upholders, the May-day festival fell into disuse, and now there are neither May-poles nor morris-dancers nor Jacks in the Green.

[Ill.u.s.tration: JACK BE NIMBLE, JACK BE QUICK PUB. BY NAT. ART CO., N.

Y.]

THE SPIDER AND THE FLY

A big Black Spider was spinning away, Spinning her lacey web all day; And when she had finished it, close to the wall She curled herself up in a round black ball.

Lazily buzzing, buzzing away, A little Blue Fly was buzzing all day.

Into the open window he flew And close to the Spider's web he drew.

"Oh, what a pretty piece of lace Swinging away in the window s.p.a.ce!"

The little Blue Fly remarked to himself, As he carefully crawled on the narrow shelf.

Then he brushed the dirt from his gauzy wing And watched the spider web swing and swing.

Now this little Fly was a mischievous Fly, And there wasn't a bit of green in his eye!