(A stone lay in a field. A farmer and his son were talking near by.)

FARMER. That was a fine rain we had this morning.

SON. Yes, indeed! A rain like that makes everybody glad.

FARMER. I have been wishing a long time for such a rain as that.

SON. It was better than gold.

(As they walked away, a worm crept out from under the stone.

The stone called to the worm.)

STONE. Friend Worm, did you hear what those men were saying?

WORM. Yes, they were saying how good the rain was.

STONE. What has the rain done, I should like to know? It rained two hours and made me all wet.

WORM. That didn't hurt you.

STONE. Yes, it did. But it hurts me more to hear everybody saying how fine the rain was. Why don't they talk about me? I have been here for hundreds of years. I hurt n.o.body. I wet n.o.body. I stay quietly where I am put. Yet n.o.body ever has a kind word for me.

WORM. Stop your talk. This rain has helped the wheat and made it grow.

And the wheat will help the farmer. It will give him bread. What have you ever given to anybody?

THE FOX IN THE ICE

Very early one winter morning a fox was drinking at a hole in the ice.

While he was drinking, the end of his tail got into the water, and there it froze fast.

He could have pulled it out and left some of the hairs behind, but he would not do this.

"How can I spoil such a beautiful tail!" said the fox to himself.

"No, I will wait a little. The men are asleep and will not catch me.

Perhaps when the sun comes up the ice will melt."

So he waited, and the water froze harder and harder.

At last the sun came up.

The fox could see men coming down to the pond. He pulled and pulled, but now his tail was frozen so fast that he could not pull it out.

Just then a wolf came by.

"Help me, friend," cried the fox, "or I shall be lost."

The wolf helped him, and set him free very quickly. He bit off the tail of the fox.

So the fox lost all of his fine great tail because he would not give up a little hair from it.

POEMS BY FRANK D. SHERMAN

CLOUDS

The sky is full of clouds to-day, And idly, to and fro, Like sheep across the pasture, they Across the heavens go.

I hear the wind with merry noise Around the housetops sweep, And dream it is the shepherd boys-- They're driving home their sheep.

The clouds move faster now, and see!

The west is red and gold; Each sheep seems hastening to be The first within the fold.

I watch them hurry on until The blue is clear and deep, And dream that far beyond the hill The shepherds fold their sheep.

Then in the sky the trembling stars Like little flowers shine out, While Night puts up the shadow bars, And darkness falls about.

I hear the shepherd wind's good night, "Good night, and happy sleep!"

And dream that in the east, all white, Slumber the clouds, the sheep.

GHOST FAIRIES

When the open fire is lit, In the evening after tea, Then I like to come and sit Where the fire can talk to me.

Fairy stories it can tell, Tales of a forgotten race-- Of the fairy ghosts that dwell In the ancient chimney place.

They are quite the strangest folk Anybody ever knew, Shapes of shadow and of smoke Living in the chimney flue.

"Once," the fire said, "long ago, With the wind they used to rove, Gypsy fairies, to and fro, Camping in the field and grove.

"Hither with the trees they came Hidden in the logs; and here, Hovering above the flame, Often some of them appear."

So I watch, and sure enough, I can see the fairies! Then Suddenly there comes a puff-- Whish!--and they are gone again!

DAISIES

At evening when I go to bed I see the stars shine overhead; They are the little daisies white That dot the meadow of the night.

And often while I'm dreaming so, Across the sky the moon will go; It is a lady, sweet and fair, Who comes to gather daisies there.

For when at morning I arise, There's not a star left in the skies; She's picked them all and dropped them down Into the meadows of the town.