A second reader

THE BROOK

THE LITTLE BROOK

See the little brook rushing down the steep hillside!

How it hurries!

How it leaps over the falls!

Hear it dash and splash among the rocks!

See its waters flash and sparkle in the sun!

“Stop, stop, little brook! Wait, I want to talk with you.”

“No, no, I must hurry on. I have a long way to go.”

“I will go with you, then. I will run along your banks. Please do not hurry so. I can hardly keep up with you.”

Now we come to the wide meadow.

Here the little brook flows more slowly and quietly.

But it never stops.

It must flow ever on and on.

Bright flowers are hiding along its banks.

They peep out from the grass.

They look into the clear flowing water.

“Stay, little brook, play with us,” they whisper.

“Why do you always hurry so? Are you not weary?”

“No, no, I am never weary, never tired,” murmurs the brook.

“I never stop to play.

It is play for me to rush swiftly down the steep hill.

It is fun to flow gently across the meadow.

I like to see you peeping over my banks as I pass.

But I cannot stop.

I must hurry on to meet the river.

Good-by, sweet flowers, good-by.”

Now the brook glides into the woodland.

Here the sad willows droop over the gliding waters.

High above them tower the oak, the ash, and the pine trees.

“Do not hurry, little brook,” whisper their leaves.

“Are you not tired?

You have come a long way.

Here the bright sun never comes.

Stay with us, and we will shade you.

Rest a while under our spreading branches.

In the meadow the burning sun is so hot.

But here it is cool.

Why can you not stay with us?

Why must you always hurry on?”

“Because I have to meet the river.

I love your wide spreading branches.

I love the gentle murmur of your green leaves.

I love your cool shade.

You are very kind to me.

But I cannot stay with you.

The great river needs me.

I shall have to hurry on.

Good-by, noble trees.

Good-by, drooping willows.”

So the never resting brook rushes, and glides and flows on forever.

CALLING THE VIOLET

THE WIND

THE WIND

THE WIND

THE LEAF’S JOURNEY

On the steep hillside grew a tall ash tree.

Right on the bank of the rushing brook it grew.

Its branches spread far out across the little stream.

Its leaves looked down into the flashing water.

There, when the sun shone brightly, they saw leaves looking up at them.

They called these “water leaves.”

The little tree leaves wished to go to the water leaves.

Many of them had already fluttered down.

But one leaf, very young, could not let go her hold of the twig.

At last a raging wind tore away the little leaf.

Over and over she turned.

Down, down, down, she fell.

She was so afraid the wind would carry her away.

But the friendly stream leaped up the rocks to meet her.

It bore her away, swiftly but gently.

The little leaf was afraid. She was lonesome.

The dear little “water leaves” were nowhere to be seen.

“Don’t be afraid, little leaf,” murmured the kind brook.

“I will give you a fine ride.

And I’ll talk to you all the time.

I’ll tell you all about the things we pass.

Here we are, already in the meadow.

Now I don’t have to hurry.

See the pretty flowers peeping over my banks.

They all love me.

I give them cool water to drink.

Here we go past the old mossy log.

Just see the frogs on it!

They are all in a row.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, of them!

They love me, too.

When anything makes them afraid, they leap into me.

They hide in some of my deep pools.

Here is the shady woodland.

Now I glide more slowly.

Soon I shall meet the great river.

I will not carry you into it.

For there you would be afraid.

I will land you here with lots of other leaves.”

And the stream pushed her gently upon the low bank of sand.

“Good-by,” he murmured; “good-by, little leaf.”

And the little leaf lay quietly thinking.

How many different things she had seen!

She never dreamed there were so many things in the whole world.

SWEET AND LOW

SLEEP, BABY, SLEEP!

STARS AND DAISIES

Do you know what daisies are?

Do you know what stars are?

I will tell you what I think.

At night we see the stars shining in the sky.

There are so very many of them, more than we can count.

I think the sky is a beautiful meadow.

And the stars are little white daisies growing in the sky meadow.

Sometimes the moon comes into the meadow.

She is a beautiful lady.

All night she walks among the flowers.

She gathers the little sky daisies.

In the morning we cannot see the stars.

Where are they?

In the meadow near our home are many bright-eyed daisies.

There are so very many of them, more than we can count.

How did they get there?

Where did they come from?

Daisies look like stars, you know.

So I think the lady moon threw them down from the sky.

LADY MOON