Five Minute Stories. Richards Laura Elizabeth Howe

in the opposite direction. He took the great iron spoon and fished about in the kettle for some time. At last there was a little clinking noise, and the old gentleman lifted the spoon. Oh, wonder and delight! In it lay three great, broad, shining pieces of gold! Jessy could hardly believe her eyes. She stared and stared; and when the old gentleman put the gold into her hand, she still stood as if in a happy dream, gazing at it. Suddenly she started, and remembered that she had not thanked her kindly helper. She looked up, and began, “Thank you, sir;” but the old gentleman was gone.

      Well, the next question was, How could Jessy possibly wait till twelve o’clock for her mother to come home? Knitting was out of the question. She could do nothing but dance and look out of window, and look out of window and dance, holding the precious coins tight in her hand. At last, a well-known footstep was heard outside the door, and Mrs. Gray came in, looking very tired and worn. She smiled, however, when she saw Jessy, and said, —

      “Well, my darling, I am glad to see you looking so bright. How has the morning gone with my little housekeeper?”

      “Oh, mother!” cried Jessy, hopping about on one foot, “it has gone very well! oh, very, very, very well! Oh, my mother dear, what do you think I have got in my hand? What do you think? oh, what do you think?” and she went dancing round and round, till poor Mrs. Gray was quite dizzy with watching her. At last she stopped, and holding out her hand, opened it and showed her mother what was in it. Mrs. Gray was really frightened.

      “Jessy, my child!” she cried, “where did you get all that money?”

      “Out of the cupperty-buts, Mamma!” said Jessy, “out of the cupperty-buts! and it’s all for you, every bit of it! Dear Mamma, now you will be happy, will you not?”

      “Jessy,” said Mrs. Gray, “have you lost your senses, or are you playing some trick on me? Tell me all about this at once, dear child, and don’t talk nonsense.”

      “But it isn’t nonsense, Mamma!” cried Jessy, “and it did come out of the cupperty-buts!”

      And then she told her mother the whole story. The tears came into Mrs. Gray’s eyes, but they were tears of joy and gratitude.

      “Jessy dear,” she said, “when we say our prayers at night, let us never forget to pray for that good gentleman. May Heaven bless him and reward him! for if it had not been for him, Jessy dear, I fear you would never have found the ‘Buttercup Gold.’”

      ONE AFTERNOON

      Papa and Mamma went out to row,

      And left us alone at home, you know, —

      Roderick, James and me.

      “My dears,” they said, “now play with your toys

      Like dear little, good little, sweet little boys,

      And we will come home to tea.”

      We played with our toys the longest while!

      We built up the blocks for nearly a mile, —

      Roderick, James and I.

      But when they came tumbling down, alas!

      They fell right against the looking-glass, —

      Oh! how the pieces did fly!

      Then we played the stairs were an Alpine peak,

      And down we slid with shout and with shriek, —

      Roderick, I and James.

      But Jim caught his jacket upon a tack,

      And I burst the buttons all off my back,

      And Roderick called us names.

      Then we found a pillow that had a rip,

      And all the feathers we out did slip, —

      Roderick, James and I.

      And we made a snowstorm, a glorious one,

      All over the room. Oh! wasn’t it fun,

      As the feathery flakes did fly!

      But just as the storm was raging around,

      Papa and Mamma came in, and found

      Roderick, James and me.

      Oh! terrible, terrible things they said!

      And they put us all three right straight to bed,

      With the empty pillow-case under our head,

      And none of us had any tea!

      THE STOVE

      Betty has a real stove, just as real as the one in the kitchen, if it is not quite so big. It has pots and kettles and a frying-pan, and a soup-pot, and the oven bakes beautifully, and it is just lovely! I went to spend the afternoon with her yesterday, and we cooked all the time, except when we were eating. First, we made soup in the soup-pot, with some pieces of cold goose, and we took some to Auntie (she is Betty’s mother), and she said it was de-licious, and took two cups of it. (They were doll’s cups; Betty says I ought to put that in, but I don’t see any need.) Then we made scrambled egg and porridge, and baked some custard in the oven, and it was just exactly like a big custard in the big cups at home. The cake was queer, so I won’t stop to tell about that, though Rover ate most of it, and the rest we crumbled up for the pigeons, so it wasn’t wasted; but the best of all was the griddle-cakes. Oh, they were splendid! The griddle is just the right size for one, so they were as round as pennies, and about the same size; and we had maple syrup on them, and Maggie the cook said she was so jealous (she called it “jellies”) that she should go straight back to Ireland; but I don’t believe she will. I don’t feel very well to-day, and Betty wasn’t at school, either. But I don’t think it had anything to do with the griddle-cakes, and I am going to play with Betty again to-morrow, – if Mamma will let me.

      JOHN’S SISTER

      What! no elder sister?

      I wouldn’t be you!

      Who buttons your jacket?

      Who ties up your shoe?

      Who gives you a boost

      When you climb a tree?

      Who bathes your bumps,

      As kind as can be?

      Who guided your oar

      The first time you paddled?

      Who blows your bird’s eggs,

      E’en when they’re addled?

      Who sets your moths,

      Your butterflies, too?

      Who mops up the floor

      When you spill the glue?

      Who makes you taffy?

      (I tell you it’s fine!)

      Who baits your hook,

      Untangles your line?

      Who takes out your splinters,

      All in a minute?

      Who tells you stories,

      And sings like a linnet?

      No sister! I pity you,

      Truly I do.

      And oh! for a whole farm

      I wouldn’t be you.

      NEW YEAR SONG

      “New Year, true year,

      What now are you bringing?

      May-day skies and butterflies,

      And merry birds a-singing?

      Frolic, play, all the day,

      Not an hour of school?”

      But the merry echo,

      The laughing New Year echo,

      Only