The Ontario Readers: Third Book. Ontario. Department of Education

have a right to live, haven't I?" he said at last.

      "Because you are so pretty?" suggested the professor, and Bobby's eyes fell with shame.

      "Any better right than we have?" came a chorus of voices. Bobby was silent. He felt very helpless and insignificant. There was a long pause. Then the frog professor smiled broadly at Bobby.

      "Come," he said; "I like you. You are not afraid to be honest, and that's something."

      "If you will let me go," said Bobby, "I'll see that the boys don't hurt you any more."

      "I felt pretty sure that we'd converted you," said the professor; "and I'm going to let you go back and preach to the heathen, as the grown people say. You can see for yourself how much harm a boy can do if he doesn't think."

      Bobby felt that he was free, and scrambled to his feet, rubbing first one arm and then the other to take the prickly feeling out of them. The frogs had vanished; there was only the blue sky, the waving pine tree, and the quiet pond.

      "Well!" said Bobby with a long breath of amazement.

      "Kerjunk!" came the warning voice of a frog, somewhere near the water's edge.

      "Yes sir, I'll remember," said Bobby in the meekest of meek tones.

      M. A. L. Lane

A SONG FOR APRIL

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      List! list! The buds confer.

       This noonday they've had news of her;

       The south bank has had views of her;

       The thorn shall exact his dues of her;

       The willows adream

       By the freshet stream

       Shall ask what boon they choose of her.

      Up! up! The world's astir;

       The would-be green has word of her;

       Root and germ have heard of her,

       Coming to break

       Their sleep and wake

       Their hearts with every bird of her.

      See! see! How swift concur

       Sun, wind, and rain at the name of her,

       A-wondering what became of her;

       The fields flower at the flame of her;

       The glad air sings

       With dancing wings

       And the silvery shrill acclaim of her.

      Charles G. D. Roberts

      ALEXANDRA

       THE QUEEN MOTHER

HOW THE CRICKETS BROUGHT GOOD FORTUNE

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      My friend Jacques went into a baker's shop one day to buy a little cake which he had fancied in passing. He intended it for a child whose appetite was gone, and who could be coaxed to eat only by amusing him. He thought that such a pretty loaf might tempt even the sick. While he waited for his change, a little boy six or eight years old, in poor but perfectly clean clothes, entered the baker's shop.

      UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO

      "Ma'am," said he to the baker's wife, "Mother sent me for a loaf of bread." The woman took from the shelf a four-pound loaf, the best one she could find, and put it into the arms of the little boy.

      My friend Jacques then first observed the thin and thoughtful face of the little fellow. It contrasted strongly with the round, open countenance of the large loaf, of which he was taking the greatest care.

      "Have you any money?" said the baker's wife.

      The little boy's eyes grew sad.

      "No, ma'am," said he, hugging the loaf closer to his thin blouse; "but mother told me to say that she would come and speak to you about it to-morrow."

      "Run along," said the good woman; "carry your bread home, child."

      "Thank you, ma'am," said the poor little fellow.

      My friend Jacques came forward for his money. He had put his purchase into his pocket, and was about to go, when he found the child with the big loaf, whom he had supposed to be half-way home, standing stock-still behind him.

      "What are you doing there?" said the baker's wife to the child, whom she also had thought to be fairly off. "Don't you like the bread?"

      "Oh, yes, ma'am!" said the child.

      "Well, then, carry it to your mother, my little friend. If you wait any longer, she will think you are playing by the way, and you will get a scolding."

      The child did not seem to hear. Something else absorbed his attention.

      The baker's wife went up to him and gave him a friendly tap on the shoulder. "What are you thinking about?" said she.

      "Ma'am," said the little boy, "what is that that sings?"

      "There is no singing," said she.

      "Yes!" cried the little fellow. "Hear it! Queek, queek, queek, queek!"

      My friend and the woman both listened, but they could hear nothing, unless it was the song of the crickets, frequent guests in bakers houses.

      "It is a little bird," said the dear little fellow; "or perhaps the bread sings when it bakes, as apples do?"

      "No, indeed, little goosey!" said the baker's wife; "those are crickets. They sing in the bake-house because we are lighting the oven, and they like to see the fire."

      "Crickets!" said the child; "are they really crickets?"

      "Yes, to be sure," said she, good-humouredly. The child's face lighted up.

      "Ma'am," said he, blushing at the boldness of his request, "I would like it very much if you would give me a cricket."

      "A cricket," said the baker's wife, smiling; "what in the world would you do with a cricket, my little friend? I would gladly give you all there are in the house, to get rid of them, they run about so."

      "O, ma'am, give me one, only one, if you please!" said the child, clasping his little thin hands under the big loaf. "They say that crickets bring good luck into houses; and perhaps if we had one at home, mother, who has so much trouble, wouldn't cry any more."

      "Why does your poor mamma cry?" said my friend, who could no longer help joining in the conversation.

      "On account of her bills, sir," said the little fellow. "Father is dead, and mother works very hard, but she cannot pay them all."

      My friend took the child, and with him the large loaf, into his arms, and I really believe he kissed them both. Meanwhile the baker's wife, who did not dare to touch a cricket herself, had gone into the bake-house. She made her husband catch four, and put them into a box with holes in the cover, so that they might breathe. She gave the box to the child, who went away perfectly happy.

      When he had gone, the baker's wife and my friend gave each other a good squeeze of the hand. "Poor little fellow!" said they both together. Then she took down her account-book, and, finding the page where the mother's charges were written, made a great dash all down the page, and then wrote at the