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Five Minute Stories
Books by Laura E. Richards
STEPPING WESTWARD
This charming autobiography by the daughter of Julia Ward Howe and Samuel Gridley Howe is replete with amusing anecdotes and portraits, especially of famous literary figures of Boston. It epitomizes a long and useful life. Illustrated.
$3.00
FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE
The absorbing story of “The Angel of the Crimea” told by the daughter of the person most responsible for encouraging Miss Nightingale to become a nurse.
$1.75
JOAN OF ARC
The stirring life and pathetic death of Domremy’s girlish heroine, who once saved France and today inspires it.
$2.00
ELIZABETH FRY
The true story of Elizabeth Fry, the famous Quakeress, who through extraordinary zeal revolutionized the English prison system and was known as the “Angel of the Prisons.”
1.75
ABIGAIL ADAMS AND HER TIMES
A biography of the interesting and active wife of John Adams, based upon her own diaries and letters and contemporary records, and told in Mrs. Richard’s delightful style.
$2.00
LAURA BRIDGMAN
The famous American woman who though stricken blind and deaf led such a wonderfully rich and helpful life is the subject of this biography.
$2.00
SAMUEL GRIDLEY HOWE
Mrs. Richards is especially qualified to write the biography of her distinguished father. Woven into the biography is the account of the many friendships Dr. Howe formed through his amazing personality and his work. As a picture of a great man and his times, her book is warm, glowing and human. Illustrated.
$2.50
QUICKSILVER SUE
A charmingly told story for girls of impetuous, lovable Sue and steady Mary.
$1.50
MERRY-GO-ROUND
A delightful collection of rhymes, jingles, nonsense poems, and light and amusing narrative bits by the supreme American exponent in this field of verse for children. Illustrated,
$1.50
HARRY IN ENGLAND: Being the Partly-True Adventures of H. R. in the Year 1857.
A charming tale of a little American boy’s adventures during a visit to England. Delightfully illustrated by Reginald Birch.
$1.50
New York D. Appleton-Century Company London
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Books by Laura E. Richards.
“Mrs. Richards has made for herself a little niche apart in the literary world, from her delicate treatment of New England village life.”—Boston Post.
“SOME SAY,” and a companion story, “NEIGHBOURS IN CYRUS.” 16mo, 50 cents.
JIM OF HELLAS; or, IN DURANCE VILE, and a companion story, BETHESDA POOL. 16mo, 50 cents.
MARIE. 16mo, 50 cents.
“Seldom has Mrs. Richards drawn a more irresistible picture, or framed one with more artistic literary adjustment.”—Boston Herald.
“A perfect literary gem.”—Boston Transcript.
NARCISSA, and a companion story, IN VERONA. 16mo, cloth, 50 cents.
“Each is a simple, touching, sweet little story of rustic New England life, full of vivid pictures of interesting character, and refreshing for its unaffected genuineness and human feeling.”—Congregationalist.
“They are the most charming stories ever written of American country life.”—New York World.
MELODY. The story of a Child. 16mo, 50 cents.
“Had there never been a ‘Captain January,’ ‘Melody’ would easily take first place.”—Boston Times.
“The quaintly pretty, touching, old-fashioned story is told with perfect grace; the few persons who belong to it are touched in with distinctness and with sympathy.”—Milwaukee Sentinel.
SAME. Illustrated Holiday Edition. With thirty half-tone pictures from drawings by Frank T. Merrill. 4to, cloth, $1.25.
CAPTAIN JANUARY. 16mo, cloth, 50 cents.
A charming idyl of New England coast life, whose success has been very remarkable. One reads it, is thoroughly charmed by it, tells others, and so its fame has been heralded by its readers, until to-day it is selling by the thousands, constantly enlarging the circle of its delighted admirers.
SAME. Illustrated Holiday Edition. With thirty half-tone pictures from drawings by Frank T. Merrill. 4to, cloth, $1.25.
WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE. 4to, cloth, gilt top, $1.25.
The title most happily introduces the reader to the charming home-life of Dr. Howe and Mrs. Julia Ward Howe during the childhood of the author.
GLIMPSES OF THE FRENCH COURT. Sketches from French History. Illustrated with a series of portraits in etching and photogravure. Square 12mo, cloth, $1.50.
With true literary touch, she gives us the story of some of the salient figures of this remarkable period.
ISLA HERON. A charming prose idyl of quaint New England life. Small quarto, cloth, 75 cents.
NAUTILUS. A very interesting story, with illustrations; uniquely bound, small quarto, cloth, 75 cents.
FIVE MINUTE STORIES. A charming collection of short stories and clever poems for children.
Estes & Lauriat, Publishers, Boston.
FIVE MINUTE STORIES
BY
LAURA E. RICHARDS
Author of “Captain January,” “Melody,” “Narcissa,” “Marie,” “Nautilus,” Etc.
ILLUSTRATED BY
A. R. WHEELAN, E. B. BARRY
AND OTHERS.
BOSTON
ESTES AND LAURIAT
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1891, 1892, 1893, 1894, 1895,
By The Century Co.
Copyright, 1895.
By Estes and Lauriat
Colonial Press:
C. H. Simonds & Co. Boston, Mass., U.S.A.
TO
JOHN AND BETTY
[viii] [ix]
CONTENTS.
PAGEDedication
viiBetty
15Two Calls
16A New Year Song
19New Year
20A Lesson Song
24The Rubber Baby
26The Red, White and Blue
28Totty’s Christmas
29A Certain Boy
32The New Sister
33Buttercup Gold
35One Afternoon
42The Stove
43John’s Sister
44New Year Song
45What Was Her Name
46A Lesson Song
49The Patient Cat
52Mathematics
53By the Fading Light
55Tobogganing Song
58Song of the Tilt
59The Lazy Robin
60The Boy’s Manners
62Merry Christmas
66Rinktum
67In the Tunnel
69Practising Song
71Queen Elizabeth’s Dance
72A Storming Party
74At the Little Boy’s Home
75Then and Now
76Pleasant Walk
78A Great Day
80A Pastoral
82Riches
84Poverty
85The Best of All
87A Study Hour
89The Young Ladies
90The Weathercock
92Ichthyology
93A Happy Morning
98Lilies and Cat-Tails
99The Metals
104The Howlery Growlery Room
109The Speckled Hen
113The Money Shop
116A Long Afternoon
121The Jacket
122The Fireworks
124Jingle
126See-Saw
127Nancy’s Nightmare
129Amy’s Valentine
131Once Upon a Time
133The Pathetic Ballad of Clarinthia Jane Louisa
134A Day in the Country
135Goosey Lucy
136Goosey Lucy’s New Year’s Calls
139Three Little Birds
142The Quacky Duck
143New Year Thoughts
144Nonsense
145The Singular Chicken
147The Clever Parson
148The Purple Fish
155Mr. Somebody
157A Christmas Ride
159A Funny Fellow
161Woffsky-Poffsky
162April and the Children
163The Snowball
165A Great Fight
168Hallelujah!
171Lullaby
172Merry Christmas
173The Little Dog with the Green Tail
175Naughty
180Hard Times
180On the Steeple
183Naughty Billy
184A Lad
184Saint Valentine’s House
185The Gentleman
187A Leap Year Boy
190King Pippin
193The Story of the Crimson Crab
194Mother’s Riddle
196King John
197The Spotty Cow
198The Button Pie
199The Inquisitive Ducks
200Queen Matilda
202The Two-Shoes Chair
203Ethelred the Unready
205Poor Bonny
205The Husking of the Corn
209The Clever Cheese-Maker
211The Spelling Lesson
214The Person who Did Not Like Cats
216FIVE MINUTE STORIES.
From wooden teapot poured for me,
The poor gentleman had been holding a cannon-cracker, which he was going to fire just when Papa gave the signal for sending off the Rubber Baby. In the excitement of the moment he forgot the cannon-cracker, and it went off in his hand, and burnt him quite badly.
She went and stood on the top doorstep, which was very near the street. Pretty soon the trumpets began to sound and the drums to beat, first far away, then nearer and nearer. At last the procession came round the corner. First the drum-major, with his huge bearskin cap, tossing his great gilded stick about; then came the musicians, puffing away with might and main at their great brass horns and trumpets, and banging away at their drums and kettle-drums. It was a splendid noise; but they were really playing a tune, the “Red, White and Blue.”
As the feathery flakes did fly!
Untangles your line?
Only answered, “Work!”
The young girl, in delight, took the lovely blossoms, rosy and purple, golden and white, and twined them in her fair locks, and hung them in garlands round her white neck; and still they were opening by thousands, till the pine-tree hollow was filled with them.
“Now,” she said to herself, “if I were to wait only a few days longer, they would grow fat. Thin birds may be good, but fat birds are much better. I will wait!”
In masticating pause?
Bell shut the book, of course; but a cloud came over her pleasant face, and two little cross sticks began beating a tattoo on her heart.
And away o’er the glittering plain!
Out and away to the open sea.
But some one else did see Master Pecky! Richard Whittington, the great gray cat, had come out to get his breakfast, too, and he saw the lazy robin sitting still in the middle of the lawn with his eyes shut.
[A] This last line is not true, little girls; but it is hard, you know, to find good reasons for practising.
Then Ned called for volunteers to storm the castle, and we all ran to the ladder; but Ned climbed up the spout, ’cause he can shin like sixty, and he got up before we did. He took the warder by the throat, just like the Bold Buccleugh in “Kinmont Willie,” and chucked him right off the roo—ramparts into the gore. That made Montrose mad as a hornet, and he rushed on Ned, and they got each other round the waist, and went all over the roof, till at last they got too near the edge, and over they both went. Billy was scared at that and stopped drumming, but I drew my mangonel (Susie says that isn’t the right name, but I don’t believe she knows) and rushed on the Scottish troops, which were only Jimmy Weaver, now that Montrose and the warder were gone. I got Jimmy down, and put my knee on his chest and shouted, “Victory! the day is ours! Saint George for England!”
“Oh, I—can’t!” said the little boy. “I’m—too—hot!”
“Hush! hush!” whispered Miss Sophia, dragging her along, “you will only enrage the creature by speaking aloud. I will save you, dear, if I can! See! we are getting near the fence. Can’t you walk a little faster?”
“Bobby, what do you mean?” asked Miss Mary, looking at him severely. “You are very rude to interrupt me. What do you mean by ‘seven?’”
The child was about Mabel’s age, but her face wore a very different expression. She had pushed her chair back, and was crying out that she would not eat cold chicken. She wouldn’t, she wouldn’t, she wouldn’t! so there now! The nurse might just as well take it away, and she was a horrid cross old thing! Mamma was going to have partridge for dinner, and she wanted some of that, and she would have it.
“I don’t want roses!” said the poor little girl, sighing wearily. “I am tired of roses. I want buttercups!”
But the Little Boy woke up at six o’clock, and jumped up like a lark, and got his torpedoes and firecrackers, and was very cheerful, though he did sigh just once when he thought of the big boys. He turned the gravel-sweep into a battle-field, and made forts and mines for the firecrackers, and then he cracked and snapped and fizzed and blazed—at least the firecrackers did—all the morning. He only burned his fingers twice and his trousers five times, and that was doing very well. He had a glorious day; and his mother thought—but neither the Little Boy nor the Big Boy agreed with her—that the best part of all was the good night’s sleep beforehand.
Early fought and late, too;
“Hush, you rude creature!” whispered Alida, giving Jack a little push. Clare is quite sure that Alida only meant the push as a gentle rebuke to Jack, and a warning to keep quiet, and not let his angry passions rise; but Clare always stands up for Alida. However it was, Jack tottered, staggered forward, and fell against Mr. Punchinello, knocking that smiling gentleman over on the table, and upsetting the teapot all over Rosalie Urania’s pink silk gown. Such a confusion as arose then! Rosalie fainted, of course. Jack picked himself up, and looked black as thunder. Alida shut her eyes, and kept them shut (she said it was from horror, but it may have been because Betty forgot to pull the opening string), but Clare and Mr. Punchinello did nothing but smile, which was a proof of their exquisite breeding.
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“This is too much!” she said. “This is more than I can bear. Tell the shopkeeper that he must get some one else to mind his eggs, for a barnyard where the eggs hatch into rabbits is no place for me.”
“And that,” cried the third old gentleman, while a third gold piece clinked on the other two, “to buy a plum-pudding with.”
Will ran up, and his mother ran down. She was gone an hour, but he did not think it was more than ten minutes, for he and baby were having a great time, playing that the big woolly ball was a tiger, and that they were elephants chasing it through the jungle.
“Now, little one,” said the tall man, “you have seen all there is to see.” And he made a motion to put her down; but the little girl clung tight to his neck.
Down went the valentines in Mamma’s lap, and off flew the excited child again. But this time, when she opened the door, no sound escaped her lips. Her feelings were too deep for utterance.
Now Pet was only listening with one ear, and so she only heard the first half of what Mamma said: “I want you to take this syrup.” That was what she heard.
The third flew down between them,
So the frog, being also willing, strove to remove himself, and the result was that they two, being on the edge of the bank, fell into the water. Then the frog departed swiftly, saying, “Solitude is best for meditation.”
Oh, that’s the best in life.
[154]
[155]
So the sea-gulls flew away with Elsie, and brought her safely home. She kissed them and thanked them.
We have a good many fish,—three stickle-backs, and a lot of dace, the pretty silver dace, and some minnows and a crayfish; but the pride of the aquarium is the newt. Did you ever see a newt? He is a little creature, like a lizard, about two inches long; in color, light brown, with black spots. He is quite tame, and not in the least afraid of us. Well, yesterday morning I was watching the fish, and seeing that the greedy ones did not get more than their share of breakfast, when Master Newt came up out of the water and seated himself on the top of the rock-work, which projects an inch or two above the surface. He sat quite still for a few minutes, and I made no motion, thinking he had come to take a look at the upper world, and would prefer to be left to himself. Presently he began to move his little paws about (they are just like tiny hands, with long, thin fingers), and to rub himself, and wriggle about in a very queer way. I had watched him for some minutes before I realized what he was doing, but suddenly it flashed upon me that he was going to change his skin. I knew that newts often changed their skin, but I never expected to see one do it. Presently it was loose enough, and my little friend began to draw it off, slowly, beginning with the paws. The skin came off in perfect shape, and in a moment there was a pair of fairy gloves floating in the water, the prettiest things that ever were seen. Next, Master Newt began to unbutton his waistcoat, so to speak, and then to take off coat, waistcoat, breeches and all. He did look very fine in his new coat, which shone with lovely colours, and was as soft and smooth as gossamer. I thought I should like to have a new dress every day if I could manage it with no more trouble than this. But what was he going to do with his old clothes? There were no closets in the aquarium, no clothes-bags, no obliging old-clothes-fish who would take it off his hands and give him a trifle for it. What would he do with the old suit?
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He looked up and saw a little wee girl standing before him, with her hands full of flowers. She had a round, rosy face and round blue eyes, and a little round rosebud of a mouth; and she was looking at him very seriously indeed. “Didn’t they give you any flowers?” she repeated.
NAUGHTY.
I took the sugar-tongs, and tried
To curl my doggie’s hair;
I heated them until they burned,
Which filled him with despair.
The sugar-tongs were spoiled,
And the hair would not curl,
And now I’m sent to bed,
An unhappy little girl.
“As if you could have found anything I should have liked better!” cried Edith. “Such beauties, too! Why, you must have picked out every single nut, Fred Brown!”
NAUGHTY BILLY.
Billy put the puppy-dog
In the water-pail;
Billy tied the toasting-fork
To the kitten’s tail.
Puppy bit his naughty legs,
Kitty scratched his nose.
Somebody is screaming now,
Who, do you suppose?
As fast as her legs could go.
With one thrust he sent the Eldest Frog sprawling on the floor. Then, while all the company looked on aghast, he caught the Crimson Crab in his arms, and hailed her as his bride. “This villain lay in wait for me,” he cried, “and captured me unawares the very night when last I saw thee, my own. For weeks I have lain fast bound, hand and foot, in a dungeon deep under the mud. To-day I was set free by a faithful Horned Pout, whom I had formerly befriended. Fly with me, my bright, my beautiful! My home among the reeds is lowly, but love will make it rich. Away! away!” He seized the slender claw of the Crimson Crab; and before her father could prevent it, the two had leaped from the leaf, and were scuttling swiftly through the clear water.
To think of the thing he had done.
Whatever they may do.
Oh, then, what a clamour arose! The other ducks had hastened to follow his example, and now they were all screaming and sputtering and flapping their wings in a way that was dreadful to hear. The poor mother woke up in a fright; Greta and all the children came rushing in, followed by the dog; finally the father came, armed with a heavy stick, and the terrified ducks were driven out of doors, where they sat, shivering, on the doorstep, declaring that they would never eat or drink anything again.
ETHELRED THE UNREADY.
Ethelred Unready,
He would not go to beddy.
Sat up all night,
Till his nurse died of fright,
With a nightcap over his heady.
[xii] [xiii] [xiv]
FIVE MINUTE STORIES.
BETTY.
When I sit and hold her little hand,
My Betty,
Then all the little troubles seem to shrink,
Grow small and petty.
It does not matter any more
That ink is spilt on parlor floor,
That gown is caught upon the latch,
And not the smallest bit to match,
That cook is going, housemaid gone,
And coming guests to meet alone;
It matters not at all, you see,
For I have Betty, and Betty has me.
When I sit and hold her little hand,
My Betty,
Then all the simple, foolish baby talk
Grows wise and witty.
I’m glad to know that Pussy Mow
Was frightened at the wooden cow,
I weep for Dolly’s broken head,
And for the sawdust she has shed;
I take with joy the cups of tea
From wooden teapot poured for me,
And all goes well, because, you see,
I play with Betty, and Betty with me.
When I walk and hold her little hand,
My Betty,
Then every humble weed beside the way
Grows proud and pretty.
The clover never was so red,
Their purest white the daisies spread,
The buttercups begin to dance,
The reeds salute with lifted lance,
The very tallest trees we pass
Bend down to greet my little lass;
And these things make my joy, you see,
For I love Betty, and Betty loves me!
TWO CALLS.
Beau Philip and Beau Bobby stood side by side on the doorstep of their father’s house. They were brothers, though you would hardly have thought it, for one was very big and one was very little.
Beau Philip was tall and slender, with handsome dark eyes, and a silky brown moustache which he was fond of curling at the ends. He wore a well-fitting overcoat, and a tall hat and pearl-gray kid gloves.
Beau Bobby was short and chubby, and ten years old, with blue eyes and yellow curls (not long ones, but funny little croppy locks that would curl, no matter how short he kept them). He wore a pea-jacket, and red leggings and red mittens.
There was one thing, however, about the two brothers that was just the same. Each carried in his hand a great red rose, lovely and fragrant, with crimson leaves and a golden heart.
“Where are you going with your rose, Beau Bobby?” asked Beau Philip.
“I am going to make a New Year’s call,” replied Beau Bobby.
“So am I,” said Beau Philip, laughing. “We may meet again. Good-by, little Beau!”
“Good-by, big Beau!” said Bobby, seriously, and they walked off in different directions.
Beau Philip went to call on a beautiful young lady, to whom he wished to give his rose; but so many other people were calling on her at the same time that he could only say “good-morning!” to her, and then stand in a corner, pulling his moustache and wishing that the others would go. There were so many roses in the room, bowls and vases and jars of them, that he thought she would not care for his single blossom, so he put it in his buttonhole; but it gave him no pleasure whatever.
Beau Bobby trotted away on his short legs till he came to a poor street, full of tumble-down cottages.
He stopped before one of them and knocked at the door. It was opened by a motherly looking Irish woman, who looked as if she had just left the washtub, as, indeed, she had.
“Save us!” she cried, “is it yersilf, Master Bobby? Come in, me jewel, and warm yersilf by the fire! It’s mortal cowld the day.”
“Oh, I’m not cold, thank you!” said Bobby. “But I will come in. Would you—would you like a rose, Mrs. Flanagan? I have brought this rose for you. And I wish you a Happy New Year. And thank you for washing my shirts so nicely.”
This was a long speech for Beau Bobby, who was apt to be rather silent; but it had a wonderful effect on Mrs. Flanagan. She grew very red as she took the rose, and the tears came into her eyes.
“Ye little angil!” she said, wiping her eyes with her apron. “Look at the lovely rose! For me, is it? And who sint ye wid it, honey?”
“Nobody!” said Bobby. “I brought it myself. It was my rose. You see,” he said, drawing his stool up to the little stove, “I heard you say, yesterday, Mrs. Flanagan, when you brought my shirts home, that you had never had a New Year’s call in your life; so I thought I would make you one to-day, you see. Happy New Year!”
“Happy New Year to yersilf, me sweet jewel!” cried good Mrs. Flanagan. “And blessings go wid every day of it, for your kind heart and your sweet face. I had a sore spot in my heart this day, Master Bobby, bein’ so far from my own people; but it’s you have taken it away this minute, wid yer sweet rose and yer bright smile. See now, till I put it in my best chiny taypot. Ain’t that lovely, now?”
“Isn’t it!” cried Beau Bobby. “And it makes the whole room sweet. I am enjoying my call very much, Mrs. Flanagan; aren’t you?”
“That I am!” said Mrs. Flanagan. “With all my heart!”
