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قراءة كتاب Our Boys Entertaining Stories by Popular Authors
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"
garlands and boughs and sprays of holly berries, and branches of wax lights Were gleaming brightly amongst them. The altar and the picture of the Blessed Child behind it were so bright as to almost dazzle one; and right up in the midst of it, in a lovely white dress, all wreaths and jewels, in a little chair with a canopy woven of green branches over it, sat Peter's little sister.
And there were all the Christmas Monks in their white robes and wreaths, going up in a long procession, with their hands full of the very showiest Christmas presents to offer them to her!
But when they reached her and held out the lovely presents—the first was an enchanting wax doll, the biggest beauty in the whole garden—instead of reaching out her hands for them, she just drew back, and said in her little sweet, piping voice: "Please, I ain't a millacle, I'm only Peter's little sister."
"Peter?" said the abbot; "the Peter who works in our garden?"
"Yes," said the little sister.
Now here was a fine opportunity for a whole convent full of monks to look foolish—filing up in procession with their hands full of gifts to offer to a miracle, and finding there was no miracle, but only Peter's little sister.
But the abbot of the Christmas Monks had always maintained that there were two ways of looking at all things; if any object was not what you wanted it to be in one light, that there was another light in which it would be sure to meet your views.
So now he brought this philosophy to bear.
"This little girl did not come up in the place of the wax doll, and she is not a miracle in that light," said he; "but look at her in another light and she is a miracle—do you not see?"
They all looked at her, the darling little girl, the very meaning and sweetness of all Christmas in her loving, trusting, innocent face.
"Yes," said all the Christmas Monks, "she is a miracle." And they all laid their beautiful Christmas presents down before her.
Peter was so delighted he hardly knew himself; and, oh! the joy there was when he led his little sister home on Christmas-day, and showed all the wonderful presents.
The Christmas Monks always retained Peter in their employ—in fact he is in their employ to this day. And his parents, and his little sister who was entirely cured of her lameness, have never wanted for anything.
As for the Prince, the courtiers were never tired of discussing and admiring his wonderful knowledge of physics which led to his adjusting the weight of the hamper of Christmas presents to his own so nicely that he could not fall. The Prince liked the talk and the admiration well enough, but he could not help, also, being a little glum; for he got no Christmas presents that year.
TEDDY AND THE ECHO.
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eddy is out upon the lake;
His oars a softened click-clack make;
On all that water bright and blue,
His boat is the only one in view;
So, when he hears another oar
Click-clack along the farthest shore,
"Heigh-ho," he cries, "out for a row!
Echo is out! heigh-ho—heigh-ho!"
"Heigh-ho, heigh-ho!"
Sounds from the distance, faint and low.
Then Teddy whistles that he may hear
Her answering whistle, soft and clear;
Out of the greenwood, leafy, mute,
Pipes her mimicking, silver flute,
And, though her mellow measures are
Always behind him half a bar,
'Tis sweet to hear her falter so;
And Ted calls back, "Bravo, bravo!"
"Bravo, bravo!"
Comes from the distance, faint and low.
She laughs at trifles loud and long;
Splashes the water, sings a song;
Tells him everything she is told,
Saucy or tender, rough or bold;
One might think from the merry noise
That the quiet wood was full of boys,
Till Ted, grown tired, cries out, "Oh, no!
'Tis dinner time and I must go!"
"Must go? must go?"
Sighs from the distance, sad and low.
When Ted and his clatter are away,
Where does the little Echo stay?
Perched on a rock to watch for him?
Or keeping a lookout from some limb?
If he were to push his boat to land,
Would he find her footprint on the sand?
Or would she come to his blithe "hello,"
Red as a rose, or white as snow?
Ah no, ah no!
Never can Teddy see Echo!
SONG OF THE CHRISTMAS STOCKINGS.
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ix merry stockings in the firelight,
Hanging by the chimney snug and tight:
Jolly, jolly red,
That belongs to Ted;
Daintiest blue,
That belongs to Sue;
Old brown fellow
Hanging long,
That belongs to Joe,
Big and strong;
Little, wee, pink mite
Covers Baby's toes—
Won't she pull it open
With funny little crows!
Sober, dark gray,
Quiet little mouse,
That belongs to Sybil
Of all the house;
One stocking left,
Whose should it be?
Why, that I'm sure
Must belong to me!
Well, so they hang, packed to the brim,
Swing, swing, swing, in the firelight dim.
'Twas the middle of the night.
Open flew my eyes;
I started up in bed,
And stared in surprise;
I rubbed my eyes, I rubbed my ears,
I saw the stockings swing, I heard the stockings sing;
Out in the firelight
Merry and bright,
Snug and tight,
Six were swinging,
Six were singing,
Like everything!
And the red, and the blue, and the brown, and the gray,
And the pink one, and mine, had it all their own way,
And no one could stop them—because, don't you see,
Nobody heard 'em—but just poor me!
"All day we carry toes,
To-night we carry candy;
Christmas comes once a year
Very nice and handy.
Run, run, race all day,
Mother mends us after play,
We don't care, life is gay,
Sing and swing, away, away!
"Boots and little tired shoes,
We kick 'em off in glee;
It's fun to hang up here
And Santa Claus to see.
Run, run, race all day,
Mother mends us after play,
We don't care, life is gay,
Sing and swing, away, away!
"To-morrow down we come,
The sweet things tumble out,
Then carrying toes again
We'll have to trot