If I'm not so large as you, I'll not deny you make A very pretty squirrel track. Talents differ; all is well and wisely put; If I cannot carry forests on my back, Neither can you crack a nut." THE CRICKET WILLIAM COWPER LITTLE inmate, full of mirth, Chirping on my kitchen hearth, Wheresoe'er be thine abode, Always harbinger of good, Pay me for thy warm retreat Neither night nor dawn of day Sing, then, and extend thy span Far beyond the date of man. Wretched man, whose years are spent In repining discontent, Lives not, aged though he be, Half a span compared with thee. HOW THE CRICKETS BROUGHT GOOD FORTUNE MY P. J. STAHL Y 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. 66 Ma'am," said he to the baker's wife, "mother sent me for a loaf of bread." The woman climbed upon the counter (this happened in a country town,) took from the shelf of four-pound loaves 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 great 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; bread home, child.” 66 carry your "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 halfway home, standing stock still behind him. "What are you doing there?" said the baker's wife to the child, whom she also thought to be fairly off. you like the bread?" "Oh, yes, ma'am," said the child. "Don't "Well, then, carry it home 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. absorbed his attention. Something else 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 it that sings?" "There is no singing," said she. "Yes!" cried the little fellow. queek, queek, queek !” "Hear it! 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 bakehouse because we are lighting the oven, and they like to see the fire." "Crickets!" said the child; 66 are they really crickets?" "Yes, to be sure," she said good-humoredly. 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 maʼam, give me one, only one, if you please!” said the child, clasping his little thin hands under the big loaf. 66 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." |