Boys and Girls Bookshelf; a Practical Plan of Character Building, Volume I (of 17) Fun and Thought for Little Folk

A cumulative song, “The Fox,” tells of a hungry fox who steals a gray goose and a duck from a farmer’s yard, hurries home past John blowing his horn on the hill, and shares the feast with his wife and ten little foxes. “Three Companions” offers a tender picture of a baby, an old dog, and the narrator walking together under any sky. A humorous poem, “’Fraid Cat!,” imagines cats fleeing a movie theatre at the sight of a dog policeman on the screen. Mary Howitt’s famous cautionary tale, “The Spider and the Fly,” plays out its familiar warning: the spider’s flatteries—his winding stair, his little bed, his pantry, his mirror—draw the foolish fly at last into his den.

The chapter closes with a sprightly collection of “Everyday Verses,” painting small portraits of childhood: a little gentleman who picks up dropped things for his mother and earns a kiss; reminders of umbrellas, recess, and after-school play; Monday’s lessons studied on Friday; the clamor of children answering the dinner bell; a domestic tragedy about a ruined doll; a goose girl wandering the dales in sweet June weather; and a thirsty-flower poem in which a child with a watering-pot imagines the blooms saying “We thank you, Sir.”

VIII

The chapter opens with a cascade of small verses that sketch the textures of a child’s day: a rhyme reminding young ones to share pennies with those who have none, a tribute to the marvels stuffed inside pockets, and the universal complaint that hunger makes minutes crawl. There is a satirical wish that more authors might become cooks, followed by Lucy Fitch Perkins’s charming “Diplomacy,” in which the speaker is drawn toward a widow’s plum tree, and her dreamy “If I Were Queen,” where velvet chairs, satin gowns, and a kneeling knight are balanced by a page kept nearby to soothe the inevitable stomach-ache. Her “Thoughts in Church” follows a mischievous young Yankee whose mind wanders to far-off lands and whose missionary zeal would have him knock down heathen idols, all sung to the cadence of familiar hymns.

The week itself becomes a celebration in verse. “This Is the Way” walks through Monday’s washing, Tuesday’s ironing, Wednesday’s shoe-mending, and so on through Sunday’s churchgoing. Traditional rhymes assign personalities to each day’s child, the washing-day ditty ridicules the lazy Saturday laundress, and Solomon Grundy lives his entire life in a single week. Baby’s Play Days and a chain of polite “Visiting” verses spin the days into social play. A longer narrative, “Little Tommy’s Monday Morning” by Tudor Jenks, traces Tommy’s clever attempt to invent a “Weakness” so he can skip school and avoid the lessons he neglected over the weekend. His mother sees through him, sending him to his father, and Tommy is cured of his invention when he is forced to hunt for his hidden books and ends up late for school regardless. The poetic “diagnosis” names the malady the dreaded “Idon’twantto,” and prescribes the charm “Butyou’vegotto” as its cure. A second long poem, Henry Johnstone’s “St. Saturday,” invents a saintly patron of leisure who loved an elbow-chair and village children, and was rewarded with a weekly holiday in his honor.

Number rhymes follow, with Olive A. Wadsworth’s “Over in the Meadow” leading a procession of animal families—one toad blinking, two fish swimming, three bluebirds singing, all the way to twelve wise ants toiling—each responding to its mother’s command. Counting apple-seeds becomes a love charm, while ten little rabbits form a line, ten firecrackers dwindle one by one through misadventure in July, and ten little cookies vanish between Grandma, Betty, the butcher boy, and the hen. Elizabeth Prentiss’s “Long Time Ago” recounts a white kitty who hunted a tiny mouse but lost her grip, and the classic “Buckle My Shoe” rattles through to a hungry stomach.

The chapter then turns to “Stories for Little Girls.” In H. G. Duryee’s “A Pair of Gloves,” Clarabel’s friendship with Josephine nearly collapses when Clarabel receives beautiful brown kid gloves from her Aunt Bessie and begins to look down on Josephine’s red mittens. The quarrel echoes through a long day of silent sides and lonely arithmetic until Josephine tiptoes back into the empty schoolroom at last and shares a seat, a slate, and a smile with her friend. The two part wearing one mitten and one glove apiece, balanced and laughing.

“A Very Little Story of a Very Little Girl” follows Molly, who is so small she can barely host a party of her own. Asked to come home at five minutes past three, she repeats the words faithfully but transposes them, arriving at the perfect surprise party long after the ice cream has been waiting. “Edith’s Tea-Party” shows another well-meaning child whose painstaking invitation so badly misspells “Tuesday” that it reads “Thursday,” leaving Helen home while Edith waits under the trees. Eleanor Piatt’s “Rebecca” turns a beloved doll into a small demanding charge who suffers chills and requires the doctor, and Eunice Ward’s “Dorothea’s School Gifts” answers Dorothea’s complaint that heroes of European voyages and graduations receive presents while schoolchildren suffer alone. On the first day of school, she discovers a ruffle-wearing alarm clock from Jim, blue-bordered handkerchiefs from Cousin Edith, a pearl-handled penknife from her future brother-in-law, a silver eraser from Florence, blotters from Anita, and a brand-new leather satchel waiting on the hat-rack, transforming dread into delight. The chapter closes with Bolton Hall’s “The Lost Money,” a small cautionary tale in which Doris trades her five-dollar bill for a paint-box that will not paint, balloons that wilt overnight, and candy that cannot be eaten, learning with her mother’s gentle help that a wasted dollar need not mean wasted tears.