The chill November day was done,
The working world home faring;

The wind came rushing through the streets,
And set the gaslights flaring;

And cheerlessly and aimlessly
The autumn leaves were flying,
'By Eliza Turner.

When, mingled with the roaring wind,
I heard a small voice crying.

There, shivering on the corner, stood
A child of four, or over;

No cloak nor hat her slender arms
And wind-blown curls to cover.

Her dimpled face was stained with tears,
Her round blue eyes ran over;
She held within her wee, cold hand

A bunch of faded clover.

She grasped her treasure in one hand
And slipped in mine the other;
Then, bashfully and scared, she said,
"Oh, please! I want my mother."
"Tell me your street and number, pet,"
I said, "I'll take you to it."
Sobbing, she answered, "I forget.
The organ made me do it.

"He came and played at our doorstep,

The monkey took the money;
I followed down the street because

That monkey was so funny.

I've walked about a hundred hours

From one street to another;

The monkey's gone; I've spoiled my flowers ;

And now I want my mother."

"But what's your mother's name? and what

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The street? Now think a minute."

My mother's name is Mother Dear;

The street — I can't begin it.”

The sky grew stormy; people passed
All muffled, homeward faring.
"You'll have to spend the night with me,"
I said at last, despairing.

I tied my kerchief round her neck,
"What ribbon's this, my blossom?"
"Why, don't you know?" she, smiling, said,
And drew it from her bosom.

A card with number, street, and name!
My eyes astonished, met it;
"For," said the little one, "you see
I might sometime forget it.

And so I wear a little thing
That tells you all about it;
For mother says she's very sure

I should get lost without it."

EXPRESSION: Study this mark (-). Ask the teacher how it may help you to read with expression.

THE WISHING-GATE1

I

Blunder was going to the Wishing-Gate to wish for something. He thought that he would like to have a pair of ponies and a little coach like Tom Thumb's.

People say that you can have your wish if you once get to that gate. But the thing is to find it.

It is not a gate with a sign at the top like this:

WISHING-GATE

of old stiles in meadows, and how are you to know which is the right one?

Blunder's fairy godmother knew, but then she could not tell him. She could only direct him to follow the road, and ask the way of the first owl he met.

Over and over again she charged him; for Blunder was a very careless little boy, and seldom found anything. "Be sure you don't miss him - be sure you don't pass him by."

"No, indeed, I wont," said Blunder.

So he followed the straight

road till he came to a place where it forked. And there he stopped, wondering which way to go.

An old brown owl was nodding in a tall oak tree, the first owl Blunder had seen.

He was a little afraid to wake

him up. The fairy godmother had told

him that the owl sat up all night to study frogs.

He could think of nothing better to say than, "Good Mr. Owl, will you please show me the way to the Wishing-Gate?"

"What's that?" cried the owl, starting out of his "Have you brought me a frog?"

nap.