UF00085601_00001.pdf

UF00085601_00001.txt

00006.txt

00002.txt

00007.txt

00012.txt

00020.txt

00011.txt

00010.txt

00019.txt

00008.txt

00016.txt

00005.txt

00017.txt

00018.txt

00004.txt

UF00085601_00001_pdf.txt

00009.txt

00013.txt

00001.txt

00014.txt

00015.txt

00003.txt

F. M. LUPTON PUBLISHING Co.
NEW YORK. led





The Baldwin Library



University
Kin
Florida







‘A PICTURE AND STORY BOOK

FOR YOUNG READERS



| NEW YORK
F. M. LUPTON PUBLISHING COMPANY











ime Gor ee



gop?









POLLY WHITE.



POLLY WHITE:

A TRUE STORY.

Iam going to tell you a little story, and it is just









as true as it can be. It is about a hen, There were
twenty hens in. Mr. Penny’s yard, and some were
: white, and some were black, and some were gray.
This Sone was white, and her name was Polly.
One day Mrs. Penny said to the girl in the-
kitchen, ‘ Nancy, you may put those duck’s eggs
under Polly White and cover her up with a
basket.” Polly was very young, and had never

sat on any eggs before. She thought it would

be good fun ; but when the basket was put

over her she felt as if she should fly. It was
not nice to be shut up in the dark. And then
she did get so tired! It takes only three weeks to hatch chickens, but it was four
weeks before Polly’s ducklings came “out of the shell. And when they came
out, how funny they looked! They-were very large and yellow, with round bills
and very qnice feet, and when they tried to walk they waddled. Polly had never
seen any ducklings before, and I suppose she thought these creatures were

: chickens.. They did not look like other -chickens, to be



sure, but she thought they were all the nicer for
that. Mamie Penny came cue laughing, and set a
pan of cornmeal dough near the back door. Polly was
_ very hungry, but -she would not touch one mouth-—

ful until she had called her little ones to breakfast.



POLLY WHITE.



There were stile of them, and they dipped in their round bills like spoons... After
breakfast they rolled up their eyes, and what do you suppose they were thinking
about? They were thinking how much they wanted to swim. Wasn't it strange ?P
How did they know anything about swimming? They had never seen any water;
they had only seen ne blue pump in the yard. But they made up their little
minds that they would go and find some water. Now there was a pond behind

the barn, not very far off. Nobody told them it was there, but they ran that way



as fast as they could waddle. Their mother ran after and tried to stop them, but
the moment they saw the water those- ducklings jumped right in! Poor Polly!
How frightened she was! How she flapped her wings and clucked! She thought
they were crazy, and she was sure they would drown. But no, they struck out
their little feet, and began to swim. It was a pretty sight. They held -up their
heads and looked very gay. Polly did not know what to think of this, but when.
she found it did not hurt them at all she was Set proud, and liked it as well as

they did. After this they came to the pond every day, and she came with them.



\

POLLY WHITE.





She thought there never was such a bright
family as hers. They were brighter than
their mother; and Polly was ashamed be-
cause she could not swim. Well, the next
summer * came, and Polly sat on some hen’s
eggs, just as the other hens did, and of
course she hatched. chickens instead of duck-
lings. She took them down to the pond the
very first thing. Wasn’t it queer that she



should remember about it? But they would
not go into the water. She clucked and scolded and almost pushed them in, but
it was of no use; they couldn’t swim and they wouldn’t try. Polly was very
angry. Such bad chickens! Why, they were worse than none, she thought, and

she would not be their mother another minute.

You will laugh, but Polly turned and went home. The chickens followed, but
she drove them back. They peeped, and she pecked them with hee bill. They
were hungry, ‘but she gave them no dinner or supper. When night came
she would EL: take them under her wing, but went to roost with some
other hens on a _ pole in ce
barn. The poor little chickens
felt sorry, but she never, never
forgave them for not learning to
swim! And so they had to grow
up without any mother. Don't
you think this is a droll story?
And -wasn’t Polly very bright

for a hen, with a head not as



big as a walnut?







































































































































































































































































































































“THE STORY OF THE WICKED HIPPOPOTAMUS.

I have no great love for

a crocodile, and none for a
hippopotamus. But I like
to see justice done in all
cases, and I will leave it to
the youngest of my readers

to say whether the crocodile



was not justified in wreaking
dire vengeance on one who had tried to exterminate an
entire household, even of crocodiles. It was in this wise:
The mother crocodile had buried her eggs in the sand, and
then gone to enjoy a plunge in the river near by. While
she was disportingin the water, and thinking of her little
family that was to : Se
be, along came a
wicked young hippo- :
potamus to the place Mi
where the eggs were
buried in the hot
sand. “Ah, ha,” said
the unwieldy hippo-



- potamus, “crocodile

e



eggs, eh! Now I'll have some fun while the mother isn’t

at hand to interfere.”

Then he dug up the eggs and broke them open. But _

-he was too late. The warm. sun had done its work, and

seven little crocodiles crawled out into life and began to

look around them. The huge beast was astonished; this











was not what he had expected, But, having destroyed the
eggs, he was determined to get rid of the brood which had
thus suddenly come to view. One he soon caught and
crushed to death. But infant crocodiles are nimble, and
each little fellow began to make towards the river, instinct

telling them that there was safety.



And speedy help was near also. The mother, scenting
danger in the air, or else alarmed by the appearance of the
hippopotamus so close to her home, hurried to the rescue
of her children. Unseen and unheard she hastens to the
spot. All unconscious of her quick approach, the hippo-
potamus is enjoying his deadly work. He laughs aloud
and riots in his mischief. But it is his last laugh, and never-
more will he invade the precincts of a crocodile’s haunt.
There is a singing in the air, like the coming of the dread
sirocco. No power on earth can avert the doom of the
hippopotamus. A shadow falls upon the scene. It is the
uplifted tail of the wrathful crocodile, as with one mighty
sweep she lifts the huge hippopotamus into the air, and lands
him on the very top of one of Egypt’s largest pyramids.

a



ees
ol







YOUNG ARTISTS.

These wee ones are artists. Joan has just drawn some trees. Dorothy
says they look like mops, and are lying down flat. on each side of the paper.
The other picture, by Dorothy, represents Joan herself; but the likeness isnot —~
a good one, and the hands and feet are too expressive. After the children had
wandered away into the garden to have a good time, I took both drawings
and here they are for you.to look at. Each of them requires a good deal of
explaining, but the artists are young yet, and after a while they will do better.
Perhaps some of my little readers will say there is room for improvement.



LITTLE SAMBO AND THE BUTTERMILK PAIL. — THE BUTTERMILK PAIL AND LITTLE SAMBO.









THREE YEARS OLD.

THE LITTLE MOTHER.

“Ou, hush, my baby, hushaby!”

Croons Ethel, in the sunset glow.’

Close to her dimpled shoulder pressed,

She soothes her dolly into rest, .
Soft rocking to and fro.

~ The restless. little: feet “are still;
Grave now, and sweet, the laughing eyes;
All motherly in look and tone
She sits and rocks and sings alone,
While red the daylight dies. —

“Oh, hushaby, my baby, hush!”

She draws a sleepy little sigh;

On Dolly’s cheek of faded red

Low drops the sunny, tired head—
“Oh, hush, oh, hushaby!”’

-Vhe “song -1s.-ended (in -a-dréam:;

_ Across her face the sunbeams creep,
While Dolly’s eyes wide open Stare, S
‘lhe little mother, unaware,

Has sung herself to sleep! |



THREE YEARS OLD.















_———

—————— ee

Sr

S =
SSS
SS

SS
SSS
= SS





TOMMY AND THE SNAKE.

“Did you ever see a squirrel’s nest, built in a high tree? A
large, rough nest, made of sticks and leaves, with shells of
nuts and acorns, and all sorts of things inside that have been
_ bitten through by little sharp teeth. There was one of these’ nests
in a tall pine on the creek side, near a log cabin, where a little
black boy lived. He had watched the squirrels
a long time, and wanted to take out the little
















ones when they were big enough for him to
raise them. Little Tommy was always.
hunting for nests of birds or squirrels,
or any other nests he could find. He
never wore any shoes” or hat, and his
clothes were very ragged; but he could
climb any tree, clinging on with hands
and knees. One day Alfred, a white boy
-of about -his own age, showed him a
silver quarter. “I will give you this,”
he said, “if you will bring me a live
squirrel for a pet.” “Ves, I will,” said
Tommy. ‘I know a nest up de pine
tree on de creek side. I will take de
: old one out by her neck, and bring you
a young quirl.” Tommy could not say “ squirrel,” so he called it
“quirl,” and he did not talk as little boys and girls ought to talk.
He said “de” instead of “the,’ and a great many other wrong
words. He climbed up the tall, straight tree. When he reached



the branch where the nest was, he swung himself up, and leaned
_ over to see whether the old squirrel was there. He knew how the
sharp teeth could bite. Though his hands were hard and rough,

he would not put them into the nest without













looking. What do you think his eager
black eyes saw, instead of the soft young
squirrels? A long black snake raised its
head and glided out of the nest. Tommy
did not wait to look again, but slid
down the tree so fast that he
nearly fell to the
ground. He was
so frightened
that he lay quite
still for several
minutes. When
he looked up, he
saw that the
snake had only
stretched itself
out on the
branch, and
did not want
to stir either.
Tommy fled
away as fast

as he could,
and told his





father what he had seen. Iam very much afraid that Alfred will |
never get his pet squirrel, for Tommy says he will not climb
another tree to get a dozen squirrels. He did not know before
that snakes swallow squirrels when they can find them.



| THE MERRY WHISTLER. |
A merry little whistler Of all the little children.

Goes by my door each day; Who daily pass my: door,

He whistles at his work, and There’s none that seemeth happier, —
He whistles at his play. Or gives me pleasure more

He whistles when he’s merry, Than the merry little whistler
He whistles when he’s sad ; Who charms my care away.

He whistles when the weather’s fine, I almost wish I too could learn:

He whistles when it’s bad. To whistle and be gay.



i
AR ky
Ah
aa A

S aI Z

oy

; y
- | : H

Fi h

}

4

is it:



FL

a
WASH









C=








F. M. LUPTON PUBLISHING Co.
NEW YORK. led


The Baldwin Library



University
Kin
Florida




‘A PICTURE AND STORY BOOK

FOR YOUNG READERS



| NEW YORK
F. M. LUPTON PUBLISHING COMPANY








ime Gor ee



gop?






POLLY WHITE.



POLLY WHITE:

A TRUE STORY.

Iam going to tell you a little story, and it is just









as true as it can be. It is about a hen, There were
twenty hens in. Mr. Penny’s yard, and some were
: white, and some were black, and some were gray.
This Sone was white, and her name was Polly.
One day Mrs. Penny said to the girl in the-
kitchen, ‘ Nancy, you may put those duck’s eggs
under Polly White and cover her up with a
basket.” Polly was very young, and had never

sat on any eggs before. She thought it would

be good fun ; but when the basket was put

over her she felt as if she should fly. It was
not nice to be shut up in the dark. And then
she did get so tired! It takes only three weeks to hatch chickens, but it was four
weeks before Polly’s ducklings came “out of the shell. And when they came
out, how funny they looked! They-were very large and yellow, with round bills
and very qnice feet, and when they tried to walk they waddled. Polly had never
seen any ducklings before, and I suppose she thought these creatures were

: chickens.. They did not look like other -chickens, to be



sure, but she thought they were all the nicer for
that. Mamie Penny came cue laughing, and set a
pan of cornmeal dough near the back door. Polly was
_ very hungry, but -she would not touch one mouth-—

ful until she had called her little ones to breakfast.
POLLY WHITE.



There were stile of them, and they dipped in their round bills like spoons... After
breakfast they rolled up their eyes, and what do you suppose they were thinking
about? They were thinking how much they wanted to swim. Wasn't it strange ?P
How did they know anything about swimming? They had never seen any water;
they had only seen ne blue pump in the yard. But they made up their little
minds that they would go and find some water. Now there was a pond behind

the barn, not very far off. Nobody told them it was there, but they ran that way



as fast as they could waddle. Their mother ran after and tried to stop them, but
the moment they saw the water those- ducklings jumped right in! Poor Polly!
How frightened she was! How she flapped her wings and clucked! She thought
they were crazy, and she was sure they would drown. But no, they struck out
their little feet, and began to swim. It was a pretty sight. They held -up their
heads and looked very gay. Polly did not know what to think of this, but when.
she found it did not hurt them at all she was Set proud, and liked it as well as

they did. After this they came to the pond every day, and she came with them.
\

POLLY WHITE.





She thought there never was such a bright
family as hers. They were brighter than
their mother; and Polly was ashamed be-
cause she could not swim. Well, the next
summer * came, and Polly sat on some hen’s
eggs, just as the other hens did, and of
course she hatched. chickens instead of duck-
lings. She took them down to the pond the
very first thing. Wasn’t it queer that she



should remember about it? But they would
not go into the water. She clucked and scolded and almost pushed them in, but
it was of no use; they couldn’t swim and they wouldn’t try. Polly was very
angry. Such bad chickens! Why, they were worse than none, she thought, and

she would not be their mother another minute.

You will laugh, but Polly turned and went home. The chickens followed, but
she drove them back. They peeped, and she pecked them with hee bill. They
were hungry, ‘but she gave them no dinner or supper. When night came
she would EL: take them under her wing, but went to roost with some
other hens on a _ pole in ce
barn. The poor little chickens
felt sorry, but she never, never
forgave them for not learning to
swim! And so they had to grow
up without any mother. Don't
you think this is a droll story?
And -wasn’t Polly very bright

for a hen, with a head not as



big as a walnut?

































































































































































































































































































































“THE STORY OF THE WICKED HIPPOPOTAMUS.

I have no great love for

a crocodile, and none for a
hippopotamus. But I like
to see justice done in all
cases, and I will leave it to
the youngest of my readers

to say whether the crocodile



was not justified in wreaking
dire vengeance on one who had tried to exterminate an
entire household, even of crocodiles. It was in this wise:
The mother crocodile had buried her eggs in the sand, and
then gone to enjoy a plunge in the river near by. While
she was disportingin the water, and thinking of her little
family that was to : Se
be, along came a
wicked young hippo- :
potamus to the place Mi
where the eggs were
buried in the hot
sand. “Ah, ha,” said
the unwieldy hippo-



- potamus, “crocodile

e
eggs, eh! Now I'll have some fun while the mother isn’t

at hand to interfere.”

Then he dug up the eggs and broke them open. But _

-he was too late. The warm. sun had done its work, and

seven little crocodiles crawled out into life and began to

look around them. The huge beast was astonished; this











was not what he had expected, But, having destroyed the
eggs, he was determined to get rid of the brood which had
thus suddenly come to view. One he soon caught and
crushed to death. But infant crocodiles are nimble, and
each little fellow began to make towards the river, instinct

telling them that there was safety.
And speedy help was near also. The mother, scenting
danger in the air, or else alarmed by the appearance of the
hippopotamus so close to her home, hurried to the rescue
of her children. Unseen and unheard she hastens to the
spot. All unconscious of her quick approach, the hippo-
potamus is enjoying his deadly work. He laughs aloud
and riots in his mischief. But it is his last laugh, and never-
more will he invade the precincts of a crocodile’s haunt.
There is a singing in the air, like the coming of the dread
sirocco. No power on earth can avert the doom of the
hippopotamus. A shadow falls upon the scene. It is the
uplifted tail of the wrathful crocodile, as with one mighty
sweep she lifts the huge hippopotamus into the air, and lands
him on the very top of one of Egypt’s largest pyramids.

a



ees
ol




YOUNG ARTISTS.

These wee ones are artists. Joan has just drawn some trees. Dorothy
says they look like mops, and are lying down flat. on each side of the paper.
The other picture, by Dorothy, represents Joan herself; but the likeness isnot —~
a good one, and the hands and feet are too expressive. After the children had
wandered away into the garden to have a good time, I took both drawings
and here they are for you.to look at. Each of them requires a good deal of
explaining, but the artists are young yet, and after a while they will do better.
Perhaps some of my little readers will say there is room for improvement.



LITTLE SAMBO AND THE BUTTERMILK PAIL. — THE BUTTERMILK PAIL AND LITTLE SAMBO.



THREE YEARS OLD.

THE LITTLE MOTHER.

“Ou, hush, my baby, hushaby!”

Croons Ethel, in the sunset glow.’

Close to her dimpled shoulder pressed,

She soothes her dolly into rest, .
Soft rocking to and fro.

~ The restless. little: feet “are still;
Grave now, and sweet, the laughing eyes;
All motherly in look and tone
She sits and rocks and sings alone,
While red the daylight dies. —

“Oh, hushaby, my baby, hush!”

She draws a sleepy little sigh;

On Dolly’s cheek of faded red

Low drops the sunny, tired head—
“Oh, hush, oh, hushaby!”’

-Vhe “song -1s.-ended (in -a-dréam:;

_ Across her face the sunbeams creep,
While Dolly’s eyes wide open Stare, S
‘lhe little mother, unaware,

Has sung herself to sleep! |
THREE YEARS OLD.















_———

—————— ee

Sr

S =
SSS
SS

SS
SSS
= SS


TOMMY AND THE SNAKE.

“Did you ever see a squirrel’s nest, built in a high tree? A
large, rough nest, made of sticks and leaves, with shells of
nuts and acorns, and all sorts of things inside that have been
_ bitten through by little sharp teeth. There was one of these’ nests
in a tall pine on the creek side, near a log cabin, where a little
black boy lived. He had watched the squirrels
a long time, and wanted to take out the little
















ones when they were big enough for him to
raise them. Little Tommy was always.
hunting for nests of birds or squirrels,
or any other nests he could find. He
never wore any shoes” or hat, and his
clothes were very ragged; but he could
climb any tree, clinging on with hands
and knees. One day Alfred, a white boy
-of about -his own age, showed him a
silver quarter. “I will give you this,”
he said, “if you will bring me a live
squirrel for a pet.” “Ves, I will,” said
Tommy. ‘I know a nest up de pine
tree on de creek side. I will take de
: old one out by her neck, and bring you
a young quirl.” Tommy could not say “ squirrel,” so he called it
“quirl,” and he did not talk as little boys and girls ought to talk.
He said “de” instead of “the,’ and a great many other wrong
words. He climbed up the tall, straight tree. When he reached
the branch where the nest was, he swung himself up, and leaned
_ over to see whether the old squirrel was there. He knew how the
sharp teeth could bite. Though his hands were hard and rough,

he would not put them into the nest without













looking. What do you think his eager
black eyes saw, instead of the soft young
squirrels? A long black snake raised its
head and glided out of the nest. Tommy
did not wait to look again, but slid
down the tree so fast that he
nearly fell to the
ground. He was
so frightened
that he lay quite
still for several
minutes. When
he looked up, he
saw that the
snake had only
stretched itself
out on the
branch, and
did not want
to stir either.
Tommy fled
away as fast

as he could,
and told his


father what he had seen. Iam very much afraid that Alfred will |
never get his pet squirrel, for Tommy says he will not climb
another tree to get a dozen squirrels. He did not know before
that snakes swallow squirrels when they can find them.



| THE MERRY WHISTLER. |
A merry little whistler Of all the little children.

Goes by my door each day; Who daily pass my: door,

He whistles at his work, and There’s none that seemeth happier, —
He whistles at his play. Or gives me pleasure more

He whistles when he’s merry, Than the merry little whistler
He whistles when he’s sad ; Who charms my care away.

He whistles when the weather’s fine, I almost wish I too could learn:

He whistles when it’s bad. To whistle and be gay.



i
AR ky
Ah
aa A

S aI Z

oy

; y
- | : H

Fi h

}

4

is it:



FL

a
WASH



C=