“The head of what?” said Growler.

“How inquisitive you are!” said the gray cat.

“Nay, but I should like to know,” said Growler.

“Well, then, of a certain fine fish that was meant for dinner.”

“Then,” said Growler, “say what you please; but, now that I’ve heard the whole story, I only wonder she did not hang you.”

* * * * *

Fill the following blanks with words that will make complete sentences: 

Mary —­ here, and Susan and Agnes —­ coming.  They —­ delayed on the road.  Mother —­ to come with them, but she and father —­ obliged to wait till to-morrow.

Puss said to Growler, “I —­ not —­ a drop of milk to-day, and —­ not —­ any yesterday.”

I —­ my work well now.  Yesterday I —­ it fairly well.  To-morrow I shall —­ it perfectly.

The boys —­ their best, though they —­ the game.

John—­now the boys he —­ last week.  He —­ not —­ them before.

NOTE.—­Let two pupils read or recite the conversational parts of this selection, omitting the explanatory matter, while the other pupils simply listen.  If done with expressive feeling and in a perfectly natural tone, it will prove quite an interesting exercise.  To play or act the story of a selection helps to develop the imagination.

* * * * *

14

scared swerve gur’ gle rip’ ples cur’ rent mum’ bling ly

THE BROOK SONG.

       Little brook!  Little brook! 
       You have such a happy look—­
       Such a very merry manner, as you swerve and curve and crook—­
       And your ripples, one and one,
       Reach each other’s hands and run
       Like laughing little children in the sun!

       Little brook, sing to me;
       Sing about the bumblebee
       That tumbled from a lily bell and grumbled mumblingly,
       Because he wet the film
       Of his wings, and had to swim,
       While the water bugs raced round and laughed at him.

       Little brook—­sing a song
       Of a leaf that sailed along
       Down the golden-hearted center of your current swift and strong,
       And a dragon fly that lit
       On the tilting rim of it,
       And rode away and wasn’t scared a bit.

       And sing—­how oft in glee
       Came a truant boy like me,
       Who loved to lean and listen to your lilting melody,
       Till the gurgle and refrain
       Of your music in his brain
       Wrought a happiness as keen to him as pain.

       Little brook—­laugh and leap! 
       Do not let the dreamer weep: 
       Sing him all the songs of summer till he sink in softest sleep;
       And then sing soft and low
       Through his dreams of long ago—­
       Sing back to him the rest he used to know!