su’ macs char’ coal of fi’ cial fres’ coes in i’ tial rest’ less ly

IN SCHOOL DAYS

Still sits the schoolhouse by the road,
A ragged beggar sunning;
Around it still the sumacs grow
And blackberry vines are running.

Within, the master’s desk is seen,
Deep scarred by raps official;
The warping floor, the battered seats,
The jackknife’s carved initial;

The charcoal frescoes on its wall;
Its door’s worn sill, betraying
The feet that, creeping slow to school,
Went storming out to playing!

Long years ago a winter sun
Shone over it at setting;
Lit up its western window-panes,
And low eaves’ icy fretting.

It touched the tangled golden curls,
And brown eyes full of grieving,
Of one who still her steps delayed
When all the school were leaving.

For near her stood the little boy
Her childish favor singled;
His cap pulled low upon a face
Where pride and shame were mingled.

Pushing with restless feet the snow
To right and left, he lingered;
As restlessly her tiny hands
The blue-checked apron fingered.

He saw her lift her eyes; he felt
The soft hand’s light caressing,
And heard the tremble of her voice,
As if a fault confessing: 

“I’m sorry that I spelt the word;
I hate to go above you,
Because,”—­the brown eyes lower fell,—­
“Because, you see, I love you!”

Still memory to a gray-haired man
That sweet child-face is showing. 
Dear girl! the grasses on her grave
Have forty years been growing!

He lives to learn, in life’s hard school,
How few who pass above him
Lament their triumph and his loss,
Like her,—­because they love him.

Whittier.

From “Child Life in Poetry.”  Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Publishers.

[Illustration:  John G. Whittier.]

* * * * *

64

Mars so’ lar (ler) Ve’ nus plan’ ets Mer’ cu ry di am’ e ter com’ pass es sat’ el lite tel’ e scope grad’ u al ly in’ ter est ing cir cum’ fer ence

THE SUN’S FAMILY

“Please tell me a story, Frank” said Philip, as the two boys sat in the shade of a large tree.

“I have heard and read many wonderful stories.  I will try to recall one,” said Frank.

“Let me see.  Well—­perhaps—­I think that the most wonderful story I have ever read is that of the solar system, or the sun’s family.”

“Solar system!” repeated Philip.  “That certainly sounds hard enough to puzzle even a fairy.  Please tell me all about it.”

“That I should find much too hard” answered Frank.  “But I’ll try to tell you what little I know.  You see the sun there, don’t you—­the great shining sun?  Do you think the sun moves?”