Classic Audiobook Collection - Little Minnie, and Other Stories by Pansy ~ Full Audiobook [family]

Episode Date: March 21, 2025

Little Minnie, and Other Stories by Pansy audiobook. Genre: family In Little Minnie, and Other Stories, beloved 19th-century author Pansy (Isabella M. Alden) gathers a handful of warm, faith-tinged tales about ordinary children facing very grown-up choices. At the center is Minnie, a small girl with a tender heart and a lively will, whose everyday moments at home, at school, and among neighbors become quiet tests of honesty, kindness, and courage. Around her, other boys and girls step into their own struggles: a careless word that cannot be taken back, a tempting shortcut that threatens trust, a secret kept too long, or a sudden chance to do the right thing when no one is watching. Each story builds from simple scenes to meaningful turning points, showing how character is shaped in small decisions and how families and communities can either lift a child up or leave them to stumble alone. Written with Pansy's clear-eyed sympathy and gentle moral purpose, this collection offers a comforting listening experience for families and for anyone who enjoys classic, values-centered storytelling. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 01 (00:02:31) Chapter 02 (00:05:30) Chapter 03 (00:11:14) Chapter 04 (00:18:41) Chapter 05 (00:21:13) Chapter 06 (00:26:11) Chapter 07 (00:35:15) Chapter 08 (00:37:02) Chapter 09 (00:43:52) Chapter 10 (00:47:23) Chapter 11 (00:53:32) Chapter 12 (00:55:47) Chapter 13 (01:09:04) Chapter 14 (01:20:48) Chapter 15 (01:24:36) Chapter 16 (01:33:50) Chapter 17 (01:36:40) Chapter 18 (01:40:30) Chapter 19 (01:42:28) Chapter 20 (01:48:30) Chapter 21 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Little Minnie and other stories by Pansy. Little Minnie She stood in the cemetery beside a long green grave. She had a bunch of wildflowers in her fat brown hand. I'm going to give them to Papa, she said, with a bright smile to Uncle John, who went over to talk with her. My Papa has gone to heaven, you know, but he likes to have me bring him flowers. He used to kiss me for them always, but he can't now, because he is so busy helping the angels, but he is keeping all the kisses, and when a nice summer day comes, I am going after them.

Do you know the way? Uncle John asked her. Oh, no, but the angel does. Jesus keeps angels all ready to come down here, and when he wants any little girl, he calls an angel and says, you go get that little girl for me and bring her up here, and I have got something for her. Papa went a good while ago, and sometimes Mama and I get most tired of waiting. I asked Mama this morning if she thought he had forgotten us, because he had so many children, but she said, Oh, no, indeed, God had promised that he never would forget anybody. And he won't, you know, because he never tells us.

a lie. Do you know God? Yes, my darling, I know him very well. Then you don't think he'll ever go and forget like folks do sometimes? There isn't a bit of danger, Uncle John said, and she gave a happy little sigh. Everybody says so that knows him, she said. Once I asked a man, and he said he didn't know anything about it. But everybody who knows God thinks just the same thing, and Mama thinks so. She says she is sure of it, so I know it must be. End of Section 1. Section 2 of Little Mini and Other Stories by Pansy. The Sliberovoc's recording is in the public domain. Photographs. Dell was to have her picture taken to be given. to Grandpa for his birthday. There was a great time about it. She and Mother didn't agree. Del wanted to hold

the great yellow cat in her arms and have her picture taken, too. Before I would hold that old yellow tabby on my lap, her brother Willie said, I would hold him a great deal quicker than I would your dirty brown dog, said Del, curling her lips. Grandpa doesn't like cats. ventured her mother. He will like my cat, Del said, and two wrinkles came out on her forehead. You will get cat hairs all over your new blue dress, said Auntie Kate. If my dress is too good for Mink to sit on, I don't want to wear it, said Del, and she pouted out her lips.

The end of it was that she had her own way, and here she is at the artist's rooms, we for her picture to be taken. Her hair is waved beautifully. Her ruffle is of fine lace. Her blue dress has sheared trimming on and is fixed so that almost every shear will show. Her cat's tail curls just right. But oh dear me, the wrinkles stayed in her forehead and the curls stayed in her nose and the pout stayed in her lips. How could they help it? For while she was waiting, this was what she thought. The idea of Willie calling Mink an old yellow thing, and just as if she could hurt my blue dress. I'm not afraid of a few of her hairs. It is real mean in them all not to like Mink. I don't care. I've got her, and if Grandpa doesn't like my picture, he needn't have it.

The sour looks couldn't get away, you see, because the sour heart was still there. When the picture came home and was shown to Grandpa, he put on his glasses and looked at it a long time without speaking a word. At last he said, I am glad you took the cat with you. Del looked as glad as possible and nodded her head in triumph at her mother, but something in Grandpa's voice made her mother ask, Why are you? Because, said Grandpa, Del looked so sober and wrinkled. If the cat wasn't there, I am afraid people would think she was an old lady. The cat is good-natured, I see. End of Section 2.

Section 3 of Little Minnie and Other Stories by Pansy. This Libravox recording is in the public domain. What the Birds Said, Part 1. She was a pretty girl. Her face was a little too sad, as you see it now, but this is New Year's morning and her birthday. Queer reasons for being sad, you think, but sometimes they are good ones. A great many things can happen in a year. This girl, Fanny Eames, had a father and mother and a home last New Year's Day. Now her mother is buried in the Atlantic Ocean, and her father in

Greenwood Cemetery, and the old home is broken, and Fanny lives in the country with Aunt Margaret. Just one thing came from the deer home with her, and that is the birdie standing on her finger. I can't begin to tell how much Fanny loves him. They have long talks together, and on this particular morning, she puts her lips softly to his beak and whispers, my darling little Dickie Bird, it is just a year ago this morning that Papa put you in my room to surprise me, and now you are all I have got left. Do you hear, Dickie? Papa is gone, and Mama is gone, and there is nobody to love me, only you. And then the tears came plashing down on Dickie's wings. Chirp, he said, chirp, chirp, in a soft, tender little voice, as if it,

if it might have been meant for, don't cry, I love you. Fanny was a girl who often looked grave and sad, but seldom cried. So now she brushed away the tears, and said, still speaking to Dickie, it is a bad way to begin the year, crying, but it is very lonesome to think of, Dickie, how you and I are all alone, with nobody to love us or care much about us. Aunt Margaret can't love us much, of course, for she don't even remember much about Mama, her own sister, and she isn't a bit like her anyway. Besides, she doesn't have much time for loving. She has to make so many comfortables. I hope they will make somebody comfortable, I'm sure. I have to spell that word with a you and an N before it, Dickie. That's what they are to me. Oh, dear, it would be

so nice to have a friend, one who could say more than chirp, chirp, and do more than sing. I am so very, very lonesome, and years are so long. I don't know what to do. Hark, had Dickie learned to speak. He stood quite still and looked at her. Was it a voice, or was it the echo of an old lesson taught by her mother in the happy long ago? It sounded very plain and clear. Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing, and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your father? But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear ye not, therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows. Our father, Fanny whispered the words over softly. It was strange that she should have forgotten and called herself alone when she

had a father who gave such loving care as that, even watched the common little sparrows. Then, of course, he took care of her Dickie, who was so much better than a sparrow. Then, of course, he took care of her, who, with her thinking, feeling, never-dying soul, was of more value than many, many sparrows. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. How wonderful! She took hold of one of the long, silky curls and tried to count the hairs even in one curl.

How constant and patient must be the care that knew even so little a thing as that! How glad and happy that mother and father gone to heaven must have felt, as they looked down upon their darling this New Year's morning, to think that they taught her those Bible verses that had gathered to comfort her now. for they did comfort her. How could they help it, for she knew and loved that father in heaven?

She put Dickie gently back into his cage, and then she knelt down and thanked her father for his constant watching love and care, and for giving her such a blessed friend as Jesus, and for letting her dear bird Dickie remind her of it this morning. And she asked for help to begin the new year well, not in sadness for the past New Year's Day, but in looking forward to and getting ready for the glad New Year's morning that should never end. Then she went about her room singing softly. If he hears the ravens cry, if his ever-watchful eye marks the sparrows when they fall, surely he will hear my call. Chirp, chirp, said Dickie contentedly in his cage, and then,

That was all he knew about it. End of Section 3. Section 4 of Little Minnie and Other Stories by Pansy. This Slibervok's recording is in the public domain. What the Birds Said, Part 2. On that same New Year's morning, Clara and Trudy Brownlow popped their heads out of the window and watched a fat little bird eat its breakfast, and as they looked, they talked. they were always talking.

I wonder if this is a Bible sparrow, said Trudy, with her head on one side. A Bible sparrow? Trudy Brownlow, what do you mean? There isn't anything in the Bible about sparrows? Yes, there is, too. There's one thing that I know more than you do, if you are four years and three months and two weeks and five days the oldest. You see, she knows.

knew very well indeed the difference in their ages. The truth is, Clara kept her posted. Well, come now, Clara said. What is there in the Bible about Sparrows? I should just like to know that. I don't quite remember. It is all mixed up in my mind, but I know it's there. If you think I don't know, you go ask mother in popped the two heads downstairs racketed two pairs of shoes and two breathless girls spoke at once to the woman who was feeding a big turkey mother isn't there a verse in the bible about sparrows mother is there a word about sparrows in the bible why yes of course here thread this needle trudy so that i can sew up this turkey's mouth he's had a enough. Where is it? asked Crestfallen Clara. She was a girl who was particularly fond of being right, and Trudy's triumphant, I told you so, was aggravating. My landchild, I don't remember. Ask your uncle, or look in the concordance. Sarah, you must get those cranberries on right away, or they won't get real cold. Come, scud, children, there's business to be done. There's business to be

here today. Away scampered the girls, eager to get their uncle or a concordance. One would do as well as another. He was in the study, and I may as well tell you he was the new minister, but he looked in the concordance himself before he answered their questions as to where. At this they were somewhat astonished. They stood in awe of this uncle, were very little acquainted with him, and thought that, being a minister, he ought to know where Bible verses were without looking. Luke 12, 6, he presently said, and the two girls raced after their Bibles. There they read, are not five sparrows sold for two farthings, and not one of them is forgotten before God, but even the very hairs of your head are all numbered.

My, said Trudy, thinking of her thick yellow. Oh, low curls. Only think, Clara, what a thing to do. Clara said not a single word, and she shot the Bible suddenly and went away. I cannot begin to tell you how strangely she felt. There had come to her such a sense of that great and wonderful eye of God, looking down at her all the time, watching every word and step. She went away by herself into the sitting room and took down from the shelf, two little white boxes filled with pink cotton. Under the pink cotton, in each box, was a little gold pen. Now let me tell you about them. This is New Year's Morning, remember, and among other things had come to these two girls, these two pens, given by a father

who was very proud indeed of the writing which his two girls could already do. Now, anybody who has tried gold pens knows that there is a wonderful difference in the way they behave. Clara had tried both of these, of course. She always tried things. She had made a discovery that the one in the box marked Clara made a little scratchy sound that was very disagreeable, and that the one in the box marked Trudy slipped along over the paper as if it were glass. The pens were as like as two peas, and it was the easiest and most natural thing in the world to conclude that she, being the oldest, ought to have the best, and to slip hers into Trudy's pink cotton and Trudy's into hers. Now she stood looking at them and going over the arguments. I'm the oldest, and of course I ought to have the best pen. I write three times to Trudy's once, and she doesn't know a good pen from a bad one,

any way. She'll be perfectly delighted with that. They are just exactly alike, anyhow, and Papa just happened to write Trudy's name there instead of mine. Of course, he didn't know there was any difference. If he had, he would have been sure to say that I ought to have the best one. So she shut the boxes once more and went to the window. There's that fat sparrow eating yet, she said. He means to keep New Year's anyhow, and not one of them is forgotten before God. She said the words over aloud and reverently. How wonderful it was! Then the next sentence, about the hair, she remembered that too,

and if he saw such little, little things, wasn't it likely he thought all about the things we did? What did God think of those two gold pens done up in pink cotton? That was the important question. Papa didn't know there was any difference, but she did, and God did. Two people to know it when she had imagined only one. It certainly made a difference. It was very still in that little sitting room for a while.

Clara seemed to be doing nothing but looking out of the window at that sparrow. But presently, she went over to the white boxes, and, with quick, decided fingers, picked out the two pens, and exchanged their beds and rooms in a twinkling. "'There,' she said decidedly, "'scratch if you want to. It's honest, anyhow, and the other thing wasn't, or else I wouldn't have cared so much about having him know it.' And the fat sparrow picked at his crumbs of bread, and knew nothing about all this. but the father of both, looking down from his throne, saw and heard and knew about it all.

End of Section 4 Section 5 of Little Minnie and Other Stories by Pansy. This Libravox recording is in the public domain. Chinese I don't believe you can guess whether this is a boy or a girl. Whoever it is, doesn't he or she wear a quince? Is it a hat? Is it a hat or a parasol? Isn't that a queer way to carry baskets of fruit and flowers? Do you suppose that is a watermelon? Let's take a bite of it and see. Now I'll tell you,

this is a girl. Where does she live? Why, across the ocean, in China. She has got herself dressed up, so that I suppose she thinks she looks very neat and nice, and she has gone out to sell her flowers. Roses they look like. Great splendid roses. Don't you smell them? What in the world do you suppose all those chains are for around her waist? Perhaps she thinks they look pretty. I can't make out how she keeps her hat on, if it is a hat. I wish we could see her feet. I want to know whether they are more than four inches long, don't you? Perhaps she had a mother who was not so so silly as to bind up her poor little baby footy so that it couldn't grow anymore. That is the fashion in China. Aren't you glad that you don't live there? They are very queer people. A friend of

mine, who lives in California, has a China man for her servant to do housework. How do you think he sprinkles clothes for ironing? You know how that is done with a little broom or with the hand, make the water go in a fine mist all over the clean clothes, so they will be nice and damp for the next day's ironing. Well, my friend showed her man how to do it, and he seemed to get along very well, but going into the workroom suddenly one day, she discovered that he thought he had found a better way than that.

She stood and watched him behind the door. He filled his mouth full of water from the dipper, then he squirted it in a little stream all over the clothes. How would you like to wear a white dress that had been sprinkled in this way? End of Section 5. Section 6 of Little Minnie and Other Stories by Pansy. The Sliberbox recording is in the public domain. An umbrella frolic.

They were two nice, sober-looking umbrellas. They stood behind the front door. The girls, Susie and Kate, and their two cousins, Emma and Laura, came out ready for a walk to town. Girls, said Mama, take umbrellas. It looks like rain. I don't want to go, said the brown umbrella. We always have to be poking to town in the rain. Never have a chance of peeping out in pleasant weather. I'm sick of it. Were you ever out in the sunshine? I don't remember that I ever was, the other umbrella said, and it gave a little sigh. But then, of course, we were made for rainy weather.

Who needs umbrellas in the sunshine? I don't care, grumbled the other. I think it's mean. We never go anywhere where there is any fun either, always poking to the post office or to school. I want to go to the woods or have to be. a ride on the lake. There would be some fun in that. If I go downtown this afternoon, I'll have a frolic. You see if I don't. There's going to be a gale. I see it through the keyhole. I'll turn inside out just as sure as I'm an umbrella if they take me out this afternoon.

What good will that do you? Oh, good. You are always looking out for the good of things. I wouldn't be so stupid. I've made up my mind to have a little fun. You see if I don't lead these girls a life of it. Sure enough, there they go downtown, Susie and Laura ahead and the others behind. Susie carried or tried to carry the sulky umbrella. If you look at it, you will see its idea of fun. How that creature did act. It whirled and tipped. and swayed this side and that. It turned the girls right round and round. It blew them out into the mud and almost into the river. And finally it turned inside out and left the rain to pour down on them. Then I suppose it laughed in umbrella fashion. As for the other one, it was quiet and well-behaved.

A dreadful time those two girls had, and when they reached home, they were as wet as dark. The very first thing they did, after their wet dresses were changed, was to take that umbrella up in the back attic and throw it into a corner. And as it so happened that nothing was wanted from that particular corner for two or three weeks, not a person did the umbrella see, and a stupid time it must have had. One day, much to its joy, there was a great deal of scampering up and downstairs and getting of bundles and packages out of that attic. What can be going on? said the umbrella, trying to turn on its rusty sides. If I only weren't turned inside out, I could see what those girls were about.

Just then came a call from the foot of the stairs. Girls, bring umbrellas with you, and we'll sail home by their help. There is a nice stiff breeze. "'Oh, goody!' Susie said. "'Won't that be just splendid. "'I have always wanted a sail on the lake, "'but father would never let me ride in a sailboat.' "'Then they caught sight of the old umbrella, "'lying meekly in a corner.

"'If that old thing hadn't gone inside out "'that windy day and acted so horrid, "'we could take it, too. "'It was a nice large one.' "'This kitty said, and Susie stopped and gave it a parting glance. Well, its day is done, she said, Never mind, we'll take the other.

And there that umbrella lay and listened to the talk and the laughs that were going on downstairs, and had the pleasure of thinking that if it had not tried to get up a frolic when it should have been attending to its work, it might have a sail on the lake now in the brightest sunshine that ever was. Many a frolic ends quite as foolishly as that. It's a queer thing, but there truly are some boys and girls who don't seem to know any more than this umbrella.

End of Section 6. Section 7 of Little Minnie and Other Stories by Pansy. This Sliberovacs recording is in the public domain. Who told the secret? Just notice the pin that fashions this young lady's sack. It is a real diamond, and glitters and flashes in the sunlight in a way that would make you fancy there were a dozen little fires glowing inside. It is rather a cold storm in which to be out in that little sack, but if my lady had her thick coat and muffler on, the pin wouldn't show, so she must needs brave the storm. She is by no means in a happy state of mind. Great has been her trial over that same time.

diamond pin. She has been gone since early in the afternoon, and from the time she slipped out at the back door, until she neared home again, she had not seen a truly happy minute. The story of her discomfort could all be put in a nutshell. The diamond pin did not belong to her, and she had no right to wear it. Reason enough for misery. At least three times that afternoon, all the blood had seemed to rush up to her head as she felt for the pin and could not find it. To be sure, it was simply because, being unused to having any pin there, she did not feel it in the right place, but for the moment she suffered just as much pain as though the gleaming thing was actually gone. The road from the village never seemed so long in the world as it did that day.

The walk was very unsatisfactory. It stormed. so that nobody worth showing her pin to was out, and the few people she met seemed not to see it at all. In fact, the wind blew her umbrella about in just the right way to hide it the best. Besides, she missed her coat and furs, and was thoroughly chilled and uncomfortable. I don't think she ever felt more relieved in her life than she did when she succeeded in getting in at the back door,

pin in hand, and up the back stairs through the long, dark, back hall to her Aunt Nellie's room, and had stuck the glowing pin into the fat red cushion where it belonged. "'There,' she said, "'you hateful old thing, "'I'm so glad you are stuck fast in that sawdust once more. "'I didn't think diamond pins were so awful uncomfortable. "'I'm sure I never shall want one of my own. "'Nobody knows anything about it, and I'll never be

caught in such a scrape as this again. I wouldn't have Aunt Nellie know it for anything. Well, it is safe, and there is no harm done. But I wouldn't have such a mean afternoon again for all the diamond pins in the world. I'm glad nobody need ever know a thing about it. And drawing a long, relieved sigh, she stole out of the room and down to the sitting room, where she shivered over the fire all the evening. Now, the truth of the matter is that, of course, Miss Ella Newton didn't see what was going on in that same room while she was at the post office. In the first place, Aunt Nellie Thatcher did what she hardly ever had to do, went up to her room in the middle of the afternoon. Ella had trusted to the fact that when her auntie was fairly dressed for the afternoon, and established in the

sitting room with her mother, she rarely left it again until tea time. How could she know that on this particular afternoon, Aunt Nellie would forget her Scarlet Worstead and go in search of it? This was what happened. Being far away from home and rather lonely at night, Aunt Nellie had begged for her young namesake for a roommate. The first thing this lady did, as she entered the room, was to sniff up her pretty little nose in that way that people do when they smell something very decided. Jockey club, said Aunt Nellie. That little midget has been at my bottle of perfumery. No particular harm about that, except that I heard her mother tell her expressly not to meddle with my things. It isn't pleasant to discover that a little girl forgets to mind her mother

when she thinks no one is looking. But I suppose the child's forgot. My little lady must have made her toilet in haste. She has left the washstand in a sad plight. And the auntie proceeded to turn the dirty water left standing in the bowl into the slop jar. As she did so, sniff went her nose again. Cashmere bouquet soap, she said, and her face looked grave. The cashmere bouquet soap was an article belonging to her. own private toilet case, carried along for hotel convenience, and not brought out when she was a guest at a private house. Yet here it was, with its peculiar breath in the muddy-looking water, as plainly shown as though the whole cake lay there, when in truth it lay at that moment,

as Aunt Nellie took pains to discover, in her rubber toilet case, very moist and sticky. And the toilet case had been under the second till in the large trunk. What rummaging had been going on. While she closed the washstand drawer with a troubled face, the trouble deepened, and she opened the drawer again to take a full view. Yes, there was her namesake's little camel's hair toothbrush, a present from herself, and all over the taill-tale bristles there glistened a pink powder, and the handle was pink and spots and sticky. Her own peculiar rose-flavored tooth powder, which was packed in a little jar in the corner of the small trunk.

Why, what a dreadful little meddler! She said in dismay, Who would have thought of such a thing? I wonder if I left my diamond pin in the trunk that is unlocked. Then she went to rummaging in all haste and excitement. A diamond pin is no small matter. Yes, there was the fat little pin cushion belonging solely to it, but no glitter of diamonds about it. There was a story connected with that diamond pin, and, aside from its value, it was dearer to Aunt Nellie than any other jewel she had.

She walked about the room in considerable excitement for some minutes, feeling as if she must rush downstairs and tell her husband's sister that her little girl was an impertinent little nuisance to say the least, and that her pin must be sent for right away. But she presently thought better of it, and went downstairs as though nothing had happened, only keeping a sharp lookout for the little girl who had gone to the post office, and darting upstairs two minutes after Ella had given her great sigh of satisfaction that nobody knew anything about it. Yes, there was the beloved pin on its red cushion, gleaming away, not a bit the worse for having gone down street in the snowstorm. Aunt Nellie gave a little sigh, too, as she saw it,

and then she told the result of this afternoon discovery to the twilight shadows that were stealing into the room. It is a wonder the careless little thing did not lose it. Who would suppose that she was such a meddler? So careful as her mother is to teach her. I shall have to give up my scheme for taking her home with me for the rest of the winter. It wouldn't do at all. I should never dare to go out of the house and leave her. Besides, I don't care about such a girl coming to influence my little Nina. Think of that, and Aunt Nellie lived in one of the very grand houses on one of the very very grand streets of New York and had a pipe organ in the library and was going to have had Ella take music lessons. But she, you know, stood shivering behind the sitting-room stove and feeling very glad that neither Aunt Nellie nor anyone else knew anything about the walk that the diamond pin took. And for all I know, she thinks so to this day.

End of Section 7 Section 8 of Little Minnie and Other Stories by Pansy The Sliberbox recording is in the public domain Miss Fanny in a reverie Does who sink at New Year's something like our baby? Suppose he kies a few tears for some placings maybe Sink he'd freeze his foots in the summer wezzer lest he has big boots like my little brother.

Kidmas came the other day, brought old Santa in his sleigh, brought my doll in Charlie's drum, rings for all. Did you get some? Sing's so funny. Don't you know how? Who makes money? Tell me how. Where does Santa get so much to buy sings for each of us? Brother Charlie beats his drum,

makes it rattle just like fun. Where does music come from, s'pose? Des who'd find old Santa knows, thought I'd find it other day. Brother Charlie was away. I'd toad a hole in it, very small, just a place for iddy doll. Guess I let the music out, couldn't find it nowhere about. You suppose Charlie'll think it queer? Perhaps he'll think twas dolly, dear. Fraid I've spoiled my brother's drum. Fraid he'll cry when he comes home. Guess he'll give his sister, though, just as Jesus does, you know? End of Section 8 Section 9 of Little Minnie and Other Stories by Pansy. The Slibervox recording is in the public domain. Nettie's trial

Nettie watched her mama as she lifted the glass dish and the silver dish to their place on the sideboard. May I have some mama? She said eagerly the minute they were safely landed. Mama shook her head. Why, no child, she said, you have had your share of fruit today. Or, let me see, why, I didn't give you your apple and orange, did I? I was thinking you had those today. Well, you may have one of each kind. Get a chair and help yourself. Now, if Mama Thornton had waited until Nettie answered her questions, instead of answering them herself as fast as she asked them, and then shutting the door and going away, I feel sure that Nettie would have said, Why, yes, it was this very morning that I had both apple and orange.

As it was, she stood quite still and looked at those dishes of fruit. How funny, she said, that Mama should forget so. Now, I never forget what I give Angelina Seraphina, and she hasn't any mouth that is good for anything either. I always have to eat her fruit for her. How splendid those grapes do look! I wish Mama had said two of each kind. Of course I am going to have them. Didn't Mama say I could? This last sentence she said in a very indignant tone, though who she could have been answering, I am sure I don't know, for there wasn't a soul in the room but herself and a fly or two. Yet it was plainly to be seen that Nettie was having a talk with somebody. I didn't tell her I didn't have any orange this morning. I wouldn't tell a lie, I guess.

She said so her own self. It was a mean old sour one, too. I'd rather have grapes any day. By this time, one fat brown hand was reached out toward the grapes. Then she drew it back again. I don't see how I am to blame for mamma's not knowing that I had fruit this morning. This, she said in a pitiful tone, as though she was very much slandered. Who was blaming her, do you suppose?

An apple and an orange aren't much to have in a day anyhow. I know lots of girls who eat more than that. Sides, the orange was sour. Grapes are good for sore throat. I heard Dr. Nelson say so. What all that had to do with it, since her throat wasn't sore, I am sure I don't know. At last, Nettie began to draw a great long size. Oh, dear me, she said. Oh, dear me, Sus, why did Mama have thinked out loud? Why didn't she keep all

the things inside about my having an apple and an orange and just said, yes, Nettie, my dear, you may have one of each kind. Then everything would have been nice and nothing to decide. It is dreadful to to decide things. I'd rather have her say, no, you can't have a single one. Then I should just be sure that that was the end of it. Oh, my sakes, what is the use of saying things over and over? I know I had an apple and an orange as well as you do. Didn't I say so? And I know Mama forgot it, too. Isn't that what I am talking about? And Nettie stamped her foot and began to look very red-cheeked indeed. Could it have been that great fly in the window who buzzed about the apple and orange? What I say is, began Nettie again, that Mama said I could have some of this,

and she didn't ask me if I had eaten any fruit today, and I didn't tell her I hadn't, and I don't see why I can't have some. Such a fuss about one grape, that is all I want. Up went the slippered feet on tiptoe. Out went the brown hand again, and again it drew back. That fly buzzed very loud indeed. Could it be that he was doing the talking? Someone surely spoke loud enough for Nettie to hear. This was what it said. You know your mama thinks you haven't had any fruit today. You know she does. You know she does. You know she does. You know she does. he shook herself. I didn't say I hadn't, she said. How can I help what mama thinks? Up spoke the fly again, or the something. God can see folks' thoughts. You saw your

mamas, for she said them to you, but God can look right into your heart and see yours. You haven't said that it was wrong to take the fruit, but haven't you thought it in your heart? God can see thoughts. God can see thoughts. Over and over this was said, and the fly buzzed, and Nettie stood there on tiptoe, her brown arm reached out, the tips of her fingers touching a great purple grape. In it the open window flew a brown honeybee. He lighted on the trailing vine that hung from the jar, and what do you think he said? What but the same old story? God can see thoughts, God can see thoughts. Nettie drew away her hand and said in a loud voice, I won't take one, so there. I know I ought to mind things as well as words when I can

hear them, and I heard mamma's plain enough, and I'm sure I hear mine. Don't buzz any more, old fly, I'm not going to touch one of your grapes. There was something happened then that Nettie didn't see and knows nothing about. There was an angel in the room, looking right at her, and he was so happy just then that he laughed for joy, and he told ever so many other angels all about Nettie's trial, and they all agreed that she would be a stronger little girl after this than ever before, and that she should have some work to do that she could not have been trusted with if she had paid no attention to those thoughts that buzzed about her so earnestly.

Section 10 of Little Minnie and Other Stories by Pansy. This Sliberovoc's recording is in the public domain. Nothing but leaves. Minnie Parker's dress was very pretty. It was light gray poplin with a black overskirt and basque, trimmed with double puffs. Her hair was beautifully crimped and fell nearly to her waist in rich brown waves. That she is sitting on the grass, her hat, beside her, half full of flowers. Her particular friend, Anna Jameson, stands hoop in hand waiting

for her. Now, see here, Carlo, said Minnie. I want you to understand that you are not to stare at me and blink your eyes. When I tell you to say, ah, you are to say it. Oh, please do come, Minnie, Anna said. It is almost time for me to go, and we haven't had one good game this afternoon. Do wait, can't you? I don't want to be hurried every minute. Now, Carlo, say ah, this instant. Minnie, called Mrs. Parker, from the open window. Come here, daughter. Yes, em, in a minute, called back Minnie. Then she said, oh dear, I do wish Mama didn't always want me the minnie. I do wish Mama didn't always want me the minute I have something interesting to do. Carlo, why can't you attend to me?

He don't know what you mean, pleaded Anna. Yes, he does, too. He's as smart a dog as ever was when he's a mind to be. I'm out of all patience with him. There! And she gave the poor, patient dog, a good box on the ears. Minnie, called her mother. Oh, Mama, what do you want?

She said very crossly, "'I'm coming in a minute, I tell you.' It was well for Minnie that her mother couldn't hear her. "'Minnie Parker, you're all leaves,' said Anna with great gravity. "'All leaves,' Minnie said, rising suddenly and shaking out her grey poplin. She was very particular about her dress. "'Why, Anna Jameson, what in the world do you mean? There isn't a leaf near me?'

"'Yes, there is lots of them, and not a bit of fruit to be seen. "'Uncle Fred explained it to us. "'The lesson you know? "'He made two trees on a slate. "'One was full of figs, and the other had nothing but leaves. "'The figs were named love and joy and peace and those things, "'and Uncle Fred said the other tree was a little girl all dressed up "'who hadn't any fruit.

"'I don't think you are very loving, or you would do a little tree, I wanted. And you'd mind your mother, too. And you aren't very joyful. You look real cross. And I don't think it was very peaceful of you to send Carlo off barking and howling. But your dress is pretty, and so is your hair. You're just all leaves, and not a speck of fruit to be seen. That's nothing but a story, said Minnie, but she picked up her hat and went very thoughtfully into the house. End of Section 10. Section 11 of Little Minnie and Other Stories by Pansy.

This Libravox recording is in the public domain. Some wise cats. Did you ever hear the story of the wonderful cat who lived in a handsome country house just a few miles out of London? Here is an actual photograph of the tabby herself. lest you may not be acquainted with her, let me tell you the story. You must know that in her master's house, there has been a place left in a sidewall, like a little shelf, where the butcher and baker and milkman can leave their bundles or their pails, and ring the bell for the servant to come.

Miss Tabby has watched this performance a great many times, and this is what she thought, when one cold, rainy day, she prowled around that way. I wish I was in the kitchen. There's a nice warm fire and something good cooking, of course, and a dish of milk waiting for me as likely as not. But I can't get in till somebody leaves the door open. Or let me see. I wonder if I can't.

There's that great bell. The milkman and the meat man always ring it, and just as sure as they do, Jane opens the door to see what is wanted. That must be what the bell is for. Why shouldn't I bring it as well as anyone? I'm sure I want to get in. No sooner thought than done. Out went Miss Tabby's paw, and tingling went the servant's bell sounding through the great house. Just imagine what the cook must have thought as she hurried to open the door and saw the cat standing quietly there waiting for admittance. Now, I am not acquainted with that cat, but I suppose the story is true,

for people who are apt to tell the truth have said that it is. But since we are on the subject, let me tell you a cat story that I know is true. A few years ago, there was a cat who lived out west somewhere, where rats are very plenty. They kept getting into the barn and stealing the grain and troubling the farmer very much. So he explained the matter to Snub, that was the cat's name, and said he, Now Snub, if you catch every rat you see and bring her to me, we will save their skins to make something nice of,

and you shall have a dish of milk for every rat. It's a bargain, said Snub. At least she purred very loud and looked pleased. And she was true to her word. Day after day she came to the farmer with a rat in her mouth, sometimes almost as large as herself, and she would drop it at his feet and look perfectly delighted with herself. She always got her milk and her word of praise. It so happened that the place chosen for hanging the ratskins to dry was the great barn door,

and, don't you think, snub worked away until there were 17 ratskins tacked to that barn door. But one day everything had gone wrong with Farmer Brown. It had rained on his hay and on his nice dry wood, and the man who was coming to help build fence didn't come, and one of the horses was lame, and a man came to say that he couldn't possibly pay for his butter for a month to come. While Farmer Brown was looking cross at that man and waiting for him to explain what was the matter, up came snub with another rat, and she meowed and meowed in a most exasperating way, and seemed to think Farmer Brown ought to drop all thoughts of money and attend to her. Finally, she made herself so much of a nuisance that he did attend to her.

Get out, he said, and he lifted his foot and gave her a very gentle little kick. What are you yelling around me for? Scat! Now, what do you think? think snub did. You would hardly believe it, but it is really true. After going away a few feet and sitting down and blinking her astonished green eyes at the cross man for a minute, she went straight to the barn door, and she scratched and she clawed and she bit until she got every single rat skin down, then she carried them one by one and dropped them in the spring behind the barn. When she had finished the sameiable job, she sat down on a bag of oats, licked her face, and looked as though she wanted

to say, there, catch your own rats after this if you want them. A critic, looking over my shoulder, says just here, I don't see where the moral comes in with this story. I thought you would have nothing in the pansy, but that taught a moral lesson. Now, little pansies, think of his not being able to see the lesson. Perhaps he thinks that spitefulness doesn't look badly, even in a cat. But aren't you a little bit ashamed even of poor snub? But what if he had been a boy with a soul and done something very like that? Oh, dreadful. Now I think of it, isn't it a strange thing that Farmer Brown couldn't be cross a little while, without leading even a cat to do wrong? I do suppose she wouldn't have been spiteful if it hadn't been for Farmer Brown's ill-humor. But what if that same ill-humor had led a little

girl with a soul to do something that was wrong? Oh, dreadful. The trouble with the moral is, a piece of it is for grown people, and grown people don't like morals, you know. 11. Section 12 of Little Minnie and Other Stories by Pansy. This Sliberovoc's recording is in the public domain. The Silly Little Fish Once there was a silly little fish who lived in a lovely glass globe in a lovely parlor, and flopped and flounced about all day long because he couldn't get out and live on the carpet. Of course he couldn't have lived an hour on the carpet, but the silly little fish didn't know that.

He thought he was wiser than anybody else, and that the carpet was a lovely, bright-colored house, and it was very hard and cruel to keep him from swimming about on it. He tried his best to get out. He flopped himself against the side of the globe with such force that he almost broke his fin, but the globe wouldn't let him out. Then he tried to jump out. He tried it ever so many times a day for a great many days, but he couldn't do it, and so he was cross about half the time.

One unlucky morning, Anna, who had charge of the globe, filled it a little fuller than usual with nice fresh water, and the minute she went out of the room, up popped the silly fish, and, with one good strong flounce, out he came on the marble block on which the globe stood. He thought that was a pretty cold place, and he was trying to plan how to get to the carpet, when who should spring from the hearth to the sofa and from the sofa to the table, but green-eyed Tabby! The silly little fish never got to the carpet, for Tabby killed him in less time than it takes to tell it, and ate him up.

If he had only been content to hop around in that nice cool, fresh water, what a lovely home he might have had, and Tabby would have eyed him in vain, if he had only known what an enemy she was, and how steadily she was watching him every day. End of Section 12. Section 13 of Little Minnie and Other Stories by Pansy. This Libravox recording is in the public domain. A Centerville Centennial, Chapter 1, What Started It? It all popped into their heads on a rainy Friday evening.

They were twins, and they were brother and sister, and they were to be 10 years old on the 4th day of July, 1876, and whatever they couldn't plan wasn't worth planning. Their names were George and Martha Washington Myers. They were named after the father and mother of our country. They lived in the village of Centerville, so much for their former history, now for what they did. In the first place, they sat in a corner of the great old-fashioned sofa and looked at the picture in a paper that had been brought in with the evening mail. What a fuss they make about the centennial anyway, said Martha. What's the use? I don't understand it, do you? What are they going to have down there in Philadelphia?

Have? said George Washington loftily. Why, everything, machinery you know, and flowers and all sorts of improvements, things that have been made in the last hundred years. Flowers haven't been made in that time, said Martha. No, but then they always have flowers everywhere, and besides, there's new kinds. We have been made in the last hundred years, said Martha. I think we ought to be there. That's so. But then there's lots of others just like us. That's the trouble.

If they took all of us, there would be no room for locomotives and things. They only have one of a kind. I'd like to be one of a kind, wouldn't you? Wouldn't it be funny? Perhaps they'd put us in a case to be looked at. It would have to be you, too, because we belong together.

"'Halloo,' said George. "'Here's a bell. "'My, what a big fellow it is! "'I should like to hear it ring. "'See that crack down the middle.' "'What cracked it?' "'I don't know. "'The powder, maybe.

"'They wrung it, you know, "'the day the Declaration of Independence was made. "'I declare if this bell isn't made out of it.' "'Out of what?' "'Why, out of the Declaration. "'Look, it is little fine, letters, and it says, when, in the course of human events and all that, you know. Did you ever read it all through? No, don't know as I ever did. Let's read it, said Martha,

and at it they went. If the men who wrote it could have heard what these two wise ones said about it, they would have thought longer over some of the sentences. What fibs it tells? George said, after a while. Great fuss they made about freedom. Then they went and had slaves for years and years, till Abraham Lincoln wrote his name on a piece of paper one day, and then, says I, the Declaration of Independence meant something. It's dreadful fine print, said Martha. It makes my eyes ache, but then I like it. I feel real cold a way down to my toes when I read some of it, and when I feel cold that way, I know things are good. See all those stars, don't they look pretty?

They stand for all the states. Let's count them and see if they made a mistake. So that was the next thing done. George got around first. No, ma'am, none of them left out. They're all on hand. Oh, look at this big building. Wouldn't I like to see that?

Look at that big dome on the top. and there is a man standing on it. No, it's a woman. Her name is Columbia. The building is to put pictures in. I think it would hold a jolly lot of them. My sakes, think of a door being 15 feet wide. I don't know how wide that is, said Martha, shaking her head as though 15 feet of door was too much for her. Well, now let's calculate. Three feet make a yard and 15 feet. feet would be five yards, wouldn't it? And this carpet is a yard-wide, mother said. There's five strips of it, so there's your door just exactly as wide as this room. Oh my, said the mother of her country. She could say no more. There's three of them, continued George Washington,

all the same size. Well, I guess there will be room enough for all the folks to get in. I just wish I was one of them, murmured Martha. She did not mean she wished she was one of the doors. As for George, he turned to another picture. Ha, he said, here is the place where I want to be. They might have all their pictures if I could see the big engines and things that they will have in this room. Philadelphia, U.S. America. That's what it reads on it. Then down a little lower it says, international exhibition. What does international mean? asked Martha. Well, said the father of his country, looking wise.

I don't feel quite sure, but I think it means the inside of things. Inter, like into, you know, that might mean look inside. Oh, said Martha, she was satisfied. That great big engine will be scudding around in there, I suppose, continued George, and the sewing machines, and the new writing machines, and, oh, every kind of machine you can think of. I wouldn't give a fig to see all those, said Martha. What's the use? You can see a big engine any time by just going down to the depot.

And as for sewing machines, why, dear me, everybody who has any one. anything at all has one of them. I'm sure we've got two in our house. And you know Mr. Edwards has the new writing machine, and he let me write my name on it the other day. Martha Washington-Myers Centerville, I wrote, as plain as print. Why, it is print, you know. Most everything can be seen without going there to see it after all. Oh, well, said George Washington, and he drew a long sigh. you are a girl, and girls never care for machinery. They don't understand it. I suppose that's the reason, but I say I would give more to see the buzzing, whizzing things they will have there in that big hall

than to see all the pictures and flowers in the world. But then there's no use in talking, and he turned the paper. Oh, oh, oh, shouted George Washington and Martha Washington both at once, and each O was louder than the last, for they had been looking at the pictures backward, just as people often see things, and now they had come to the main exhibition building, the size of which so amazed them that for a while all the remarks they could make

were those three O's. These pictures I am giving you are only bird's-eye views of the ones that George and Martha had. In order to make room for the story, we had to squeeze the picture, It says it is a parallelogram, pronounced Martha, stopping before each syllable long enough to turn it over in her mind. Now what can that mean? You go get the dictionary and let's look. So these two sensible patriots dragged the unabridged Webster to the sofa and went in search of knowledge. George Washington

found the place and studied over it with great wrinkles on his forehead for a few minutes, then read aloud. It's a right-lined quadrilateral figure whose opposite sides are parallel and consequently equal. Oh, said Martha. She was fond of knowledge, was Martha Washington, and she was glad that now she knew what a parallelogram was. Oh, my landsakes alive! Burst forth George Washington. What? said Martha Washington, leaning over his shoulder. Why, this building! It's 1876 feet long. Think of that. A foot for every year.

Wouldn't I like to gallop on horseback straight through it? Just look at the towers. They are 75 feet high. I tell you what I think. It seems as if a fellow named George Washington and born on the 4th of July, ought to go see the centennial. And the father of his country leaned back against the sofa cushions with a solemn face. Meanwhile, Martha's eyes, never very small, had been growing larger and larger. Some great big thought was behind all that thinking. It burst forth in one short sentence. Georgie, let's have a centennial. What do you mean?

Why, a real time, you know. Like that at Philadelphia. Let's have it on the 4th of July, our birthday. We can do it beautifully. Don't you know that Long Arbor down by the bridge? Well, that will do for the big building. I don't know about it's being a parallelogram. I didn't quite understand about that.

but I know it will do, and the tent will be the machinery hall, and the conservatory will be the flower room, and the barn can be the art gallery. No, the barn will be better for machinery, and the tent for the art gallery. Now, won't that be lovely? But what will we do? Where's the fun? Why, George Washington, it's all over. Kitty's Josephine Amanda will make a lovely Columbia, and our big flag will do for the float over her. Just lovely it will be. I can see it now just as plain. And we can have music, your band you know, and real flowers, lots of them, and pictures and speeches. They had to have music. You're a band, you know, and real flowers, lots of them, and pictures and speeches. a poem and all such things, and Papa will let us have the Chinese lanterns up, because it will be Fourth of July and our birthday. Oh, we can have a perfectly splendid centennial all our own. We could have my new balloon and my windmill and my kite with a new-fashioned tail for machinery hall, said George Washington, beginning to warm with the new idea. Those are all new things. Yes, and Kitty's doll carriage with the draw behind. That's machinery.

So it is, and I made it. I invented it. I've got a new notion about that balloon that will make it better than ever. Why, I don't know, but it would be a good idea. Oh, splendid! We can have domes and all. I know what will make splendid domes. Just take some old hoop skirts. There's piles and piles of them in the attic and cover them over with sheets and things, and they would look lovely. We could have three on the arbor. "'There's one thing,' said George Washington, leaning his cheek on his hand. "'They have things from Paris, you know, and London and all that. We couldn't manage that.'

"'Paris,' said Martha, her eyes growing larger, and she went to thinking. I know, she said. Let's have Tommy and Janie and Trudy in it. They moved from Paris Hill, you know, and they can bring lots of things and all their things we can mark Paris. That's a fact, and that fellow that's visiting at the Stonehouse is from New London. What's to hinder our letting him in and having a lot of things from London? I'll tell you what, Martha Washington, you and I are a jolly couple. You and I are a jolly couple. Let's do it. End of section 13. Section 14 of Little Minnie and Other Stories by Pansy.

This Slibervok's recording is in the public domain. The Centerville Centennial, Chapter 2. How it was planned. Then began work, I can tell you. The mother of George and Martha Washington had reason, before the next long weeks were over, to wish that she had named her children John and Jane Smith, or any other worthy names unknown to fame. You have no idea how they flew about. There was a great deal to be done. To show what a lovely place Martha had chosen for the big building,

you shall have a peep of her down by the bridge, the arbor just behind them, while she sat at her papa's side and explained to him the wonderful plan. The heartiness with which Papa went into the whole affair was an honor to his country. In fact, he had a dozen new ideas for them, and Martha left him more delighted and determined than before. Oh, me, I wish you and I could have followed those two people up and down the world for the next two weeks. If our feet wouldn't have ached, it wouldn't have been their fault. The plan grew and widened as they talked it over. and worked it over, till they were almost astonished at their own schemes. A bell they must have, of course.

And oh, screamed Martha, it shall be made of flowers. And oh, yelled Trudy from Paris. The clapper shall be a lily. And though I haven't room for the bell, I declare you shall see the lily. Now the flowers, they must be yellow. Oh, so yellow, said Martha, that people will think they are made of brass like a real bell. And so the Scotch Gardner had to be talked and talked and talked at. Poor Martha's tongue just ached before she managed him.

He didn't believe in the centennial so very much as he might anyhow. Sober old Scotland had never done anything so wild as that. "'But David,' said Martha. "'Of course you couldn't, you know, "'because you never had a declaration of independence, "'and bells rung, and one of them cracked and all that. "'How could you?' "'Indeed, and Miss Marthy,' David said.

"'Old Scotland was as independent as she cared to be. "'Freedom to do her duty in the fear of God "'was as much as a body needed. "'And if Scotland hadn't that, why, who had? And as for bells, she would never hear any bells so sweet as the bells of old Scotland, nor see anything bonnier than the heather bells growing everywhere. As for being cracked, it was no such great pride to have cracked bells. Martha saw she had made a mistake. Oh, but David, she said, we are going to have ever so many people here to walk up and down

as they do in Philadelphia, and don't you see they will find that your flowers are the prettiest and the yellowest in the world? Well, if it comes to that, that's so, he said, and a prettier show of flowers than mine, it would be hard to find. And so the old gardener was one. The art gallery was to be a success. Every centennial picture that the daily and weekly papers and magazines brought to Centerville, and that George and Martha could get hold of, was cut and framed in evergreen, and touched off at the corners with gilt paper stars, and hung in Memorial Hall. Moreover, they planned one such lovely work of art for the centerpiece that nothing at Philadelphia can quite equal it, so you shall have a glimpse of the copy. It was nothing less than Kitty Myers herself, in a hat that was for 45 years old, and her hair combed just as Mama used to comb hers, and a pussycat in her arms,

whose name was Thomas Jefferson, one of the original signers of the Declaration of Independence everyone knows. She was to have a lovely frame of evergreen around her, with yellow flowers all over it for stars, and to be set on the highest shelf in Memorial Hall, a living, breathing, work of art fresh from the master's hand. We challenge Philadelphia to equal that. So the plan grew and grew and grew until father became nearly as wild as the children. So the mother said, but she sewed gilt stars on a white robe while she spoke, and while she sewed, she smiled. She was not sorry that she had named her children those troublesome names after all. There was a great map of the world in the art gallery, and Mama suggested a big Bible to be laid open before it for the emblem, and the good angels made Trudy from Paris think a cross of white flowers would be just the thing to lay on it.

And as one thing leads to another, Papa Myers himself helped cut and cover and arrange the letters that spelled the motto. and Martha, as she surveyed with great delight, every unpronounceable, queer-sounding, solemn-looking word, said, with a great sigh of satisfaction, that, that was better than a parallelogram she was sure. They were really almost ready now. The speech, even the poem, was written and learned, and had been recited in the barn, in the woodshed, in the pasture, in the arbor, wherever George Washington's historic feat had occasion to tread. For who's so fitting to deliver the poem on this occasion as the venerable George? I am sure you want a copy of the poem. Here it is. Hail, centennial day. 100 years have passed away, gone from our sight and gone to stay.

Hail all hail centennial day Hail centennial day Here swings the bell of liberty Here can your eyes improvement see Made all of them by hands that are free Hail all hail centennial day Hail centennial day Yonder there stands a great balloon

I made it with these hands And soon we can travel by it to the moon Hail all hail centennial day Hail Centennial Day We greet you with a song May your life be glad and long May you make right out of every wrong Hail all hail centennial day

Need I say to you That the father of his country Composed every word of this himself It was the very night before the grand opening The friends from Paris And the friends from London And the renowned Americans all tumbled around on the grass together and rejoiced over the thought that every single thing was ready.

The 38 dolls, who represented the 38 states, were dressed and garlanded and badged, and standing in solemn rows under one of the evergreen archways of Memorial Hall. It's so nice, said Martha Washington, with a yawn, that they haven't got to undress and go to bed and have their own dress and have their own. breakfast and be all fixed again. They can just stand there all night and no more fuss about it. On the other hand, said the London gentleman, it's so nice that we can go to bed and get up and have our breakfast and not have to stand there all night. Then they all laughed. Suddenly, George Washington grew sober. I thought of a strange thing, he said. What?

said they all. Why, what in the world shall we do with the money? The money, said they all. Why, yes, don't you know we have planned that all who come shall pay two cents at every hall? Now there will be a rush, no mistake about that. I don't know a boy or girl in the whole town of Centerville that isn't coming, to say nothing of grown-up folks, and what shall be done with the money? Now when, in the annals of history, was it known before that there was money gathering on people's hands and nothing to do with it? Yet so it was. Such a clamor of tongues as arose then, London and Paris and America all talking at once. Each had a plan, each thought the other one's plan perfect nonsense. We ought to do something on a grand scale, said the London

loftily. Or something funny that we can all have some of, said a Paris lady. Mother, said George Washington, what can we do with the money that will be real honorable and centennial? Before she could answer, the gate clicked behind them, and Miss Rebecca Harlow came up the walk. What about money? She said.

Oh, here's Rebecca. They all said. She'll help us. Let's tell her about it. Which they all tried to do. By dint of a dozen questions, wedged in among the whizz of tongues, she got the idea. Well, isn't that splendid? She said, as soon as they gave her a chance. How things fit? Why, I'm delighted. I have a centennial plan myself, and this fits into it, as though it was made for it. You know our chapel? Yes, of course, we've seen it once or twice. These were some of her answers.

Well, you know how the lamps smoke? Don't we, though? And how dusty it is sometimes? Aye. And that there's only a greasy cambric rag for a duster? No, is that so? And that the broom has but four straws in it? Well, now listen.

So they all put their heads together and listened. And at the end of the story, they all shook themselves out and gave a good strong hurrah, and, tired as they were, they went straight to work over a new motto of Evergreen, that it was agreed must appear tomorrow over the main exhibition building. It was the name of their new society, the American Foreign Centennial Lamp and Broom Society. End of Section 14 Section 15 of Little Minnie and Other Stories by Pansy. The Sliberovox recording is in the public domain. Daisy's Talk

Now, Perro, you mustn't touch this slipper. It's Papa's slipper, and Daisy is getting it all warm for his poor cold footy. Toby, you mustn't touch it either. It isn't a mousy, and you needn't play that it is. Papa will say, Good little daughter to take care of Papa. He won't say so to you, Perro, because you are only a dog,

and you can't be either good or bad. Why, yes, you can. When you go after the paper, you are good, and when you follow Papa to the city after he has sent you back five two times, why, then you are bad. But then, you know you can't talk, and I suppose you can't think.

think, though I don't see how folks know whether you think or not, because you can't tell them how it is. You needn't say, bow, wow, that isn't talking. Don't you feel bad, Perro, good doggy? Daisy loves you, and I suppose it is talk after all. Dog talk. I don't understand it always, but I suppose you do. Toby, what are you mewing about? Don't you know Perro and I are talking, and you stir bus? You must never interrupt people when they are talking. Scat! Don't touch my slipper! You poor Perrow and Toby, I'm real sorry for you. I can't think how it would seem to be nothing but a cat and a dog all the time. I'm afraid you are both very naughty, for I've tried hard to teach you to say your prayers, and you would not say them. I suppose, though, you can't. It's what you get for

being a cat and a dog instead of people. You have tongues too, but you can't say words with them. They are just made to eat milk with and to lick my hand. You see, the think has been left out of you. That is just the trouble. And you can't ever go to heaven because people who don't pray to Jesus never go to heaven. And you can't pray. I'm so sorry for you because it's a beautiful place there. The floors are all made of gold, and they have flowers and rivers, only you don't drown in them, and it's just lovely. I'm going, and Mama and Papa, I guess, only he hasn't much time, but I pray for him every night and morning.

I say, please Jesus, take care of dear Papa, and let him go to heaven when he dies, and I pray for you, too. I say, please Jesus, take care of dear Papa, and let him go to heaven. of Perrault and Toby. But I can't ask him to take you to heaven when you die, because you can't learn how to pray, and you've got to pray, or else you can't go to heaven. It says so in the Bible. So all you can do is to have a nice good time here. I suppose that is why you don't have the scarlet fever and the measles and things, because you have such a little bit of a life that there isn't time for hard things. But we don't care, you know, because we are going to live forever up in

heaven. Bow wow! Meow! Dear me, these are all the words that you can say, I am sorry for you. End of Section 15. Section 16 of Little Minnie and Other Stories by Pansy. The Slibrovox recording is in the public domain. A grave question. Young Bobby wears a very sober face, not exactly a troubled one, but one that shows he has a serious business to attend to, and so he had. New Year's morning and his birthday, six years old today. I can tell you what he is thinking about. Mother, he said the other night. There is hardly a word in the English language that he is. he cannot pronounce except mother and when he is very careful he can say that but the truth is mother thinks the baby word is all that is left of her dear baby who has grown into a boy and is

quite willing to have him forget to speak the word aright well mother he said that timmy mullin you know that i went after he can't come because he hasn't anything to wear on his feet and the snow has made red spots all over his toes. Mover, can't I give him some shoes or something so he can come? You may not understand this sentence, but Mover did. Bobby was hunting up Sunday school recruits. He belonged to the standing army that they had in school, and Timmy was a boy whom he had been after for some time.

There isn't a single pair of shoes in the house to spare. his mother said, Don't you remember we picked up all the old ones for the Smiths after the fire? Bobby looked sober, drew a long sigh, and presently said, Then I suppose Timmy will have to stay at home. It is pretty mean that a boy can't have something for his feet, I think. Mother sewed away on Bobby's little jacket for some minutes without speaking. Pretty soon she said,

I can think of one way by which you can get him a pair of shoes if you want to. I can, Bobby said with sparkling eyes. Why, how? Won't that be splendid? But I am not at all sure that you will want to do it. Of course I shall want to do it. I'm awful in a hurry to have him go. Besides, he will make for this winter. What way, maver, tell me quick.

"'Well,' said Mother, sewing very fast and not glancing up at all, "'you know tomorrow will be New Year's and your birthday, "'and you know you have never had a pair of boots "'and have been wanting some for ever so long. "'Now there is a pair in the house that are meant for you. "'They are bought and paid for, "'and it happens that they cost just exactly as much again "'as a pair of nice thick shoes would.

"'Now, if you choose to have me, me do it, I can exchange those boots for two pairs of shoes, and one pair you may give to Timmy. Bobby stood looking down at his mother in speechless surprise, not to say dismay, at the greatness of this sacrifice. Hadn't he wanted a pair of boots, and hadn't he talked about them every day of his life for most a hundred years, so it seemed to him, and here were a pair in the house under his mother's bed as likely as not, and there said his mother, coolly proposing to exchange them for two pairs of horrid little shoes with strings in just like a girl's. I couldn't do that, you know, he said at last in a slow, grave tone.

So I supposed, said mother, sewing away, only it seemed to be my duty to let you know there was a way, You seemed to be so anxious about Timmy. Couldn't you possibly get him a pair of shoes and let me keep the boots? Mother shook her head. It might be possible, but I don't think it is best. I have spent all the money on charity this year that I feel I can spare, but if you choose to spend some, that is another thing. Bobby was very still, so was his.

his mother. Have they got red tops? He asked at last. Yes, bright red ones. And big heels? Very big, so big that father thought some of them ought to be taken off, but I spoke a good word for them because I knew your tastes. Then they kept still for a few minutes. I'm pretty old, said Bobby at last, not to have had a pair of boots. Ned Smith is a whole half-year younger than I am, and he has had a pair for two weeks. Yes, said Mother, you are plenty old enough to have a pair, and you have waited rather patiently considering, and they are in the house this minute waiting for you, but at the same time you can have the choice I spoke of. "'Mother,' said Bobby, speaking slowly and carefully, and getting every letter into the name Mother in its right place,

"'Do you think I ought to change them?' "'That has nothing to do with it,' Mother answered quickly. "'It is your affair, not mine. "'What I think or don't think is not to the purpose. "'I have given it over into your hands to do just one, What you think. Then they were still for ever so long. At least it was a long time for Bobby to keep still.

Then he said, How long can I have to decide? Why, I ought to take the boots back tomorrow if I don't keep them. They may have a chance to sell them on New Year's Day. Then I'll tell you about it tomorrow morning. I'll decide it when I am getting dressed. I want to think it oh. over, because you see, it is important. Boots are great things. Very great, said Mother,

not knowing whether to laugh or cry. The picture is just as he looked the next morning when he was trying to decide what to do. It is an important question, he said. Mother said so, and I know so. Boots are splendid things. You can see. step in the snow ever so deep, and your stockings won't go and get all damp, and give you a sore throat. But then, I suppose shoes are better than nothing at all, and Timmy Nolan goes barefoot, and I could walk in the path. I don't most ever go where there isn't a path. Shoes wear out quicker than boots, mother said so, and these would wear out sometime or other, than I could have the boots. Maybe they would last till I.

I am a man. Things last me so awful long. I could stamp about a great deal and try to make them go a little quicker, but that would be mean, I suppose. Don't you go and be wicked, Bobby, just for the sake of a new pair of boots? All the boys will laugh, because I told him I was most sure I would have boots this year, but I don't think Timmy will laugh much if he has to go barefoot. It is real hard to tell. If mother had said, you must do this, Bobby, it would have been ever so much easier, only I most feel as if I would have been mad then, and I can't be mad now, for I can do just as I like. In view of all these arguments, Bobby took two or three turns up and down the room. Then he did what many boys older and wiser than he forget to do when they have troublesome

questions to decide. He got down on his knees and said, Jesus Christ, help me, for I want the boots most awful, and I most think I ought to take the shoes. For Jesus' sake, amen. Then he went to the door and called at the head of the stairs, Mother, Mother! And when she answered, he shouted down to her, Please to send the boots back right away, quick, before I come downstairs and get the two pairs of shoes. Brave little Bobby, I think Jesus Christ did help him. End of Section 16. Section 17 of Little Minnie and Other Stories by Pansy.

This Sliberovox recording is in the public domain. Fresh berries. Dear me! said Miss Marshall, and she began to walk slower and slower. What a looking hut that is, and what a man sitting there. I wonder if I am afraid to pass him. I am glad I haven't my pocketbook, and she felt in her pocket to be sure it wasn't there. But then I have my watch and chain and my diamond ring.

I don't know what to do. I am afraid to turn around, and I am afraid to go on. What made me wander away out here? Who would have supposed that such a looking set lived here? I may as well walk on, I suppose, for they will be sure to chase after me if I let them know that I am afraid. Oh, dear me, I wish I was safe at home again.

She walked slower and slower, and kept looking at the ugly fellow outside of the hut, and wondering how many more were inside, and whether they would let her go if she gave them her watch and ring. Just then, a shrill voice from within the hut squealed out, Jake! What? said the man outside. Are them there berries in the yellow pail to go to the village this morning?

No. Why not? Because they ain't fresh. They was left over. They was a picked a Saturday, and this is a Monday morning. Stale berries ain't. healthy to say nothing of their not being honest. You don't catch Jake Flynn being mean enough to try to sell them for fresh so near the Sabbath day too. We can eat them for dinner. They won't hurt us,

I suppose. Anyhow, they can't go to market. Miss Marshall heard every word of this, and by the time Jake stopped talking, she had begun to walk fast again. She nodded a pleasant good morning to him as she passed the hut. Every bit of fear was gone. She knew her watch and diamond ring were as safe as though she were at home. Why? Because she had sense enough to know that a man who wouldn't sell stale berries for fresh ones wouldn't steal. Little bits of things tell what kind of lives people live. He is not so bad-looking a man after all, said Miss Marshall as she passed him, even the look on his face seemed to have changed. End of Section 17. Section 18 of Little Minnie and Other Stories by Pansy.

This Sliberovoc's recording is in the public domain. Ruffles They stopped under the old tree not far from the churchyard. The twin sisters, Lena and Lina Farris, stood a little apart from the others and talked in low voices. At least Lena did. Lina's voice was loud enough for them all to hear. There is no use in talking, Lena Ferris. I am not going to Sunday school to sit in a class with girls who make fun of me and of my mother because I haven't 25 ruffles on my dress. You may do it if you want to, but I have too much spirit to stand it. I am just going home.

This was what Lina said. Then Ida Willard, the girl with the three ruffles, said, What a story! We didn't make fun of you at all. I said your dress would be prettier if it was ruffled, and so it would. And then Gracie only said, she shouldn't think your mother would dress you so queer, and she didn't mean you to hear that at all. Then Carrie Blake reached out her hand. Oh, do come on, Lina, she said, what is the use of having a fuss? over nothing. We shall all be late. What do you want to be so peppery for? Then Lena. Do come, Lina. Mother will not like us to come home. What difference does it make whether the girls think our dresses

are pretty or not? It makes a good deal of difference to me. I don't choose to be made fun of. I am just as good as they are if my dress isn't ruffled. Two boys came down the walk. One of them was the twins's brother. He saw that one little sister looked troubled, and one looked cross, so he stopped. What's up? He asked pleasantly. Ida Willard was ready to explain. Why, your sister, Lina, is mad at us because her dress isn't ruffled, but I don't see how we can help it. That isn't the truth, and she knows it, said Lina, speaking very loud. She is always making fun of the way we are dressed, and so is Carrie Blake, and I am not going to stand it any longer. I am as good as she is any day." Alec laughed. Why, I think you are ruffled, he said, more ruffled than any of them.

I'm sure your temper is ruffled away up to your chin. Then Lina began to cry. The other boy was Louis Holbrook. He was not so tall as his friend. In fact, the boys called him chunky. Be ye kind one to another. Isn't that in the lesson for today? He asked of Ida Willard. The girls looked ashamed. She does get mad so quick, one of them said. Lewis looked kindly at her. I'll give you a verse for tomorrow, he said. A soft answer turneth away wrath. If you want to know whether that is true, just try it the next time you have it. chance. Alec Ferris laughed. I've got a verse, he said. Behold how great a matter a little Ruffle, Kindleth. Now come all of you and let's go to Sabbath school. Lina dried her eyes and went on

with the rest. Lewis had helped her. End of section 18. Section 19 of Little Minnie and other stories by Pansy. This Libra Box recording is in the public domain. A Valentine made of poetry. Little Lulie Langdon with one shoe off and one shoe on is almost wild with joy, for this is the 14th day of February and she has a Valentine, all her own, came through the post office and had her name written on it, Miss Lully Langdon. It's made of poetry, too, she said, and her eyes danced. It was for all the world like her grown-up sisters. Only hers hadn't a pretty heart on it.

The Valentine came from Lully's dear friend, Georgie Bliss, who was nine years old. He wrote the poetry, every bit himself. Here it is. Dear little Lully, I send you my heart. heart, all made of paper red and gold, only part of its blue, right in the middle of the sheet. That, you know, is because I'm your true lover. I call that pretty neat. Little Lully, whenever you get big and want to send a Valentine, if I were you, I wouldn't undertake to write it in rhyme. Poetry's nice, but it's awful hard to do. You wouldn't catch me at it for anybody but

you. Now, Luli, I don't suppose you'll know that I send you this unless I put my name, and I tell you it's lucky that my name is George Bliss, because you see that rhymes, and that's a point to be considered when you're writing poetry every bit yourself, and, and that's the end. End of Section 19 Section 20 of Little Minnie and Other Stories by Pansy. This Libravox recording is in the public domain. Ladders So Joshua sent messengers and they ran into the tent,

and behold, it was hid in his tent and the silver under it. This is the way Floyd's portrait looks. It hangs in the sitting room where her mother can give it loving looks between the stitches that she is always taking in Floyd's garments. An artist, who was spending the summer in town and boarding just across the street, painted the picture, and it is a very fine likeness. I don't suppose there was ever a better picture of a pussycat than Mr. Edwards made of Topsy. I hope you will see that she has a very intelligent face. Floyd, in her winter cap of white fur and muffled up in a fur cloak and leggings, looked very unlike this little short-sleeved maiden.

But she was dressed according to the weather, you see. It was June when this picture was taken, and it is February now. Floyd was just home from Sunday school. She stopped before the picture and looked at it steadily, then looking down at something in her hand, "'It isn't like my ladder,' she said at last, "'and yet it is a ladder, I guess. "'I wonder if it is to climb down or up on.' "'Well, what now?' said Mr. Lewis,

"'who was waiting for his little daughter and watching her face. "'Papa, is this to climb down on, do you think?' "'Clime down on? What is the point? I'm in ignorance as usual.' "'Why, Papa, you know Eakin used his ladder to climb down on, "'but then he needn't if he hadn't been so foolish. "'Wasn't he so silly?' "'I think very likely. "'But you see, I haven't the pleasure of his acquaintance.

"'You will have to come and tell me about him. "'What have you in your hand?' "'Why, this is my ladder, "'and that ladder-looking thing in my picture made me think of it. The flower is climbing up on it. The flower knows more than Aiken did. Papa, don't you truly know about Aiken, and how he made a ladder of his eyes and his hands? I don't think I ever heard of him before in my life. While we are getting these fixings all off, you might give me an account of him. Why, Papa, he stole. He kept looking and looking at some gold and some other things, and the more he looked at the them the more he wanted them, so he took them. And then, don't you think, he had to hide them?

He thought he put them where nobody could find them, but God knew about them all the time, and he told all about it, and Aiken got found out. So then he told all about it, but that didn't help him any. He had to be punished, and he had to give up the beautiful land of Canaan just for a piece of gold that didn't do him any good. But I don't see anything about a ladder in all that? Oh, Miss Peckham made us a ladder to help us to understand about it. See, Papa? The sides are made of eyes and hands. And, oh, and a heart, I forgot that. And the rounds are what he did. He looked and wanted. That was with his heart, you know,

and then his hand took it, and then they hit it. He kept stepping down, down, down. And he never minded the sign at the top, which said, beware of covetousness. He kept stepping down until he got to the very bottom, and there God knew about it all the time. Mr. Lewis laughed a little. What nonsense it is, he said, to talk to a mouse like you about such a long word as covetousness, just as if you could understand it. Oh, but Papa, I do. It means to keep wanting a thing very much that doesn't belong to us, and that God would rather we wouldn't have, to want it so much that we try to get it. That is just what Aiken did. God gave him his eyes and his hands to help him up, and in the Instead of that, he made them help him down.

I think my ladder in the picture is a climb ladder. I mean to use all my ladders to climb up by, don't you, Papa? There is no telling, he said, putting her down rather suddenly, and she ran to show her ladder to Mama. All that day, Mr. Lewis was restless. He couldn't even eat oysters, though he was so fond of them. and he said the mince pie was sour, though everyone else thought it was sweet. At night, after Floyd had been asleep for hours, he suddenly said,

After all, I believe I'll let that mortgage stand. I would like Smith's house well enough, but the poor fellow wants to keep it himself, and if I help him along, he will be able to keep it, I guess. I believe I'll climb up instead of down this time. and Mrs. Lewis, who had had Floyd's ladder explained to her, said softly, A little child shall lead them. Ask your father what she meant by that. End of Section 20. Section 21 of Little Minnie and Other Stories by Pansy. This Libravox recording is in the public domain. Little Child's Morning Him

The morning bright with rosy light Has waked me from my sleep Father I own Thy love alone Thy little one doth keep All through the day I humbly pray Be thou my guard and guide

My sins forgive And let me live Bless Jesus near thy side O make thy rest Within my breast Great spirit of all grace Make me like me like thee, then I shall be prepared to see thy face.

End of Section 21. End of Little Minnie and Other Stories by Pansy.