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 Another Random Document on
Scribd Without Any Related Topics
 They all ran under their mother as quick as a wink. She ruffled
her long grayish hair above them. When the animal jumped at her
she growled, and hissed, and scratched, and bit, till he ran limping
away.
On another evening a big dog came galloping up before they
could scramble into a tree. His red tongue was hanging out of his
mouth between his white teeth. As soon as he caught sight of the
opossums he made a dash to catch them. Instantly they all fell down
and rolled over just as if they were dead.
There they lay, with their eyes shut, their paws limber, their tails
limp. They seemed to stop breathing. The dog smelled them and
pushed them with his cold nose.
But they kept perfectly still and did not move even an eyelash.
They were pretending to be dead. It was one trick that they all knew
without being taught.
The minute the dog walked away they all jumped up and
scampered into a tree. When the dog turned his head and saw them
he ran back and leaped up to reach them.
But all the opossums were safe enough now. While he was
jumping and barking below they clung fast in the tree with their
hand-like feet. They wound their tails about the branches above to
hold more securely.
The little opossums learned to climb all sorts of trees, rough or
smooth. It was easier to climb the rough trees because they could
dig their nails farther into the bark.
 The biggest baby could walk along the springiest limb, even if it
kept teetering up and down in the wind. When he felt like it he
swung by his tail the longest time without getting dizzy.
All summer long the twelve little opossums stayed with their
mother. During the day they slept cuddled in the hollow tree. Every
night, after sunset, the mother and her twelve children set off on
their hunting.
Down through the marsh they trotted. Some waded into the mud
to catch frogs, while others chased mud turtles over the shore.
Some hunted for berries and others nosed for acorns under the
oaks.
It was beautiful there in the woods at night. When the stars
twinkled overhead and the soft wind rustled in the tree-tops the little
ones frisked and frolicked.
They hid under the shadowy bushes or jumped hither and thither
to snap at the fluttering moths.
 But on stormy evenings they plodded on in the rain, their wet fur
drooping. With their noses close to the ground they hunted till they
found a few mouthfuls to eat. Then they went back to the cosy
hollow for a longer nap, after licking their pink hands and washing
their faces, just as kittens do.
One night, in autumn, the old mother opossum felt the nip of
frost in the air. Then she knew that the persimmons were ready to
be eaten. Away through the woods she hurried, with the young ones
trotting after her.
She led the way past the marsh and over the hill to a thicket of
trees tangled with wild grapevines. There on the branches the round
persimmons were shining yellow in the moonlight.
Up the trees eleven of the babies scrambled hungrily, and,
hanging by their tails, stuffed the fruit into their wide mouths. Ah!
But wasn’t it delicious! Better than anything they had ever tasted
before in all their short lives.
Then the biggest baby, who had stopped to gobble ripe grapes,
heard them munching so greedily. One look sent him hurrying after
the others. He was sorry enough that he had wasted any time eating
wild grapes.
Night after night, till the little persimmons were gone, the
opossums hurried away to the thicket, and ate and ate till they could
eat no longer. They grew so fat that they puffed and panted when
trotting home again in the gray light of the frosty dawn.
Soon the ground was frozen hard over the juicy roots. All the fruit
left in the woods hung wrinkled and frost-bitten. The worms and
toads crawled into their holes for the winter. The beetles
disappeared, and the spiders curled up in their hiding places to sleep
through the cold weather. Most of the birds flew away south.
 One by one each little opossum wandered off by himself, and
made a nest in a cosy hole or a hollow stump. There he dozed all
day and often slept through the night without stirring out.
Now and then one of them caught a mouse or dug up a frozen
root to nibble. Sometimes they tore rotten logs apart to get at the
grubs.
In the beginning of the winter the little opossums were so fat that
they could live three or four weeks without eating or drinking. When
the cold winds blew, and the snow fell, they cuddled down in their
warm nests and slept the time away. But many a night they woke up
hungry. And every day their round furry bodies were a little thinner,
till at last, spring melted the snow and ice everywhere.
There was plenty to eat by that time, with all the green things
growing. There were buds to nibble and beetles to catch. There
were frogs croaking in the marsh, and berries were ripening in the
field.
The twelve little opossums were grown up now, and knew how to
take care of themselves. Their mother had another family of babies
in her furry pocket.
Sometimes she met her other children roaming beside the marsh
to catch frogs. One evening they saw a little pointed nose, and two
twinkling bright eyes, peeping over the edge of her pocket.
—Julia A. Schwartz.

Will there really be a morning?

Is there such a thing as day?
Could I see it from the mountains
If I were as tall as they?

Has it feet like water lilies?

Has it feathers like a bird?
Is it brought from famous countries
Of which I have never heard?

Oh, some scholar! Oh, some sailor!

Oh, some wise man from the skies!
Please to tell a little pilgrim
Where the place called morning lies!
—Emily Dickinson.
 THE EMPEROR AND THE PEASANT
I
Once upon a time there was an Emperor of China, named Lee
Wong. He would have been a very good Emperor if he had not been
spoiled by kindness.
If he cried when he was a baby, his nurse called all the nurses in
the palace.
They called the attendants, and the attendants called the
musicians. The musicians played, the attendants danced, and the
nurses walked up and down wheeling the baby in his carriage until
he stopped crying. Sometimes this happened many times in one day.
When Lee was a boy he had his own way in everything. If he
played soldier he was always the general. If he went to fly kites, he
had the ones that would fly the highest.
Sometimes he wished to fly his kites when the wind did not blow.
Then the poor attendants had to blow with a huge bellows to make
the kites sail up into the air.
 If he wished it were summer in the winter-time, they filled his
playroom with beautiful plants and brought canaries and
nightingales to sing to him.
In the hot summer days, if he longed for winter, they brought
evergreen trees to the playroom. They covered the branches with
cotton sprinkled with diamond dust to look like snow. They brought
cakes of ice and made a skating rink and jingled sleigh bells all day
long while he played.
When he was a young man it was still worse. If he said anything,
like, “This is a sunny morning,” or “I think it will rain to-night,” every
one cried, “How wise!” “How wonderfully wise!”
So you see the Emperor was spoiled, and this was very
unfortunate.
In China, just as in other places, every one longs for spring to
come.
One year the Emperor wanted the spring to come more than ever.
He had had a dull winter in his city palace and he wanted to go to
his country palace.
“Command my brother, the Sun, to shine to-morrow,” he said, to
his attendants. “Command the spring to come, also. And be ready,
all of you, to go to the country to-morrow.”
One of the attendants wrote the Emperor’s commands on the
finest Chinese paper and then burned it in the garden. He thought in
this way the commands might reach the sun.
Perhaps they did; for the sun shone beautifully the next day, and
the Emperor and his attendants went to the country palace.

II
The next morning the Emperor waked up very early. A little bird
was singing in the garden. It was a lovely day.
The Emperor thought he would go out into the garden to hear the
little bird sing.
He put on his silk dressing-gown, his silver shoes, and his gold
crown. It was only six o’clock, so no one was awake in the palace.
When the Emperor went into the garden the bird flew into the
forest and sang still more sweetly.
“How stupid I was,” thought the Emperor, “I ought to have
commanded it to stay here. Now I must go into the woods to see it.”
So he opened the gate and went across the field.
At the edge of the woods a peasant was plowing.
“Good morning, peasant,” said the Emperor, “That must be an
Emperor bird singing in the forest, because it sings so sweetly.”
“No, my lord,” said the peasant, taking off his cap, “that is a
blackbird.”
 “You may call it so,” said the Emperor; “but it is an Emperor bird if
I say so, because I am always right. It is as large as a swan, and its
feathers are like shining gold.”
“No, my lord,” said the peasant, “it is small and black.”
Just then the blackbird lighted on a post in the fence and began
to sing. It was easy to see that the peasant was right.
“There must surely be something wrong,” said the Emperor,
“because I never make a mistake.”
“But, my lord, the Emperor can make a mistake. Every one does
that. Your attendants may say that you are always right because
they wish to please you. Perhaps they even praise what you do,
when it is wrong and foolish.”
“I can never believe that,” said the Emperor.
“If you will do as I say,” replied the peasant, “I will prove that I
have told you the truth.”

III
The Emperor promised to do this, although he could not believe
he had been deceived.
Just then all the attendants came running across the field, for
they had waked up and missed the Emperor.
Tears ran down their cheeks. They wished to have the Emperor
think they were weeping because he was gone. He did not know
each one had an onion in his handkerchief.
“Command them to stop where they are,” the peasant whispered.
The Emperor made them stop about twenty feet away, right in
the middle of a ditch.
 “We are weeping because of your absence, beloved Emperor,”
said the chief attendant. He wiped his eyes with his handkerchief,
and all the others did the same thing.
“How do you dare to stand beside the Emperor, you peasant,”
said the Lord Marshal. “Go back to your plow!”

“Say that I am standing beside my plow,” whispered the peasant.

He was really standing beside the Emperor, and the plow was thirty
feet away.
“Do you not see,” said the Emperor, “that he is standing beside
the plow?”
“Oh, yes,” said one, “he is holding the plow with one hand.”
“Yes, yes,” said another, “he is surely driving his oxen.”
“Ask them,” whispered the peasant, “if they ever saw such white
oxen.”
Now the peasant’s oxen were coal black, without a single white
spot on them.
 “Have you ever seen such beautiful white oxen?” said the
Emperor, pointing to the black ones.
“No, never,” said one, “they are indeed snow white.”
“Yes,” said another, “they are whiter than snow. It hurts my eyes
to look at them, they are so white.”
The Emperor knew now that they were not telling the truth, and
he decided to punish them.
“Come here,” he called to some peasants who were plowing in the
next field.
“There is nothing so pleasant as plowing,” he said to his
attendants.
“It is a great pleasure,” said one.
“I enjoy it more than anything in the world,” said another.
“I would rather plow than dance,” said a third.
“I am very glad you think so, my lords,” said the Emperor. “These
peasants will be glad to have you plow for them. This is my
command. Begin at once!”
There was no help for it. The courtiers did not dare to disobey, so
they took hold of the plows and tried to drive the oxen across the
long fields.
I do not believe they plowed very well, for they had never
touched a plow before, and did not know how to drive oxen.
But the peasant went to the palace and became the Emperor’s
chief counsellor.
The Emperor had this story written on a block of marble in golden
letters, but few people can read it because it is written in Chinese,
and it is very hard to have to read Chinese.
—Anna von Rydingsvärd.
 THE CHRISTMAS MONKS
I—THE GARDEN
Have you always wondered where the Christmas presents come
from? Well, I am going to tell you.
Of course, every one knows that Santa Claus brings them. He
comes in a sleigh, driving eight reindeer, and carries the presents
down the chimney in a pack on his back.
But where does he get them? That is the question. And the
answer is,—in the garden of the Christmas Monks.
This garden is in a beautiful valley far away. But I must not tell
you the name of the valley, for if I did you would all want to go there
to live.
The Christmas Monks live in a stone castle covered with ivy and
evergreen vines. There are holly wreaths in every window, and over
the door is an arch, with “Merry Christmas” in evergreen letters.
The Christmas Monks wear white robes embroidered with gold,
and they never go without a Christmas wreath on their heads. Every
morning they sing a Christmas carol, and every evening they ring a
Christmas chime on the bells.
For dinner every day they have roast goose and plum pudding
and mince pie, and at night they set lighted candles in all of the
windows.
But the best place of all is the garden, for that is where the
Christmas presents grow.
 It is a very large garden and is divided into beds, just like our
vegetable gardens. Every spring the Monks go out to plow the
ground and plant the Christmas present seeds.
There is one big bed for rocking-horses, another for drums, and
another for sleds. The bed for the balls is not so large, and the top
bed is quite small, because tops do not need much room when they
are growing.
The rocking-horse seed looks like tiny rocking-horses. The Monks
drop these seeds quite far apart, then they cover them up neatly
with earth, and put up a signpost with “Rocking-horses” on it in
evergreen letters.
Just so with the penny-trumpet seed, and the toy-furniture seed,
the sled seed, and all the others.
Perhaps the prettiest part of the garden is the wax-doll bed.
There are other beds for the rag dolls and the china dolls, and the
rubber dolls, but, of course, wax dolls look much handsomer
growing.
Wax dolls have to be planted very early in the season. The Monks
sow them in rows in April and they begin to come up by the middle
of May.
First there is a glimmer of gold, or brown, or black hair. Then the
snowy foreheads appear, and the blue eyes and black eyes, and at
last all the pretty heads are out of the ground and nodding and
smiling to each other.
With their pink cheeks and bright eyes and curly hair, there is
nothing so pretty as these little wax-doll heads peeping out of the
ground.
Slowly the dolls grow taller and taller, and by Christmas they are
all ready to gather. There they stand, swaying to and fro, their
dresses of pink or blue or white fluttering in the breeze.
 Just about the prettiest sight in the world is the bed of wax dolls
in the garden of the Christmas Monks at Christmas time.

II—PETER AND THE PRINCE

All the children for miles around knew about this garden, of
course, but they had never seen it. There is a thick hedge of
Christmas trees all around it, and the gate where Santa Claus drives
out is always locked with a golden key the moment he goes through.
So you can imagine what excitement there was among the boys
when this notice was hung out on the hedge of Christmas trees:—
Wanted:—By the Christmas Monks, two good boys
to help in garden work. Apply at the garden on April
tenth.
The notice was hung out about five o’clock in the evening, one
day in February. By noon the next day all the neighborhood had
seen it and read it.
Oh, what fun it would be to work in the garden of the Christmas
Monks! There would be the dinner of roast goose and plum pudding
every day. There would be the Christmas bells and the Christmas
candles every night. And, of course, one could have all the toys he
wanted, and pick them out himself.
So, from that very minute until the tenth of April, the boys were
as good,—as good as gold.
Then, on the tenth of April, the big Santa Claus gate was opened,
and such a crowd poured into the garden! The ground was plowed,
but the seed had not been planted, so they could walk about
everywhere.
Two of the Christmas Monks sat on a throne trimmed so thick
with evergreens that it looked like a bird’s nest. They wore Christmas
wreaths on their heads, and their eyes twinkled merrily.
 The little boys stood in a long row before them, and the fathers,
mothers, uncles, aunts, grandmothers, and grandfathers looked on.
It was very sad! One boy had taken eggs from a bird’s nest; and
another had frightened a cat. One boy didn’t help his mother, and
another didn’t take good care of his little brother.
At last there were only two boys left,—Peter and the Prince.
Now Peter was really and truly a good boy, and always had been.
And of course every one said the Prince was a good boy, because a
King’s son must be good. So the Monks chose Peter and the Prince
to work in the garden.
The next morning the two boys were dressed in white robes and
green wreaths like the Monks. Then the Prince was sent to plant
Noah’s-Ark seed and Peter was given picture-book seed.
Up and down they went, scattering the seeds. Peter sang a little
song to himself, but the Prince grumbled because they had not given
him gold-watch seed.
By noon Peter had planted all his picture books and fastened up
the card to mark them, but the Prince had planted only two rows of
Noah’s Arks.
“We are going to have trouble with this boy,” said the Monks to
each other. “We shall have to punish him.”
 So that day the Prince had no Christmas dinner, and the next
morning he finished planting the Noah’s-Ark seed.
But the very next day he was cross because he had to sow
harmonicas instead of toy pianos, and had to be punished again.
And so it was every other day through the whole summer.
So the Prince was very unhappy and wished he could run away,
but Peter had never been so happy in his life. He worked like a bee
all day, and loved to watch the Christmas gifts grow and blossom.
“They grow so slowly,” the Prince would say. “I thought I should
have a bushel of new toys every month and not one have I had yet.”
Then he would cry, and Peter would try to comfort him.
At last one day the Prince found a ladder in the tool house. The
Monks were in the chapel, singing Christmas carols, and Peter was
tuning the penny trumpets. It was a fine chance to run away. The
Prince put the ladder against the Santa Claus gate, climbed up to the
top, and slid down on the outside.

III—THE PRETTIEST DOLL

 It was nearly Christmas now, and most of the toys had been
gathered. The rocking-horses were still growing, and a few of the
largest dolls; but the tops, balls, guns, blocks, and drums were all
packed in baskets ready for Santa Claus.
One morning Peter was in the wax-doll bed, dusting the dolls. All
of a sudden he heard a sweet voice saying, “Oh, Peter!”
He thought at first it was one of the dolls, but they could only say
“Papa!” and “Mamma!”
“Here I am, Peter,” said the voice again, and what do you suppose
Peter saw? It was his own dear little lame sister.
She was not any taller than the dolls around her, and she looked
just like one of them with her pink cheeks and yellow hair. She stood
there on her crutches, poor little thing, smiling lovingly at Peter.
“Oh, you darling,” cried Peter, catching her up in his arms. “How
did you get in here?”
“I saw one of the Monks going past our house, so I ran out and
followed him. When he came through the gate I came in, too, but he
did not see me.”
“Well,” said Peter, “I don’t see what I can do with you. I can’t let
you out, because the gate is locked, and I don’t know what the
Monks will say.”
“Oh, I know!” cried the little girl. “I’ll stay out here in the garden.
I can sleep every night in one of those beautiful dolls’ cradles over
there, and you can bring me something to eat.”
“But the Monks come out every morning to look at the Christmas
gifts, and they will see you,” said her brother.
“No, I’ll hide! Oh, Peter, here is a place where there isn’t any doll.”
“Yes, that doll didn’t come up.”
 “Well, I’ll tell you what I’ll do! I’ll stand here where the doll didn’t
come up and try to look like one.”
“Perhaps you can do that,” said Peter. He was such a good boy
that he didn’t want to do anything wrong, but he couldn’t help being
glad to see his dear little sister.
He took food out to her every day, and she helped him in the
garden. At night he tucked her into one of the dolls’ cradles with lace
pillows and a quilt of rose-colored silk.
So they went on, day after day, and they were just as happy as
they could be. Finally the day came for gathering the very last of the
Christmas gifts, because in six days it would be Christmas, and
Santa Claus had to start out in a day or two.

So the Monks went into the garden to be sure that everything

was perfect, and one of them wore his spectacles. When he came to
the bed where the biggest dolls were growing, there stood Peter’s
sister, smiling and swinging on her crutches.
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