THE CHILDREN’S HOUR.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1794, 25 July 1906, Page 13

THE CHILDREN’S HOUR.

' (Conducted by “Uwclh Robebt.^ '‘(Between The dark and th© daylight. When the'night is beginning to lower, Comes a pans© in the day’s occupations That is known as the Children s Hour" Any of our juvenile readers, under sixteen years of age, may become members tof the iGuild of “The Children’s Hour, iby promising that in ail they do they ;ckall seek to be guided by the following simple rules: First—-That we were created to en- j joy life and help each other. 3 Second—That whatever hinders any ’ one from enjoying life is wrong and wicked. Third—That it is our duty to try •ana remove all such hindrances. All who agree with the above rules, anti hare willing to get others to .subscribe to them .should send in their names and addresses for insertion in the Guild “Big Book." 26th July, 1906. My Bear Nieces and Nephew*,—ln reply, to Bessie Gibbon, who asks me for some. € tinny children’a stories. J have to say ■that for some time 1 have been making >a collection of such; and if any of my •young readers know any .good—really *‘good’’— -one© I -shall he very pleased to have copicss of .them forwarded for uso in this .column on some future occasion. Here are a few out of those I have in my collection: “Gan you tell me the meaning of the word ’peace’?" asked Miss Gray of a Tittle boy who had jiasst recited a patriotic poem in which the word occurred. “Peace means when you ain’t got no -children,” .answered the child. “How is that?” naked Miss Gray. “When my mother lias washed and ■dressed us-six .children for school in the morning., she says. ’Alow. I’ll have peace.” ” *. * * Obedient Boy: “Mamma, may I speak ” “Yon know that you must not talk at the table.” “May I not say just one Thing P” “No, my boy,; when papa has tread his paper you may speak.” Papa u’eads through his paper and says kindly: “Now child, what is it?” “I only (■wanted to say that the water-pipe m the fba.th-r.oom has burst.” “What’s the matter, little boy?” said the kind-hearted man. “Are you lost ?” “No,” was the manful answer. “I .ain’t tost, I’m here. But I’d like to know where fatiier and mother have wandered off to.” i ip * 4? During the examination at the Masterton District High School, the Inspector .asked the question, “Where can you see Bt George and the dragon ?” doubtless expecting the answer, “On the batik of a. .sovereign.” In response to his query, a! pupil’s hand immediately went up. “ f We!U •jny boy?” asked the Inspector. “On jam' tins, Bit,” answered the lad—and he; wondered .why the Inspector smiLtd. -:c- w * ; In a school not many miles away ,aj teacher asked his pupils to explain the j meaning of indignity; this seemed to ] •puzzle the children so they wore then | staked the meaning of “standing on your; dignify.” This also seemed to puzzle j them, ,but one boy thought he would! .venture to hold up his hand. “Well ?” | sain the teacher: “Please sir standing out your head.” I * * * The ischool teacher had been instruct-! to have the eyes of his pupils examined. ! He wrote ,to one of the parents as fol-i lows: “Dear Mr Smith,—lt is my .duty! To Inform you that your eon shows de- i ccided indications ;of astigmatism. His! case as-one that tshould receive immediate | attention.” To this note The .father replied rbrieSy, and to the point:—“Dear I Sir,—Thanks for yours. Whip it out! of Bob.—Yours truly. John Smith.” -x- % .* j Youthful Jack: “Oh, mother, I do lovej ,ea.ke! It’s awful .nice.” i .Mother (reprovingly): “You should not i say you ‘love’ cake—say ‘like.’ Do not say- ‘awful’— say ‘very.’ Do not say hale©’—say %©od.’ And, by the way, the word ''oh’ Ahould be omitted. Now, my dear, repeat the sentence correctly.” Jack.: “I like foake; it’s very good.” Mother: “That’s better.” Jack .(with an air of disgust): “It sounds .as if I was only talking ’bout I bread.” ! x- # “Now, boys,” said the .schoolmaster, ’ '‘what is the axis of the earth ” Johnny raised his hand promptly. “Well, Johnny, how would you describe it?” “The axis of the earth,” said Johnny proudly, “is an imaginary line which; .phases from one pole .to the other, and on which the earth revolves.” f '“Very good/’ -exclaimed 'the teacher. VNow, could you hang clothes on that lline, Johnny?” “Yes, •sir/’ -was the reply, indeed ?” said the examiner, disappointed; “and what-sort of-clothes?” “Imaginary clothes, sir.’ -* * * THREE TITTLE -SQUIRRELS. Three little squirrels lived up in a tree— Hlinkie and Bright-eyes and By-baby-twee. Their mother went down every day in . The wood : The last .thing she said was: “Now,' - schildreh, be good; Don’t go out at hll lest .a great cat you SB»> Ahd he very gentle with By-bUby-wee."

11 Three little squirrels lived up m a tree, And,' oh, they were hungry as squirrels could bo; f They had held in their paws -every nut; o’er and o’er ; They had nibbled and crunched —therewas not a bit more— ) Said 3Bright-ey.es, “I’m sure there’s one under the tree.” Said Blinldo, “Let’s scamper down quickly and see!” One little squirrel lived up in a tree, That one little squirrel -was By-baby-wee. For Blinkie and Briglit-eyes went down to the ground; Disobeyed their land mother, and never were found, For .when she came home there was By-baby-wee; Just one little squirrel-baby safe in the tree! # i: ' OLiVE. CHAPTER IV. ' Returning to Albert Jackson, .we find him busy with -figures, aud .surrounded by a Dile -of papers. At this moment the door opened and Air Everard .walked in, and going ever to the papers he ran his eye over them. “Quito right Air Jackson,” he said approvingly, “and I must congratulate I you on the good work you have done.” And leaving .a. few instructions, as to where to send the papers, he pressed something into the lawyer’s hand, and left the room. Imagine -Bert’s astonishment when on examining the “something” he found it was a cheque for «.h‘iOff. With a gasp, lie left the office, to tell Ji is aunt of ins good fortune. i CHAPTER V. Before Sidney Ross left Alaunering, be could not help taking a farewell .glance at the old country, irx order to have a feiv quiet moments, lie .went for a stroll after tea. Climbing hills for sometime, lie heard, as he thought a cry for help. Running in the direction the-sound came, from, he found a man struggling in the Mannerilig River. With the help of a branch, Sidney managed to .pull him ashore. The stranger thanked him and said, “My name is Everard. I cannot thank you enough for saving my life, i missed the track, and before I had time to think, I found myself in the uncomfortable position in which you discovered me." Bidding him good-bye, Sidney Rows left the river, and after walking for some time, sat down on a hill which overlooked the little township. The peaceful, stillness of the evening was broken by tlie gentle lapping of the stream as it rolled over mese-oovered stones. In the distance the barking -of a dog rang clearly through the air, and when the young man saw the township steeping under the great still stars, a longing for home sprang up in his breast. He would soon be there, but what a sad meeting he would get. The little country clock struck the hour •of eleven, leaving the hill, he plodded liis way home again. The following day he left for America. Fine weather was experienced, and in lees than seven days the New York, wharf was reached. Ilis people lived in Kentucky, so he went on board the! train and soon arrived at his old home, j He was met at the station by his sister j Sheila. j “Jlow is father, She’ ?” he asked breath- j leasly. ! “No better,” came the sorrowful reply.; On arriving home, he hastened to his] father’s room. He was presently joined by; •his mother, and he could not help notic- ‘ ing how pale and old she looked. He ; talked to his father for some time until; the nurse came into the room and he: rose to go. j The next morning he again saw liie father, and was filled .with sorrow when he saw he was sinking. His father: smiled at him and managed to speak a • few words. At this moment the nurse • came to the bedside, and Sidney stole away. Early the following morning he was called to his father’s bedside, and > he listened with sorrow. t j “Be good to your mother, Sid,” he; whispered faintly, “I should love to stay; with you all, but my time has come,” ; and with a gentle sigh, his spirit fled. The following days were very ©or- - rowful ones, and Sidney stayed as long as he could. About ,a month after his father’s death, he was forced to say goodbye to his mother, and it was with an aching heart that he left his old home. CHAPTER VI. “Oh these lesson books! How I would love to throw them .into the fire,” exclaimed Phyllis Hislop as She ©at in the study with her governess. She loved to be outside. The sun was shining .bi'ight:]y, and the sound of laughter from the tennis players, jarred upon her nerves. With an impatient gesture, she left her seat, .and crossed over to the window. But she was not left there for long. “Phyllis,” came the sharp command from her teacher, /‘come and finish your studies, then you’ -will be free for the afternoon.” “It is no use, Miss Somers,” Phyllis replied, “1 cannot put my mind to lessons this morning, .and work I wont,” and wun this She left the loom.

Miss Somers sighed, “It is such a pity her father spoils her so. But I suppose he knows liis own business best.” After leaving her governess Phyllis tied a hat on her head, and went for a walk in the direction of the river. She was presently joined -by Norman Bancroft, who asked if he might accompany her in her ramble. Receiving permission, they sauntered off. Norman and she had been boy and giii together, and although .she was sixteen years & f a ge, they ©till shared <each other’s secrets. He was very .devoted to her and was never ,so happy as when ©lie was near him. Returning from their walk he refused her invitation to dine

with them, and, having promised to’ come up in the afternoon, he went off, whistling merrily. j •CHAPTER VII. ' Some weeks after the departure of Bid- . ■liey Ross, Olive Hislop, -accompanied by her dog, Rajah, was walking through the township, when -she was .overtaken by Earnest Everard: and Albert Jftckson. They walked as far as the -gate .with her, and Olive invited them to an afternoon tee, which she was havTiig the next day. ‘There will be plenty of girls,” Olive added “so. I expect you will manage alright.” And with a gay little laugh she ran up the drive. The day for the tea arrived, and Olive -was in a .state of excitement. She was just putting the finishing touches to the tea table when Phyllis -entered in a simple white muslin frock, .and her -golden hair was adorned with a- blue bow. “Goodness gracious!” ©lie exclaimed. “You not dressed! Come, I will help you.” “What shall I -wear Pliyl ?” naked Olive, with a perplexed look. “This,” said her sister pointing to a ©ilk dress, which lay among a heap of other fineries. With the help of Phyllis, Olive-was eoon dressed, . and running; downstair© she wa© met with a glance of t approval from her mother.' The guests .all arrived, and in the cooler part of the afternoon, ©©fas of tennis were played. ” By chance, Sidney Boas found himself j near Olive, and, realising that “faint i heart never won fair lady,” he ©aid,i “Miss Olive will you come into the gar-] den?” i She nodded a reply, and went with ij him. Austin Hislop had a beautiful garden, : and at: the bottom of it, was a- pond., on ; who. o surface, water .Lillies floated. It; wan down here that the two wandered, j aud «in-rounded by all this beauty, Sid-; ney Ross, told her of his love, -and to his? joy. won his heart’s desire. Tlx© tea] was a great .success, and a very merry j evening followed; .aud at .a .late hour j the guests parted. j CHAPTER VIII. | Three yeans have passed -.since that! memorable afternoon, and Olive is now] married. Albert Jackson met. with an I accident, was taken to the hospital, and! the following year, married the nurse who ; attended him during his illness. Ed-i ward Ohatfield served in the South Afri-1 can War, and was killed in one of the j disastrous engagements there. ) Norman Bancroft. married Phyllis, j Charles Wallace remained a confirmed j bachelor, and renting a small house far! out in the country (hi© parent© having j died) he enjoyed sweet ©©elusion. Years \ flew by, and one evening, he was sitting; on the verandah of his home; when a; man came up the path and Charles had ] no difficulty in recognising Earnest : Everard. Sitting in the gloaming, they; .talked of the good old days, when Earnest j whispered to Charles, that lie was going' to be married. “Now old chap you \ must look up,” he~added jokingly. But he was somewhat startled to see tears in the eyes of his friend. “No Earny,” • Charles said, “there was only one girl : for me, aud that was Olive. No one Idfew bow I loved her, and I ©till do so. But I can only offer my congratulations to young Ross, and join with you in saying ALL WELL, THAT ENDS WELL.”