OTAGO WITNESS

Otago Daily Times, Issue 21995, 3 July 1933, Page 17

OTAGO WITNESS

THE WEEK’S POEM.

Something light, this week, children, a Bice little poem about porridge. Personally, 1 like porridge, so the meaning of the poem does not “ strike home ” to me. But for people who find porridge hard to eat it must be very striking Indeed. Can you not picture the pouting small person in the poem? I wish one of you would try to iraw him (or perhaps St Is her) for me. DOT. * ¥ * PORRIDGE I don’t like porridge, i Skinny and brown; ■' V. V- Waiting for breakfast When I come down— Whatever happens, However latj}. Porridge is always Sure to watt! Nobody steals It! They clear the dish ‘Of eggs and bacon. Or cheese or fish; . They eat the butter. And take the tea. And all the good things Meant for me. But Whatever happens, ' However late, Porridge is always Sure to wait! —Elizabeth Fleming. WEAVERS OF WORDS. In the Week’s Poem you have somebody Bot liking porridge, my Little Folk. In the following prose' extract, however, you have ■omebody who likes it very much. Robert Louis Stevenson has woven his words cleverly In making this picture of himself and his small cousin at breakfast. I am sure that the . extract will appeal to you all, especially when ft leaves the subject of porridge and goes on to that of Jelly. DOT.

¥ ¥ * WORKING OUT THE PORRID'GE PROBLEM. • When my cousin and I took our porridge •( a morning we had ft device to enliven the course of the meal. He ate his with sugar, and explained it to be a. country continually buried under snow. I took mine with milk, and explained It to be a country suffering gradual inundation. You can Imagine us exchanging bulletins; how here was an island still unsubmerged, here a valley not yet covered with snow; what inventions were made; how his population lived hit cabins on perches and travelled on stilts, and how mine was always In boats; how the Interest grew furious, as the last corner 01 safe ground was cut off on all sides ana grew smaller every moment ; and how, in line, the food was of altogether secondary importance, and might even have been nauseous, so long as we' seasoned it with these dreams. . . ; , . But perhaps the most exciting moments 1 aver had over a meal, were In the case of calves’-feet Jelly. It was hardly possible not to believe—and you may be sure, so far from trying, I did all I ceuld to favour the Illusion—that some part of It was hollow, and that sooner or later ray spoon would lay open the'secret tabernacle of the golden rock. There might some miniature Red Beard await his hour; there might one find the treasures of the Forty Thieves and bewildered Cassim beating about the walls. And so 1 quarried on slowly, with bated breath, savouring the Interest. Believe me, I had little palate left for the jelly : and though I preferred the taste when 1 took cream with It, I used often to go out, because the cream dimmed the transparent fractures. —Robert Louis Stevenson.

TO ALL. Dear Little Folk,— Somebody recently ■bowed me the picture of a baby pig and reminded me of when I was a little girl making my first visit to the country and tottering Into the farmhouse with a;, pinafore full of piglings for the farmer’s wife to hold up her hands and squeal at. So 1 told my memory to the person with the picture and received two other pig stories in return. Here they are: “Piß« ?re lovely animals. I shall always like them, _ and always try to make other people like them, too, for I haye had a great deal to do with them, add know what I am talking about. They are not dirty animals. They •re very clean animals if allowed plenty or room in whfch to run sbout. and kepttn styes which received proper attention from their owners, and they arc very affectionate. When I was In Africa I had a little pet monkey, which somehow could never keep warm—until one day it found its way to the pig-stye. Pig-styes in Africa are large, airy places, sluiced out with water every day and always full of clean, sweet straw, and here Mr Monkey was war™ at last, for he , slept cuddled In beside the pigs. When any baby pigs arrive^ he was the happiest monkey on earth, and would sit nursing the little newcomers n his arms as If be were a child with a doll. In New Zealand, too, I kept pigs and know how well-mannered they can be. For instance, before Mrs Pig would let any of her children eat the breakfast I put Into their trough every morning, she would take them to A’corner and wash their faces so that they were all spruce and clean for the n*eal. And one of my dearest house-pets was a little pig. No dog or cat could have been more charming than that friendly, V curly-tailed animal." I like those stories, '■ do you, my Little Folk.—Your loving DOT.

Dot Invites short letter* from her young friends throughout ths Dominion on matters of interest to themselves. New ihembers must enclose their name and address. These will not be published, and are for registration purposes only. Little Folk should write on one side of the paper only, and in ink, and should address their letters, " Dot, care of Editor, Otago Dally Times." , _ . . . . Dot’s Little Folk’s Badge, with pin, for use as a brooch. Is obtainable on application to Dot. Plies 2s 6d, In stamps of postal notes.