Dots Little Folk

Otago Daily Times, Issue 22743, 2 December 1935, Page 15

Dots Little Folk

THE WEEK’S POEM. The first poem, children, is about a farmer •who has fallen so deeply In love with the beauty of bis harvest field with its linden (or lime) trees. Its sweet-scented hedge, and its bees and birds that he refuses to have the crop out for bread. Only when he finds • a friend will he give a blade of the corn away. Personally, I think >be is foolish and that the field will not like . him for the way In which he proposes treating it. But he looks at it from a different angle. The second poem is different. Sometimes you come upon a place like the one it describes, and are drawn to it, wondering what has made it so lonely that nobody ever seems to visit it. Can any of you tell me about such a place for yourselves? DOT. ';♦ * * , REAL PROPERTY. "Tell me about that harvest field." Oh! . Fifty acres of living bread. The 'colour has painted itself in my heart; The !form is patterned in my head. So now I take it everywhere; See it whenever I look round; Hear it growing through every sound. Know exactly the sound it makes— Remembering, as one must all day. Under the pavement the live earth ache*. Trees are at the farther end. Limes all full of the mumbling bse; So there must be a harvest field Wherever one thinks of a linden tree. A badge is about It, very tall. Hazy and cool, and breathing sweet , Round paradise la such a wall, And all the day. In such a way. In paradise the wild birds call. You only need to close your oyea And go within your secret mind, And you'll he into paradise. I’ve learnt quite easily to find Some linden trees and drowsy bees, A tall, sweet hedge 'with the corn behind. I will not have that harvest mown; i I’ll keep the corn and leave the bread. I’ve bought that field; it’s now my own; I’ve fifty acres in my head. I take it as a dream to bed. I carry it about all day .... Sometimes when I have found a friend I give a blade of corn away. —Harold Monro. V V V : A LONELY PLACE. The leafless trees, the untidy Stack Last rainy summer raised in haste Watch the sky turn from fair to black. And watch the river fill and waste. But never a footstep comes to trouble The Seagulls in the new-sown corn, Or pigeons-rising from late stubble. And flashing- lighter- as they turn. * - Or if a footstep comes, ’tis mine, Sharp on the road or soft on grass; Silence divides along my line And shuts behind me as I pass. No other comes, -no labourer To cut his shaggy truss of hay, s Along the road no traveller, Day after day, day after day. And even I, when I come here, Move softly on, subdued and still. Lonely and quiet, though I can hear Men shouting on the other hill. Day after day, though no one sees, The lonely place no different seems; The trees, the stack, still Images ’ Constant in who can say whose dreams. —Edward Shanks. WEAVERS OF WORDS. Surely everything will weep for Baldur, my Little Folk? But no. There is one named Thokt who hates Baldur and will not mourn for him, and who thus prevents Baldur from returning to the earth. DOT. jjc * * OF HERMODR’S JOURNEY.—(Continued.) Swiftly Sleipnir flew back to Asgard with the tidings, and, within an hour, Valkyjar, Vanlr, and every whispering breeze were hurrying through the world with their message. " Weep! weep for Baldur dead! Weep, that he, may ■be restored. Weep, all that hath.life, in order that our joy may come! ’’ And s "the sound of soft lament went up to the: Farthest Blue , and down to the darkness of Hel'a .palace. and she smiled a bitter smile bt : triumph, for »she knew , that one there was. who wpuld not weep.. Oniflew the messengers over land and sea, ■and’ a* strange, new ’ sound went up far Into the Clear Blue,, the sound'of weeping from all the world, and the Valkyjar felt comforted and turned homeward, feeling that, all was well. But near the bounds of Helheim they came upon a dark and loathsome cave and reined in their steeds. " Surely there is nothing there,” said , one. " May be,” said the other, “ yet It Is safer to ’See." ■ ■ Dismounting, they peered within and, when their ayes' became used to the gloom, beheld- an aged and hideous woman sitting . over the embers of a fire, muttering and mowing, as she spread out her claws to the sullen glow. “Weep! Weep! cried the fresh-votccd Valkyjar. .. " All-Father bids thee weep for Baldur dead, that our beloved may return. What is thy name, good mother? ” Thokt am I called,” screeched the crone, "and why should I weep? Wflat is Baldur to me? <Lef Hel keep what she has taken, " Thokt weeps dry tears For Baldur dead.” .. she sang mockingly, and the war-maidens knew that her, laugh was the laugh of Lokl. Then swiftly they urged their steeds back with the heavy tidings. (To be concluded.) - i THE SIX SEFTONS. Something to Amuse the Younger Little Folk. CHAPTER IX.—PUNCH’S DAY: THE BAFT. The raft floated. Supported on the deep water of the pool, it seemed to tug at Punch’s ; hands as it to ask that it might be free to go bn the current over to the other side. Punch’s mouth drew Itself tight with satisfaction 1 . “ I knew it would,” he said. " Kerosene tins, indeed! ’’ He watched it happily, liking the way It jerked and floated from him. Then he drew it back until it was wedged against the bank and could not escape, climbed back to where Mai was sitting, removed hIS blazer and gymnastic shoes, and gently took Mai in his arms. “-Now,” he paid. “ Come on, fellow,” and clambered down once more Into the shallow end of the pool. Bat there wero difficulties. Mai whs not used to this. This was water, and. though he might look at water from the bank, he objected to going so close to water as this. Struggling furiously, he tried to escape from Punch’s hold, a little shrill meow of protest rising as he clawed upwards. “ Hey, wait on! ” Punch cried, trying to retain his balance, keep hold of Mai, and launch the raft at the same time. But the task was beyond him. Just as he unwedged the raft, Mai leaped from his hold; there was a souffle of confusion, and there, sailing , out into the centre of the pool as the current took it, was the raft, launched at last, and Mai Its terrified passenger. “Jimlny Dick!” Punch exclaimed In horror. Then he laughed, “ Never mind, Mai. I’m coming,” and dived into - the water after the raft, which, by now, was rocking gently in the middle of the pool. Mai’s meows were pitiful to hear. He sat huddled in the centre of the raft, a picture of misery, his feet drawing away from the water which came seeping through the chinks between the korarls. When Punch drew near, he went over to meet him, and then, as quickly, drew back. Loud and shrill, his piteous cries rose heavenwards through the morning air. (To be continued.) i TO ALL. Dear Little Folk, —As there is plenty of room this week. I shall give you the following story of the adventures of a ball of wool. I found it in an Australian magazine, and hope it will amuse you.—Vour loving. DOT. * * * Animal, vegetable, or mineral? So goes ♦ the old question game. I certainly started as animal, but after all I have been through I begin to wonder. Wait. You shall hear all. - I began life as the curly, nobbly coat on the back of the most sportive, buckjumping lambkin that ever lost his mother, and had to be brought up by hand. But, save your tears, for life as a pet lamb takes a lot of beating! Plenty of good food —all the girls making a fuss of one. I was the " star turn ’’ of the backyard. I used to jump imaginary hurdles just to make ’em laugh. Once. Just to show off, I tried to Jump a real one—a nice soft grey feathery heap, low to the ground. I could have taken it easily in my- stride, but just as I had taken off for a sprightly leap, the thine heaved Itself up mountains high into the air. An emu! Not so good! —I never did like the breed—greedy! I made friends with all the dogs about the place—decent chap* they were—never

IricvuOurented cliilij 16,1886, O by th.e OTAGO WITNESS Dot InTltc* ihort letter* from her young friend* throughout ft* Dominion on matters of Interest to themselves. New members 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 la Ink, and should address their letters, “Dot, care of Editor, Otage Dally Times.” . . . . DOT’S Little Folk’s Badge, with pin, for use as a brooch, la obtainable on application ta Do*. Price S* *d, in stamps et postal notes.

bit my ankles like the brute who used to round us up when later X grew old enough to join the flock. I never Hked that dog—female—but no lady; judging from the language she used at us. Life was good in those days. I was always warm and gloriously dirty, with plenty of good company—what more can a young thing desire in life? II a few burrs got amongst us, who cared? Then one sad day, after walking miles, hot and thirsty, and choked with dust, I was ruthlessly seized by a loathsome, hard hand and severed from the back of my lifelong guardian and friend. I was cast aside; and for a while lay like a dead thing, until some other impudent ffllow gathered me up and thrust me into a sack, and actually stamped upon me! However, I met some old friends in the sack; and as later we bumped along on a terrific journey, we swapped a few good stories, and planned a campaign of revenge. I shall pass lightly over the horrors that awaited me at the end of that journey. First, I was washed—of all the, indignities ! My beautiful oil all left me. The ticks and burrs, my constant friends, were torn from me. But that was only the beginning. I was pulled and dragged over iron teeth; squeezed and sent bowling over rollers. X became thinner and thinner and longer and longer, until I thought I should never see my tail again. I did feel queer. • I remembered the stories some of the chaps In the sack had told me. They said that a beautiful girl would take me in her soft fingers, softly caress me, and send me In a delicious whirl over the spinning wheel. Huh ! What a yarn ! Nothing but a yarn ! And it dawned on me that was what I was —nothing but yarn ! Well, I’d show 'em. I’d keep a burr or two up my sleeve! When at last I was thin enough and long enough my tormentors began to wind me back and forth; and all at once I met ray tall again. Together, in a neat bundle, we went and sat • on a shelf In a big retail store. Some of the old lads were there, too. Being a particularly handsome lad, I wasn’t long on the shelf. A woman in the middle forties took a fancy to me, and took me home with her. I must say X was a bit dazed at first, for she began to wind me up tight. She wasn’t a bad sort. She had a good lap—ample it was, and I sat there warm and comfortable most of the time, while, with knitting needles, she began to form me into a sort of slab. I almost felt I was going back into the old semblance again. I was quite content—until suddenly she got ; up, rolling me on to the floor. Instantly, I was pounced upon by an abominable cat. Who raced me hither and thither, completely spoiling my beautiful contour. It was worse than that sheepdog. One could hop out of the way In those days. Nowadays I can’t move much, hut I’m not done yet. Slowly I crept down the throat of my tormentor—l’d have choked the little beast if the woman hadn’t heard Us feeble cough. - But life has Its compensations. One day, while riding In a tramcar (I was taken everywhere), I was sitting comfortably on the lap of my owner when a friend of hers got in, and they started up a conversation. Now I always like a hit of gossip, but the topic they got on was quite unfit for my young ears. Operations! Having had a very complete one myself, the subject was painful: and, to a young lad, the disclosures of those two elderly ladles . . . ! I simply rolled off the lap and hid. There were two nice friendly trousers nearby, so I ducked behind those. Then I saw a neat silk ankle quite close, so I explored a bit further. I liked that ankle, so I rolled all round it. Then the tram lurched, and I rolled back round the trousers. With each turn of the tram I had a lovely game back and forth, and nobody spotted me. Then suddenly the trousers moved, but when they started to break away I had them held firmly to the ankle. A few tense remarks were addressed to me, but I have a suspicion I’d done a good turn that day. Well, there was no more fun like that for a while, because very soon I found my activities curtailed. I had changed my form. I was costume. I rather fancied myself. I know I looked nice, for when I was presented to a very charming girl, she said, “ Oh, how lovely.” Of course, I liked It, but the girl dldn t much. Sire said I tickled —as if I should take such a liberty! It was one of those Impudent burrs I. had allowed to stay with me. They never were any respecters of persons. I tried to keep them out of mischief, but they would keep making their presence felt. The girl got wild. She said I Irritated her, and she dragged at the burr till she ;tore a piece right out of me, leaving a raw end. That end was my undoing. • When we got home and the girl saw, what had‘happened to me, she cast me‘off. for ever, and now ... Well, I’m getting near the end of my days. I. am old and. worn and grey. You’d he grey If you were used In winter as the cover for a hot water bag, and now as a duster. LETTERS FROM LITTLE FOLK. Motto.—We write for the benefit of others, not for ourselves. FIRST BETTERS. Dear Dot, —May I join your merry band? I have a little dog called Spot, and she loves to catch rabbits. .My bantam has five chicks. I am seven years old and in Standard I. Love to all. GRANNY’S SUN BONNET (Tarras). [Wefcome to you, Granny’s Sun Bonnet. Your name had to be altered a little. Will you tell me more about Spot?—DOT.] ¥ * ¥ Dear Dot, —I would like to join your band of Little Folk. I am nine years old and in Standard 11. I have a little garden of my own, and all the seeds wre coming up now. My little sister is writing, too. Kindest regards to all. INK POT (Tarras). [You too are welcome, Ink Pot. Are you going to tell me more about your garden* —DOT.] ¥ ¥ ¥ Dear Dot, —May I join your happy band of Little Folk? I am nine years old and In Standard II at school. I enjoy reading your page every week. My dad found two kittens In a ditch and brought them home. I bad a very hard job teaching them to drink and eat, as they were very tiny. One was too weak and died, but the other one is growing like a mushroom, and Is very playful. He is white, with brown stripes. Will you please give me a name for him? Love to the Little Folk and your dear self. PRINCESS MARIGOLD’S MATER (Alexandra). [I am pleased to welcome you, Princess Marigold’s Mater. Why not call the kitten Mushroom, and tell me more about him? — DOT.] * * * Dear Dot, —For some weeks now I have been a reader of your very interesting columns, and I should like to become one of your members. May I? It Is surprising how much more may be learnt of everyday things when each one ’’ writes for the benefit of others, not for himself.” as your motto says, and I notice that all the Little Folk have written with that object in view. Best wishes to you. Dot, and to the many Little Folk. RAJPUTANA (Oaroaru). [Certainly you may he a member, Rajputana. I hope you will be a Best Letter writer. —DOT.] ¥ * * Dear Dot, —May I join your band of Little Folk? I am eight years old and In Standard 1. We have a hen with six little black chicks, and I like to feed them. I will close now, with love to you and all the Little Folk. PEACH BLOSSOM TIME (Duntroon). [You are welcome, Peach Blossom Time, but your name has had to be altered. Will you tell me more about the hen and her chicks?—DOT.] BEST LETTERS. Dear Dot, —I was pleased to see my first letter In Monday’s paper, and as you asked me to tell you about the pups I will try to write a Best Letter about them. We have only one left now, because dad sent two away In the train to my uncle, and drowned two. They were lovely wee things and full of mischief. I saw two of them fighting over a rabbit’s head one day, and they both had an ear in their mouths tugging as hard as they could. One day I climbed up on a post to get away from them, as they were trying to play with my bare toes, and they barked and tried to climb up to reach me. The one we have kept is black and tan. and we have named him Toss. He under the house one day, and could not find where to get out again, so dad dug a hole, and he soon came out when I called him. Mother says he is a nuisance when he comes up to the house, because he drags all kinds of things to’the door, but I think he is lovely. I will close now, with love to all and yourself. DAY LOVE’S DAUGHTER (Otago). [He will learn soon enough to be good and docile. Day Love’s Daughter. All puppies like dragging things to the door. I Wish I had seen you escaping from the toebiters that day.—DOT.] * * # Dear Dot, —I find I have time to write another letter before I pen my final letter as a Little Folk, for I shall not reach the retiring age until December 10. This time I shall tell you about lucerne—one of the most important fodder crops for animals. Lucerne Is an exceptionally deep-rooted plant, the roots going about six feet Into

the ground the first season. Once lucerne is sown, it becomes permanent, and the only working it requires is a good grubbing up just before growth starts at the beginning of spring. This serves to kill the couch, one of the deadly enemies of lucerne. The lucerne is cut just before the flower buds appear, and is left lying in rows as the mower has cut it until it is dry, when it is raked up and carted into stacks. There it is left until winter time, when the sLacKs are cut a section at a time and fed to the stock in such a manner that none of the dried lucerne is wasted. As many as five cuts have been taken from a good, paddock In one season with no disastrous results to the standard of the crop. Lucerne possesses unusual food value for human beings, one leading medical authority stating that it is enual to. it not better than, spinach for human consumption when cooked. Kindest reS ard s^ Ip p ßß . s MISTRESS (Otekaieke). fThank you for all this information, Nipper’s Mistress. It is very interesting, and deals with something about which you obviously know a great deal. —DOT.]

Dear Dot,—This time I am going to tell vou about some dear wee ducklings. When thev were born they were just like little fluffy balls. There are six of them, and they are all very much alike. When I go to feed them what a noise they make all trying to sing together! When I put a dish of water dwon for them to drink from they all get into it trying to swim, and how dirty they become! Kind regards to all the Little Folk and your own dear self. FATHER’S DARK-EYED SUSAN (Clutha). [I can well imagine It, Father’s Dark-eyed Susan. The pushing there must be! I like the way you honour them by talking of their singing.—DOT.] * * * Dear Dot,—Outside the dining room window is a tree, and in the tree is a nest. My father lifted mo up, and I looked and saw the nest. And what do you think was inside it? Four baby blackbirds. Every day I used to go and stand on a chair and peep in and see the babies, and they had wide mouths that kept opening and shutting and were always hungry looking. One day while I was peeping, the mother came wltn a worm for the babies, and she and I saw each other through the window. We both were so surprised that she flew away, and I fell off the chair. (Dunedln) . [lndeed, Tod! It must have been a surprise I hope you did not hurt yourself.— DoT ’ ] * * * Dear Dot, —Is this not a pretty poem? It is called " Jewels of Our Land,” and Is oy B. B. Jacobson, of Wellington. Clematis, in your gown of white. Gleaming like ia star at night. Playing with the wind each day. Till you softly slip away. Flaming rata, tipped with gold, You’re a picture to behold, " Lady of the Scarlet Lips, Pollen at your finger tips. Ranglora, tall and fair. Growing like a statue there; Flourishing your lustrous blooms. Where the giant kauri looms. Kowhal In your golden gown, ■ With your branches bare and brown, Drooping downwards ’neath the sun. Twirling with the wind In fun. Palest pink and white will soon I Be gazing at the summer noon, ’Tls the wee manuka maids, Coming to the forest glades. Little wisps of sunset cloud. Such a lithe and airy crowd, ’Lighting on New Zealand’s shore In the misty days of yore; Thus you strove, through years of care— God’s love —you flourished there. HEATHER FAIRY (Lake Wakatipu). [Yes, It Is, Heather Fairy. But I do not like Best Letters made up of other people s poems, you know. Why not, write a poem for yourself?—DOT.] ¥ ¥ * Dear Dot, —I shall now proceed to bore everybody by making a few remarks on the subject of examinations, those delightful experiences when a number of school pupils are gathered together In a room, presented with a pen, several Important-looking sheets of foolscap, a terrifying list of questions, and are told to get on with it. I suppose it is all very well for file to write on this matter, for my schooldays are over, and examinations are not so frequent: but the younger Little Folk, who are probably grinding out examinations at this time of the year, will be interested to know that when Charles Dickens was a little boy (and he is not such a very big boy even now!) he used to spend many weary hours staring at horrid! examination papers and biting his pen very savagely. Of course, there were certain subjects I liked better than others, but I may as well confess that, for me, an arithmetic examination was a nightmare. I simply could not see the sense of It, and when I came on to alegbra and geometry It was ten times worse. Who cares about squares and triangles and things? We were all obliged to learn about an old fossil called Pythagoras (yes, that was his name, and It serves him right), who managed to discover some remarkable facts concerning the angles of a triangle, thus endearing himself to every schoolboy who happened to learn geometry. This, however. Is somewhat painful to write about (and probably more painful to read), and so I shall just wish all the Little Folk the best of happiness in their examinations, with the hope that they will not damage their teeth while biting’ their pens. Teeth are very valuable to children. CHARLES DICKENS (Dunedin). [You will have many sympathetic readers on this occasion, Charles Dickens. Now that you have described the examinations you did not like, what about a description of those you did like?—DOT.]

Dear Dot, —The recent death o£ Earl Jellicoe refreshed my mind with a touching little memory of that great man of the land and sea. The memento Is only an insignificant piece of ordinary cardboard, yet It is one of my elder brother’s greatest treasures, the reason being that he received it from the very hands of his Excellency Earl Jellicoe, then Governor-General of New Zealand. This is how it came about. Several years ago my brothers were constant visitors to the Baimacewen golf links. One day they were as usual present, when, wonder of wonders, .they found themselves in the presence of the vice-regal party. Boy-like, my elder brother asked for permission to caddy for his Excellency, and was naturally overjoyed at being accepted. The Governor was friendly, and related in his true English voice his many hair-raising experiences, to which my adventure-loving brother listened very attentively. All too soon the pleasant afternoon passed, and my brother was at his wit's end as to what he would do to cofnmemorate this great occasion. It was Just then that he espied the tag on the Governor's golf bag bearing the gentleman’s address. Somehow my brother mustered sufficient courage, and asked for the slip of paper, which the kindly man gave him with an amused smile. My brother voted it a better day than one occupied In the history of that world-famous man, Earl Jellicoe. Don’t you agree, Dot? Kind regards to yourself and Little Folk. MURIEL MAY (Dunedin).

[lndeed, I agree, Muriel May. It Is a memento different perhaps from anybody else’s, and I do not wonder that your brother treasures it. —DOT.] * * *

Dear Dot, —A number of short descriptions of match box tops are very wearisome, not only to the reader, but to the writer as well, so in this letter I shall try and describe some of the best match box tops In my collection. Most dogs are favourites of mine, so it Is natural that I like the two red dogs on the “ Two Dogs ” safety matches. At first I thought these dogs were of the collie breed, but since their colour is red, I have become convinced that they are of the red setter typo. The " Victory ” matches display Lord Nelson’s flagship of the same name, and if you allow your imagination to carry you away you can see this gallant old ship scudding before the wind with all sails set, and perhaps even puffs of smoke issuing from guns along Us side. Another match box simply entitled “ Best Safety Matches ” shows a globe of the world, with the ocean coloured blue, Africa in green, Asia in yellow, and Europe, Australia, and some of the larger islands in red. Above the globe of the world appears a swan with outstretched wings, and as this type of swan is an emblem of China I should think this is a Chinese-made match box. At either side of the globe there is a flag with red, yellow, blue, white, and black stripes, but I have not the least idea to what country this flag belongs.

A YOUNG NEW ZEALANDER (Dunedin). [Perhaps some reader will be able to enlighten you In regard to that match box, A Young New Zealander. It seems to suggest Japan to me. —DOT.]

Dear Dot, —I am ashamed not writing to our page for so .long when I enjoy the letters every week, but I belong to the Correspondence School, and as every answer has to be written my arm Is tired when I finish each afternoon. I must tell you this lovely news! One day we discovered the loveliest little silvery-blue baby rabbit in our flower garden. Mother caught it, and it was so frightened. After patting it quietly, we put it in Floppity’s big run. Floppy just loves it, and shows off to Silvery, as I have called him. Silvery is not fretting, but plays round and round.' racing Flop. When he is bigger I shall let them both out, as Floppity always comes home in the evening, and Silvery, if he runs away, will be big enough to dodge any dogs or ferrets. I could not let them chase him when he is so tiny. Ho is like a soft, fluffy, blue ball with big black eyes. Have you forgiven me now, dear Dot? Best love to all, FRIEND OF THE FAIRIES (Miller's Flat).

[lndeed, you are forgiven. Friend of the Fairies, especially as you have told me such an Interesting piece of news. The thought of those two being so happy together is a delightful one.—DOT.]

Dear Dot, —I wonder if many of the Little Folk have ever noticed what a keen sense of bearing and seeing birds have? Well, the particular way in which it was brought under my notice was like this. As 1 was sitting gazing idly out of the window watching the rain beating down and the stormy wind blowing the leaves from the trees, my eye fell on a thrush in the grass. Just as I looked it lifted its head, and I saw a worm in its beak. Behind the mother bird hopped her young one chirping all the time. She hopped a little further, then she put her head to one side, listening carefully

and peering closely with her sharp eye. Then suddenly she dived her beak into the soft earth, and came up again pulling a long, fat worm. Immediately she turned round and put it into her youngster’s mouth. Didn't that worm disappear quickly! I thought it was marvellous the way the thrush could either see or hear the worm in the ground. Nature supplies ways and means for her creatures to obtain a livelihood. Good luck to the page.

A COUNTRY COLLEEN (Otago)

[Yes, it is very interesting, A Country Colleen. I am glad you discovered it for yourself like that, for now it will be specially important to you.—DOT.]

Dear Dot, —I am going to tell you of something which is an animal and runs about on our farm, and I want to see if you can guess what it is without looking at the bottom of ray letter, where I shall give the answer. It is a pure white creature with four legs, two horns, a short tail, which sticks straight up in the air, and a little white beard on its chin. It has many tricks, namely, jumping up on to a stump and eating the leaves of trees nearby, it can jump over a hurdle and through the smallest hole in a fence, and when anything comes near it, it rises on its hind legs as if going to fall on its enemy. One cannot touch it, as it runs array and says “ maa." Its food consists of gorse flowers, bark of trees, green grass, gum leaves, in fact, anything. It does not like our pet lambs, and sometimes butts them over. It leads the sheep everywhere when the dog is chasing them. Dad has often put it out of. one paddock with the sheep, but it will never stay there. This animal is now one year old, and yet we do not know all its tricks. It is at present sleeping soundly in our woodshed, but It does not know 1 am watching and tolling you about it. What is It? It is a billy goat. Did you guess right' A SILENT COMRADE (Tolro).

[Yes, I guessed rlghti A Silent Comrade. The dear, bounding, mischievous creature 1 I do hope you will tell me more about him. See Notes. —DOT.] * * *

Dear Dot, —You will be thinking that I have stopped writing, -but really I had not very much news to tell you. Just a few days ago our mare had a nice wee foal. Do you like young animals? I think they are lovely wee things. Its mother is pure white, and we call her Jess, and yet her wee foal is quite brown. Have you ever seen a white foal? I have never seen one. but I have read in books of horses having .white foals. Would it not bo lovely to see one? Mum took a snap of the wee foal, and if it turns out I shall send you one. I am at present sending you a snap of me driving the sledge and horse after carting straw for the pigs. Well, ns space is scarce I will have to close. Love to all Little Folk and yourself. RED ROSE WREATH (Tuapeka West). [I like the snap, and thank you for It, Red Rose Wreath. What dears Nellie and Diana seem to be! Yes, lam fond *of young animals, but, like you. I have not seen a white foal. —DOT.]

Dear Dot, —Maybe you are acquainted ■with the old blind man. Peter, whom we all know so well. Peter is an ardent wrestling tan, and ho goes to all the matches that are staged in Auckland. Ho sits beside the announcer, Mr Gordon Hutter, who teases him at the intervals o£ the match. 'When Sir Clutha Mackenzie was in Milton 'with tne Blind Institute Band he told us that Peter was an old Swedish man, an ex-sailor, who canto to them about 10 years ago, his work in the workshops being the putting oC the binding on mats. His hobby is wrestling, and every Monday night sees him seated in front of the microphone with his friend, the announcer. He knows nearly nil the wrestlers personally, and he calls out a greeting to them as they enter the ring. Of course, he has his favourites, and if he is certain that one of them is winning his excitement gets the better of him, and a hearty laugh floats over the air to us. One night he told Mr Hutter that he had 600 ladles to see him, and Sir Clutha Mackenzie told us that these ladies wanted especially to see Peter, so one of the men wrote on a board, “This is Peter,” and put it on Peter’s back. Even though I hate wrestling I hope it will never go out, as it cheers the life of an old man who, through his blindness, has nothing else much to live for. SALOMY JANE (Milton). [This is all news to mo, Salomy Jane. How interesting people are! I had no idea that wrestling could mean so much to anybody.—DOT.] * * » Dear Dot, —I wonder if you remember me, as it is a long time since I wrote to you. I shall tell you about my pets. I have two pet lambs named Essie and Betty. Essie is the bigger of the two. I had her given to me when she was only a few days old as her mother was worried by a dog. She drinks out of a bottle. Betty was given to me when she was two days old. Her mother was drowned. She drinks out of a basin, and likes to eat biscuits. Often when I go out on the bicycle they come running and jumping behind me wanting to come, too. They also like to get into the garden at every chance they have. When wc go over to the bush for wood, they like to come with us. I like to see them when they Jump in the air. When wc cut Essie s tall oft we thought she was going to die. She could not lie down for three days. We used to pick her up, and she would fall asleep on our knee. I will close now. wish- 1 ing you and the Little Polk a merry Christmas and a happy New Year, and also wishing you a good rally of Old Writers. SWEET GERANIUM (Kapuka). [I am pleased to hear from you again. Sweet Geranium, and have this description of your lambs, and I am glad that Essie grew strong again. Please tell me more about your pets.—DOT.] * * V Dear Dot, —Last week a circus came to Rlversdale. We did not go nt night to see the circus, but father and mother took us to see the animals fed in the afternoon. The animals wore in a large tent all In their cages. There was a flag flying above with " Zoo ” on it. First of all there wore four sea lions. One was seven feet long, but the others were much smaller. The big one is the biggest in captivity. In the water was a ball for them to play with. Next to them was a Russian brown bear, which kept walking round its cage looking very sad and lonely. Next to it were different kinds of monkeys—the snored baboon from India, a black monkey with very long arms and legs (I do not know its name), and a cage of rat-tail monkeys, also a wombat from Australia. Next to that was a honey bear and a female gorilla (the only one in captivity). There was also a black panther just like a large cat. Another cage was full of common monkeys. After that came a Hon, a lioness, a tiger, and a tigress. The tigers and lions are fed on meat. When they saw it coming they did make a noise. There were nine elephants each tied up by the front foot. They had oaten sheaves for their tea. The bears had bread for their tea. Everybody gave the monkeys peanuts. ‘They seemed the happiest of all the animals. They chased one another round the cage and played. When we went outside I had a ride on an elephant 148 years of age ' King Edward VII rode on it in India for tiger shooting. Love to all. SILVER CANDLESTICK (Rlversdale). [Circuses have always had an appeal for children, Silver Candlestick. I wonder if the brown bear was thinking of his native Russia? —DOT.] *. * V Dear Dot, —I suppose you have been thinking I had forgotten you, but that is not so. Since I last wrote to you I sent a letter to Harvester in Canada, but so far I have not had a reply from him. The other Friday our school held a fancy dress ball in the Maheno Hall. W T hen we arrived at the hall we went into the supper room, where we prepared to get into lino for the grand march. There were so many costumes of different kinds that we did not know one another until we got into line. The grand march was a great success, and the smaller children carried it out very well indeed, despite the fact that they had not had as much practice as the big ones. Numerous dances were carried out by the children, who looked comical in their dresses. The costumes were of a high standard. When the prizes were distributed I was fortunate enough to secure one of them. After supper a pleasant time was spent in dancing. BONFIRE’S JOCKEY (Maheno). [lt seems to have been a very jolly and successful affair, Bonfire’s Jockey. Fancy costumes are great, fun to wear on special occasions.—DOT.] ¥ * * Dear Dot, —I am going to tell you about a drive I had to Hampden in a gig to sit for my proficiency. We left home about 8 o’clock, arriving there about 9. There was many a wonderful sight to be seen. It was lovely to see the lambs frisking about the fields with their mothers. We saw a curious sight during our journey. It was a lamb with a black race and a white body. Kindest regards to all the Little Folk, not forgetting your own dear self. A WINTER BLOSSOM (Waianakarua). [lt is a wonder you could compose your thoughts and attend to your proficiency when you had all those delightful sights to remember, A Winter Blossom.—DOT.] ¥ * ’’ v Dear Dot, —I am going to tell you about a fright I had the other day when I was going to my neighbour’s house with a message. When I was walking along the path, one of my neighbour's roosters crept up behind me and began to peck my bare legs, which made me turn round quickly to see what It was. Again it started to peck me. I was very much frightened of it, so I began to run as fast as I could. The faster I ran. the faster it ran. I then stopped, and it stopped. I was panting and puffing when I reached my neighbour’s place. I will close, with love to all the Little Folk and your own dear self. LAZY DAISY CHAIN (Conical Hills).

[What an uncomfortable surprise, Lazy Daisy Chain! Did you have many marks on your legs to show where the pecks had been? —DOT.I * * *

Dear Dot, —It is a long time since 1 wrote to you last, and I think you must have thought I had neglected you. I am working on a farm, and I have the pleasure of having a small pet lamb, which I call Billy. Billy was a twin, but unfortunately his mother would have nothing to do with her innocent little baby, which, I think, was very unkind of her. Love to you and all the Little Folk. WHISPERING PINE'S NIECE (Kaitangata).

[Please tell me more about Billy, Whispering Pine’s Niece. It seems strange that a mother should wish to leave such a darling. —DOT.]

OLD WRITERS' WEEK. Owing to the conditions under which Dot’s page is now conducted, the amount of space given to Old Writers’ Week in the past is not now available. On January 6, however, provision will be made in the Otago Dally Times tor the publication of as many letters of the Old Writers as can conveniently be inserted. Old Writers are invited to send in their contributions as soon as possible, as no letters will be accepted after December 21. The letters this year must necessarily be shorter than In the pilst, owing to the fact that space will not allow of the publication of lengthy ones, and that all letters must appear in the one Issue (January 6). It la hoped that there will be a generous response to this Invitation, and that the fourth appearance of the Old Writers’ letters in the Otago Dally Times will be a record one and of interest and benefit to all. DOT OLD WRITERS’ ASSOCIATION. At a meeting of the committee of the Old Writers’ Association on December 19, 1033, it was decided to hold a reunion during Winter Show Week in June, 1980, to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of Dot’s LltUe Folk page. It was further decided that there should be a nominal fee of one shilling for membership, and that anyone, whether an Old Writer or not, desirous of making a donation could do so, all subscriptions and donations, accompanied by name, address, and nom de plume, to be acknowledged In the Little Folk’s page fortnightly after being received by the” secretary at her address 24 Jackson street. St. Kllda Dunedin. # * * The dancing class (under tbs supervision of the Old Writers’ Association) is proving very successful as well as instructive to Old Writers and LltUe Folk. They will bo held fortnightly until further notice. The association Is deeply indebted to its members and accompanist, who give their services so willingly to help in this cause. Among the Old Writers giving tuition or learning are Indian Chief, Morning Star, Ivanhoe, Cabaret Boy, A Blue Triangle Girl, Australian Lass, Lady Psyche, Creamy, tat Boy, Lavenderette, Golden Tresses, Garnett, New Zealand Rata, Lady Superior, Sweet Lily of the Valley, Bob’s Sweetheart, Salt Sprinkler, Francesca, Mignonette, and many friendS ’ * * « The next meeting of the Old Writers’ Association will be held in the library of the Otago Dally Times office on Monday, December 2, at 7.30 p.m. All members are cordially Invited to attend. OLD WRITERS' NOTES. Indian Chief, president of the Old Writers' Association (Mr Jas. T. Ramsay. 24 Neldpath road, Mornington, Dunedin) ; and Morning Star, honorary secretary (Mrs J Hines, 24 Jackson street, St. Kllda Dunedin), are endeavouring to complete a register of past and present Old writers in connection with the jubilee in 1936. Either would be pleased to hear from any willing to supply names, addresses, .and noms de plume, and, where ' possible, year of firs: writing to Dot. Acknowledgments will be made periodically in this column. OUR NEW MEMBERS. Dot extends a special welcome to the following Little Folk wljo have written to the page for the first time this week ; Granny’s Sun Bonnet, Ink Pot. Princess Marigold’s Mater, Rajputana, Peach Blossom Time. NOTES. A Silent Comrade, —Write to Anna Kaju, Santhome, Madras. jj„ * * V Bonfire's Jockey.—The address is Winifred Odllng, Davidson, Saskatchewan. LITTLE FOLK’S LETTER BOX. As the Little Folk Inserting the following requests do not know the addresses of the companions with whom they wish to correspond, It is necessary that those companions should send the first letter.—DOT. * * V Bonfire’s Jockey (Jack Rapson, Maheno) wishes to correspond with a boy Little Folk 12 years of age. , •fi SiWhispering Pine’s Niece (Hazel Anderson, Poole street, Kaltangata) wishes to correspond with any Little Folk about 14 or 16 years of age.