Children's Page

Timaru Herald, Volume CXXV, Issue 18552, 26 April 1930, Page 12 (Supplement)

Children's Page

(By PETER PAN).

* "MANY HAPPY RETURNS.” f $ Peter Pan Wishes— % X Betty Campbell, * 5 Doreen Wall, j $ Joan Smith, ❖ X Iris Evans, % X Jack Lyttle, | x Marjorie Armstrong, T ? Peter Toynbee, X X Joan Dunne, X { Jean Gosney, X T Alice Taylor, T Kevin Ryan, X % Noela Helling, & T Melvin Gainsford, X J Mary Anderson, •> * Daisy Deane, X X Violet Deane, *i* * Peggy Austin, X X The Jolliest 6T Birthdays. X

****** *fr*> *f* *fr -I* -I* *4* -I* *>*:* ■** v -1- ■***;• .j. t NEW CIRCLIANS. t t *> X The Very Biggest Welcome to— % * Mount Cook Burnett (14) Tif maru. *> XC. Stowell, (11) Waimate. ||

ANSWER TO RIDDLE-ME-REE. DANDELION. SOLUTIONS TO JUMBLED NAMES. 1— CHEVROLET. 2 CHRYSLER. 3 NASH. 4 PLYMOUTH. 5 DODGE. 1— KING DICK. 2 ARIEL. 3 TRIUMPH. 4 MATCHLESS. 5 NEW HUDSON. A BEHEADED WORD. When I am complete a Churchman I name. Beheaded, I mean to recite; Beheaded again, I am flushed with success; Once more, and I’m far in the night. Decapitate now, I tell you I dined; Curtailed, a preposition s in sight. (Answer will be given next week.) WHAT AM I? My first is in snow but not in frost, My second is in seek but not in lost, My third is in swim but not in float, My fourth is in ship but not in boat, My fifth is in up but not in down, My sixth is in coat but not in gown, My seventh is in shape but not in form, My eighth is in gale but not in storm, My ninth is in grass but not in hay, My whole brings the news to you day by day. (Answer will be given next week.) RIDDLE-ME-REE. My first is in many and also in small, My second is in fashion but not in parade, My third is in queen but not in king, My fourth is in money, but not in wealth; My fifth is in Tom but not in Jack, My sixth is in cigar but not in fat, My seventh is in soon, but not in late, My eighth is in your and also in our, My ninth in in cook but not in soot, My whole is a New Zealand landmark wc should all know. (Sent by “Little Mountain Boy,” Timaru.) (Answer will be given next week.) SNATCH BALL. An exciting game is “Snatch Ball.” The players must divide into two sides with a leader. The two sides of players stand in two rows facing each other. The leader numbers the players. each side counting from one onward. but from reverse ends. For instance, one sides numbers one from one end, and the other side numbers one onward from the opposite end. A ball is placed between the two lines, and the leader calls a number. The game is for the two players with this number to rush to the centre and grab the ball. The one who is not able to get there first must run away, for the player who grabs the ball must throw it after the player who does not get it. The leader, too, helps in the game, catching hold of the running player if he can. If this player is hit by the ball he takes the part of leader. If he is not hit, the player who grabbed the ball is leader. Make a variation in the calling of the numbers as much as you can, as that all the players get a good number of turns. The game is great fun when it gets going, and any number can play.

A GOLD MINE AFTER ALL. For many days a gale had raged round the island. The waves lashed into fury, fell with a crash against the sea-wall and sent huge cascades of spray high into the air. Behind the harbour wall the little fishing boats huddled together. Day after day the islanders stood about in groups in the cobbled street that ran down to the harbour. “To-morrow we will put to sea,” they said hopefully. But to-morrow was always the same, with the wind howling in the chimneys and the sea raging against the harbour wall. Dan Mackay stared moodily out of the window of the little white-washed cottage which he shared with his mother. Inside the room the peat fire gave out a pleasant glow, which was reflected by the plates on the dresser and the homely face of the grandfather clock in the corner. Mrs. Mackay sat in the rocking-chair by the fire, her usually cheerful face lined with anxiety. “They say there’s more stormy weather coming,” said Dan at last, dropping the curtain and turning away from the window. “Looks as if we’re in for a thin time.” “I’ve very little money, Dan,” she said. “It won’t last out for more than another day or two. Somehow or other I’ve never been able to put by for a rainy day.” “As if you could with the little I’m bringing you home most weeks!” exclaimed Dan. “It’s a hard life here, Mother. Some days I think we’d be better to leave it all and try our luck in Canada or Australia. I might hit on a gold mine!” “There’s certainly no gold mine to be found here,” said his mother. “All the same, I do sometimes wonder if this old furniture of ours mightn’t be valuable. You know my mother had it from her mother, and some folk set great store on such things. Now that grandfather clock might fetch a tidy figure.” “If you could ever be persuaded to part with it!” laughed Dan. “You wuoldn’t think home was home without your few sticks of furniture.” “‘But we’ve got to eat,” declared Mrs Mackay. “Oh, well, the weather will change to-morrow,” said Dan. “We’ll soon be having some fine catches again.” Mrs Mackay shook her head. “I wish I could believe it,” murmured his mother.

And indeed the next day was no better than the day before; great black clouds still raced across the sky and enormous waves beat against the harbour wall.

Dan ate his porridge in gloomy silence and then hurried out into the street to join the other fishermen. “Perhaps we shall be putting out today,” he told his mother, but in his heart of hearts he knew that it was a false hope. And Mrs Mackay knew it too. No

sooner was Dan out of sight than she hastily cleared away the breakfast and herself prepared to go out. Out came her black silk cape and the bonnet she always wore on Sundays. Then, trembling with excitement, she stood at the door to wait for the passing of the carrier.

At last the old man came into sight with his shabby care and horse. “And will you be going to St. Mary’s to-day?” he asked in surprise. “Indeed it is no weather to be driving into town.” “I have business that won’t wait,” said Mrs Mackay firmly. “And I’ll be asking you, Sandy, to step inside and lift my old grandfather clock on to your cart.”

“Ah, that’s a pity,” said the old man, understanding full well the meaning of such a quest, for often had he carried pitiful pieces of furniture into St. Mary’s for other folk when times were bad.

“I'm sorry to part with it,” said Mrs Mackay, bravely winking back a tear. “But we've got to live, Sandy, and I’ve hardly a penny piece left.” “There's many in the village feeling the pinch to-day,” said Sandy, thoughtfully. “Well I remember another bad week fifteen years ago . . . .” They jogged along the road, Sandy full of his reminiscences, and Mrs Mackay with her head bravely in the air and the feather on her bonnet fly- 1 ing like a pennant.

At last they came to St. Mary’s and Sandy, knowing full well where to go without being told, stopped outside the antique furniture shop which was always so full of lovely old bureaus and chaids bought, alas, at a scandalously

low price from the islanders in hard times. Mrs Mackay winked back a tear once more as the clock was lifted out and carried into the dark little shop. “Good luck to you, Mrs Mackay,” said Sandy. “And don’t you part with it too low,” floated after her in a whisper as the cart jogged away down the street.

Inside the shop Mr Isidore was busy, for two visitors from the mainland, kept on the island by the bad weather, had discovered his shop and were going into raptures over the furniture he had to show.

“That’s a fine piece of walnut!” exclaimed the lady. They bent their heads over the lovely old bureau, while Mr Isidore turned aside for a moment to speak to Mrs Mackay. “You want me to take that clock off your hands, do you?” he said. “If you please, Mr Isidore,” said Mrs Mackay bravely, the feather in her bonnet still flying. “And what do you want for it?” asked Mr Isidare.

“Well, that’s for you to say, Mr Isidore,” said honest Mrs Mackay, “for indeed I know nothing of its value, but thought that being in my family so long it might please somebody that likes old furniture.” “Ah, there’s old furniture and old furniture,” said Mr Isadore. “And I’m sorry to say that a clock like yours has practically no value at all. It’s old, but it’s the wrong pattern. There’s no demand for oak clocks. I don’t know anybody who’d buy it.” Tears rushed into Mrs Mackay’s eyes and ran down her cheeks. A great wave of thankfulness came over her as she realised that she would not have to part with her treasure after all. Then came a feeling of despair as she remembered her desperate need. The lady and gentleman who had been looking at the bureau now came forward to speak to Mr Isidore, and Mrs Mackay nerved herself for one more effort.

“I want to sell this clock,” she told them. “Mr Isidore tells me it’s not valuable, but I know many people like old furniture and will pay a pretty price for it.” The gentleman glanced at it and shook his head. “Why do you want to sell it?” he

asked her kindly. “I’m sure it’s a very old friend of yours, and it has so little value that it isn’t worth your while to sell it.”

“Indeed, I don’t want to sell it,” said Mrs Mackay tearfully, and she fumbled inside her cloak for her handkerchief. Suddenly the lady hurried forward and took hold of her cloak. “Do please leave it open a minute,” she begged.

“Indeed, I should be sorry to do that,” said Mrs Mackay, reddening. “In my hurry to catch the carried this morning, I did not put on my good silk dress, and I am wearing an old jertey that I knitted for my son.” “But that’s just what I want to see!” cried the lady excitedly. “Look, John!” she cried, turning to her husband. “It’s most beautifully knitted. And did you ever see such a lovely Fair Isle pattern? I could sell no end of these in London.”

“I don’t think much of them myself,” said Mrs Mackay, her eyes wide with astonishment. “There’s no work in them to my way of thinking.” “All the better for you!” said the lady, “for I’m going to give you a big order for them.”

Half an hour later Mrs Mackay jogged home beside Sandy with the feather in her bonnet flying more jauntily than ever. There was money in her pocket and a promise of more to come. Behind her in the care jogged the precious grandfather clock.

Eddy: “I hear Brown let you in on the ground floor of his business.” Swan: “Yes, and then the bottom fell out of it.”

Those who bring Sunshine into the Hves of others cannot keep it -from themselves

“Little Sit-in-the-Sun,” Kingsdown: I was pleased to get a wee letter from Little Sit-in-the-Sun. I am glad you like our little mascot’s name. Are you in your school basketball team? Thank you for the jumbled names.— P.P.

“Hal,” Timaru: A wee letter from this little Circlian of mine. You have more pet pussies than I have, Hal. Thank you for the jumbled names.— P.P.

Mount Cook Burnett, Timaru: A big welcome to this new Circlian. You may have “Little Mountain Boy” for your pen-name. I liked your original riddle-me-ree, and hope you will wunte some more for me.—P.P.

“Chestnut,” Fairlie: I was glad to see that Chestnut had not quite forgotten me. What nice presents you received. I liked your note-paper.—P.P. “Wood Nymph,” Timaru: I am glad you are entering for more competitions this year, Wood Nymph, and hope you will write another story for me soon. I did not go away for Easter.—P.P. “Sparkling Star,” Saltwater Creek: I believe it is lucky to find a Fairy Ring, Sparkling Star. Yes, some of our Circlians write splendid stories and poems. Did you to to the Show?—P.P. Peter Arnold Toynbee, Timaru: Your name and address are already in my big Address Book, Peter, and also a penname—“Peter the Great.” Did you forget it, when you asked for the other pen-names? I hope you had a happy birthday.—P.P. “Poppy Pink,” Saltwater Creek: Your nice wee story will find a place in our next Story-Tellers’ Column, Poppy Pink. Thank you for sending me the puzzles.—P.P. “Maori Maiden,” Smithfield: A nice letter, Maori Maiden. It is finding a place in Our Page next Letter Day. Yes, you may enter for two Competitions at once.—P.P.

from another country.” All the Gnomes were looking at the strange little man on the barrel, when he spoke to them, saying: “My name is Rubo, and I come from anywhere and everywhere. I have a riddle for you all, and you may have a whole year to guess it. In a year’s time I shall come to your picnic again, and shall give a wonderful reward to any Gnome who has the right anwser. This is the riddle:— His hands are the same as his feet,

And his body the same as his head. His back and his front often meet,

And he never lies down on a bed. He was born in the midst of a fire, And he ran up the back of a flame; He is big, he is small, he is short, he is tall And my riddle is—What is his name? Then without another word he vanished.

Time ran on, the summer was gone, and winter came in with snow and frost. Then, at last, winter was left behind, and the beauty of spring was all over the Gnome country. And wherever Gnomes met, they would say: “The riddle has not been guessed, and the picnic day will soon be here.” In the whole of the Gnome country no one had tried to guess the riddle as Curly Sanko had. Curly was a boy only ten years old, and Mr Sanko, his father, was dead. Curly had six brothers and sisters, and his mother found it such hard work to earn enough money to feed and clothe them all, that Curly said to himself one day: “Mother is getting thinner every day, for she is working herself to death for her seven children. How can I help her, I wonder!”

Curly did help his mother, of course, but he was only ten years old, and went to school every day. He often read the riddle, and tried to find the answer, but it always was a puzzle to him, as it was to so many other Gnomes. When Christmas came, Curly said: “There is nothing for Chirstmas dinner, and there is no money to buy anything with, and mother is worn out. I am the only boy old enough to help her; perhaps I can shoot a rabbit for dinner.”

He took h!s bow and arrows, and went walking along a winding track, when the fern covered the rolling hills. A rabbit frisked along the path, and as Curly shot arrows at it, it ran into the limestone rocks. He followed it, and found a path leading down into the earth. He walked along this and found himself at the entrance to a large cave. He looked in, but in the darkness he could see nothing. Then, slowly, he was able to see dimly. He saw the form of a man, a man whose head and body, whose arms and legs, were nothing but smoke. A man, but a man made of smoke. The wind blew along the passages and through the cave, and the smoke man was blown all around, from one side to the other. “Good morning,” said Curly. “Good mor—oh!” said the smoke man, as the wind blew him in tatters

» Curly waited until the wind had ; died away, and the Smoke Man was ; all together again. “Mr Smoke Man,” he said, “please i tell me your name.” i “Certainly,” was the answer, “my i name is Bob—oh, oh, oh,” and he cried g with pain as a hundred winds rushed in 1 and scattered him in misty clouds all j through the cave. 3 “Bob,” said Curly. “Why that's not much of a name for such a wonderful man. Perhaps there is more to be . told, so I will wait.” The winds were howling in great gusts, and the Smoke Man, blown into a thousand shreds, was everywhere and yet nowhere. In a few minutes the : winds had died down, and the Smoke Man was coming together again. > “If I could only throw a pot of sticky paste all over her,” said Guriy, “he might behave himself for a minute and tell me what his name is/’ The last stray clouds of smoke had joined up to form the Smoke Man’s legs, when Curly said: “Now, please, what is your name?” “Bobblemejandra,” said the Smoke Marty and, before the word was finished the roof of the cave split open with a crack that made Curly jump with fright. The Smoke Man was blown up through the roof and scattered in pieces among the clouds, and Curly frightened as lie had never been before, ran outside and* .never stopped running until he was home. “Bobblemejandra/” he said, “now I j know the anwser to the riddle.” Curly did not telf anyone of his adventure in the cave with the Smoke Man, but he anxiously -waited for the picnic day to come. At last it was New Year’s Day, and frem early in the morning Gnomes could S?e seen on all the roads walking towarcß the picnic ground. “Will Rubo come?” they were saying. “What a pity no one has guessed the riddle. There will be a big prize, and no one will be able to get it.” On the centre of the table was the picnic plum pudding, so big that three ponies were needed to bring it to the picnic on a sledge. Old Jit stood up at the side of the table, and said: “We are all sorry that Rubo has not come to our picnic and given us the answer to the riddle that none of us has been able to guess. Perhaps he has forgotten us. Now, as everyone is looking at this wonderful plum-pud-ding, and the little Gnomes are all looking hungrily at it, I shall cut it into two pieces, as a sign that the meal has begun.” He touched the monster pudding with I a knife, but before he could cut it a shower of a thousand spatks flew out of it, and there on the top stood Rubo. He called out to the Gnomes: “I gave you my riddle, It still is the same, Which of you guessed it. What is the name?” Then Curly stood up and the Gnomes all looked in wonder at him. He spoke in a clear voice, and said: “Born in a fire And climbing a flame. Bobblemejandra That is his name.” “The prize is won,” said Rubo, “Bobblemejandra is the answer to th* riddle. Then the Gnomes jumped to their feet and cheered Curly, and shook hands with him, and held him high up, so that all could see him. For he had found the answer to the riddle. “Now,” said Rubo to the Gnomes, “what is the prize that Curly has w r on? And how did he find the answer to the riddle? He wished to help his Mother, and went out with his bow and arrow’s that he might take home a rabbit for the Christmas dinner. He will tell you how he chased the rabbit and found Bobfiblemejandra. And this is the reward lam giving him. A little farm by the riverside, with a red-brick cottage for his mother and all the children. Then sleek cows who will fill the buckets with creamy milk, and ten w r hite fowls to give eggs for breakfast. A shaggy haired dog to play with the little ones, and a garden with flow 7 ers of every colour. A pony and a little cart to take them to church on Sundays, and a shelf full of books for the winter evenings. That is Curly’s reward—the happiest home in all the Gnome country.” LITTLE LAUGHS. Dawn. “What a pretty name your new maid has.” “'Oh! That is not her real name. We call her Dawn because she's always breaking.” Thoughtful Boy. Jimmy (pouring ink into goldfish bow'l): “It never gets dark in that water, and those poor little fish can’t go to sleep. Now they’ll think it’s night.” “The trouble is,” said father, examining his son’s school report, “you’re not really trying.” “That can’t be right, dad; the master says I’m the most trying boy in the class.” *> *t* -r v •*> X *> ♦> *i" »!♦«s»

Peter Pan Badges may be obtained at Messrs G. and T. Young, Ltd., Stafford Street, Timaru. All Badges are 1/- each. Country Circlians who send their name, address, and 1/1 (in stamps or postal note) to the above address, will have a Badge posted to them immediately. <♦4* 4* 4* *i t 4 , 4 t 4» ❖❖ •*?*&* *•*■*»• v-i—i-

£ *t* ❖*-h * * ♦> «£♦ * *> .J* .J. *s. *s, **, .j, ... *«. »♦, ... * DEAREST LITTLE PEOPLE, * What do you think has happened? You would never guess, so X X I will have to tell you. * * I went for a little walk the other day, and when I was nearly % X home I heard a kitten mia-owing behind me. I turned round, and, X % my surprise, discovered Christopher Robin following me. So I walk- *s■ * ed on, thinking to myself, “The good little fellow must have been fol- X % lowing me all the time. How strange that I did not notice him ± % sooner!” And then I stopped again, for I had never heard our little £ X mascot mia-ow so loudly and plaintively before. When I turned round ❖ * I saw that he was limping. “Poor kitten, he must be tired!” I ex- X 4 claimed. “I will carry him home.”—But surely this kitten, purring % X happily and gratefully as I picked it up gently, had changed a great f * deal from the mischievous pussy I knew! I looked at it closely, and ♦> X then realised that it was Not Christopher Robin, although it looked % £ almost Exactly the same! It had the same white nose and whiskers, *■£ * white waistcoat, white paws and black coat, but its white whiskers ❖ X were not quite as long as Christopher Robin’s, and it was a wee bit * X smaller, and oh! ever so much thinner! Some cruel person had evi- % * dently tried to lose the poor little thing, for its tiny paws were worn X *> and cut with walking and walking and trying to find its lost home. % * It was such a pretty, friendly kitten that I could not chase it away X X and let it starve. So I decided to take it home and give Christopher * » Robin a playmate. “I will call you ‘Elizabeth Ann’,” I said, as I stroked S ♦> its furry coat; and it purred loudly as much as to say, “What a lovely % * name!” (I am sure you have all read about Christopher Robin and £ * Elizabeth Ann—the little boy and girl in A. A. Milne’s delightful books). * % Christopher Robin was not at all pleased when he saw me carry- *s♦ * ing a kitten with a black and white coat as pretty as his. I am sorry *& *:♦ to say that he was very jealous, and also very rude, for he arched % X* his back and spat crossly at Elizabeth Ann when she was hungrily 4 X drinking her first saucer of milk. But now they are the best of f X friends, and Christopher Robin is more mischievous than ever. He X X purrs very loudly and importantly whenever I give him all the good f % wishes and “pats” you send him. I am sure he gets too many pats, X * and so does Elizabeth Ann; but they are such a pretty pair I know 4 X anyone would spoil them. *£ 4 This is another very “kitteny” % X letter, isn’t it, but I knew you £ X would like to hear all about Christopher /CL//** X ♦> Robin's little new playmate. j j X % LOVE, |