PETER’S BIT.

Waipawa Mail, Volume XXXVII, Issue 7920, 18 August 1917, Page 2 (Supplement)

PETER’S BIT.

A STORY TO TELL THE LITTLE ONES UNDER FIVE.

By LILIAN FAIRBROTHER RAMSEY

Onco there was a little hoy called Peter, and he said “ I must do my bir because it’s war-time.” So he went out and dug up hi 3 little garden and raked it smooth. Then he sowed some mu..* tau'd and cress. Down flow a robin from a rose-bush near by. “Go away, Bobbie!’’ ,yaid Peter. “ You are not to come and eat up m,y seeds that I’ve planted for Mummie.” “No,” .said the Robin. “But I must do my bit because it’s war-time, and 1 see a fat slug that will eat up all yom musa/rd nad cress if I don’t gobble him up.” So he ate up the fat slug and then he went and perched on tin* rose-bush again and sang loudly. Did he do it 3 Did lie do it?” asked a thrush from the top of the elm tree. “Go away, speckly breast!” .said Peter. “You are not to come and eat up my deeds that I’ve planted for Mummie 4”

“Not a bit, not a bit!” sang the thrush. “ But it’s war-time and 1 must do my bit. There’s a snail down thero that will eat up .all your seeds if I don’t gobble him up.” So tlie thrush flew dow nand Seized the snail in his beak, and found a big stone miar by. Then ho banged the snail on it until the shell broke, and lie ate up what was inside. Then he flew back into the earn singing: “Did he do it? Did he do it? Yes he did; yes he did!” By and by along came a hen, clucking aa she walked. “Go away, Henny-penny!” said Peter. “ You are not to come scratching up my seeds! that I’ve .planted l for Mummie.” “No,” said tlie hen. “But it’s wartime and I must do my bit. I see a blade of grass coming up in your garden and it will choke all your nice seeds if I don’t eat it.” So the hen ate the blade of grass and then she went and tot in a little box with hay at the bottom, and presently she called out: “Cluck! Cluck! Come and see what I’ve got!” And when Peter went to look, there was a nice browfi egg all ready for breakfast the next morning. “Miaou! Miaou!” said Pussy, coming up the garden path and humping her back as she walked.

“Go away, Pussy!” said Peter. “You aro not to come scratching up the seeds* that I’ve planted for Mummie.”

“No,” said Pussie. “But it’s wartime and I must do my bit. “I’ll just come and lie on tlie grass near by in the sunshine, and then those mischievous Sparrows won’t dare to come scratching up your garden.” “ Ho ! Ho !” laughed the sun. “Everyone seems to ho doing his bit because it’s wartime; I mustn’t lie out of this!” So ho shone as hard 1 as he could, and in tho night little warm showers came and did their bit, and after a few days Peter was able to take a pair of .Scissors and cut a nieo basketful of mustard and cress, which he carried indoors to his own dear Mummie and gave it to her with a kiss. “Because it’s war-time, Mummie,” ho said. “So you see I had to do my bit.”

will be no shortage of any sort of supplies. WE SHALL NOT SLACKEN. We sometimes grumble because tjlio sugar and the potatoes are not there, but that is very like your grousing about the bad deeds of the sergeantmajor. We shall not slacken. You may trust us, as we trust you. We, like you, you bonnie fighters, are out to win tho war. And the word of the day is: “Fight Fight! Fight! To the very last man and gun!” We imean it! For the last five months I have been singing those words to British audiences, but they needed no teaching. We mean it! Do not think we are taking things too easily over here! Do not judge us by our froth and scum! Through black days, and bright ones, through |submarino menaces, food shortage and aerial attacks, grousing a little now and then, but not pausing in our endeavour, we will fight, as you are fighting, lads, we will fight! light! fight! to the very last man. BRITAIN’S SACRED TRUST. For, though sometimes we pretend to forget it, we know what stake We know that all that b devilish in man and all that is fine in man is at grips in this stupendous war. Ai’o know that to lose now (and not to win is to lose )is to lose for ever. We know that if we are content with anything loss than complete victory', the Hun has triumphed, and that for th* future in Europe brute force will l.uov no law. We are fighting for ourselves and our children and our children’s children, and all the tender, lovely things! the Hun crushes beneath his brutal hoof. We are fighting for freedom and for civilisation agpiinst tyranny and powers of hell. The tide is with us, the end is sure; hut if it were not, .we know that we must keep on fightnig, fighting, fighting for the sake of all that makes life worth living and death worth dying. This id Britain’s sacred trust. HARRY LAUDER.