Short Stories

Bertie's Box.
A very little boy by the name of "Bertie," kept a box in wh...

The Trusty Dog.
I am glad to introduce to you, the noble dog whose picture ...

Story About An Indian.
A poor sick man might go to the door of some rich person's ...

The Pleasant Sail.
Down by the sea-coast is the pleasant town of Saco, Where M...

George And His Guinea.
Little George Ames went with his aunt to attend a missionar...

Harriet And Her Squirrel.
It was on a Sabbath eve, when at a friend's house, we were ...

The Shepherd And His Bible.
A poor shepherd, living among the Alps, the father of a lar...

Pledge.
Our hands and our hearts we give To the temperance p...

Old Pipes And The Dryad
A mountain brook ran through a little village. Over the bro...

Agnes And The Mouse.
One brilliant Christmas day, two little girls were walking ...

A Good Mother.
Mrs. Savage was the eldest sister of Matthew Henry. When sh...

The Market Day.
Mrs. Ford had three little children--Lily, Hetty, and a dea...

Comfort And Sobriety.
Let me here give you a few maxims to commit to memory:---- ...

Jane And Her Lessons.
It is a mark of a good scholar to be prompt and studious. S...

Asaph
About a hundred feet back from the main street of a village...

The Boy And The Gold Robin.
A bright eyed boy was sleeping upon a bank of blossoming cl...

The Child And Flower.
The Atheist in his garden stood, At twilight's pen...

Chinese Proverbs.
What is told in the ear is often heard a hundred miles. ...

The Remarkable Wreck Of The Thomas Hyke
It was half-past one by the clock in the office of the Regi...

No Payno Work.
"Little boy, will you help a poor old man up the hill with ...

THE GREY OLD COTTAGE.

In the valley between "Longbrigg" and "Highclose," in the fertile
little dale on the left; stands an old cottage, which is truly "a nest
in a green place." The sun shines on the diamond paned windows all
through the long afternoons of a summer's day. It is very large and
roomy. Around it is a trim little garden with pleasant flower borders
under the low windows. From the cottage is a bright lookout into a
distant scene of much variety.

Some years ago it was more desolate, as it was so isolated from the
world. Now the children's voices blend with the song of the wood
birds, and they have a garden there of dandelions, daisies, and
flowers. The roof and walls are now covered with stone crop and moss,
and traveller's joy, which gives it a variety of color. The currant
bushes are pruned, and the long rose brandies are trimmed, and present
a blooming appearance. This house, with forty acres of land, some
rocky and sterile, and some rich meadow and peat, formed the
possessions of the Prestons in Westmoreland. For two hundred years
this land had been theirs. Mr. Preston and his wife were industrious
and respectable people. They had two children, Martha and John. The
sister eight years older than her brother and acted a motherly part
towards him. As her mother had to go to market, to see to the cows and
dairy, and to look after the sheep on the fell; Martha took most of
the care of little Johnny.

It is said that a very active mother does not _always_ make a very
active daughter, and that is because she does things herself, and has
but little patience with the awkward and slow efforts of a learner.
Mrs. Preston said that Martha was too long in going to market with the
butter, and she made the bread too thick, and did not press all the
water out of the butter, and she folded up the fleeces the wrong way,
and therefore she did all herself. Hence Martha was left to take the
whole care of Johnny, and to roam about in the woods. When she was
about fifteen her mother died, so that Martha was left her mother's
place in the house, which she filled beyond the expectation of all the
neighbors. Her father died when Johnny was sixteen, and his last
advice to his daughter was, to take care of her brother, to look after
his worldly affairs, and above all to bear his soul in prayer to
heaven, where he hoped to meet the household once more. The share of
her father's property when he died, was eighty pounds. Here Martha
spent her days, frugal, industrious and benevolent. And it is said,
there will not be a. grave in Grasmere churchyard, more decked with
flowers, more visited with respect, regret, and tears, and faithful
trust, than that of Martha Preston when she dies. In the next story
you will be interested in what happened at the Grey Cottage.





Next: THE BOY FOUND IN THE SNOW.
Previous: BENNY'S FIRST DRAWING.

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