"Put an extra pair of mittens in your pocket. You might take the redones that the snow man liked so well."
They walked up the road. By and by they came to a bridge. At one endthey climbed down to the river.
Here they found a path. It took them on to the river. At the end of thepath the snow was trodden down. Peter saw two holes in the ice.
"Father," he said, "see those holes. Who made them?"
"The blacksmith and his boy chopped them yesterday. Then they fishedthrough them. You see now why the blacksmith did not shoe Brownieyesterday.
"He knew you would be sorry about that. So he told me to bring youfishing."
"I'd rather do this than anything else," said Peter. "I will thank himfor his holes."
"You will not like to do it long," said father. "It is a cold day."
He baited Polly's hook and Peter's hook. He showed them how far into thewater to put their lines.
Then he said, "While you are fishing, I will build a little fire. Thereare plenty of small pieces of wood by the bank. You may warm yourfingers at my fire. Perhaps the fish will not bite to-day."
"Did the blacksmith catch any?" asked Polly. "Oh, yes," said father.
"Maybe he caught them all," said Polly. "I haven't had a bite yet. I amgetting cold standing here."
"Then come and warm your fingers at my fire," said father.
Just then Peter said, "I feel something!" And he began to pull up hisline.
As soon as he pulled, Polly cried, "Oh, I feel something, too. It's abite, a bite!" And she began to pull up her line.
All at once they both stopped pulling.
"I'm caught," said Polly.
"I'm caught," said Peter. "It won't come any farther. But it jerks.Maybe it isn't caught. Maybe it's a big fish."
Father began to laugh. "I think your big fish is Polly," he said. "Letme see."
He took Peter's line. He told Polly to let hers out slowly. Then hepulled. Surely enough, Peter's hook came up through his hole. Polly'shook came up, too.
Peter and Polly had caught each other! How they laughed at this!
Peter said, "I shall carry my big fish home to mother. She will likeit. But she will not cook it. Let us go now to tell her."
"Very well," said father. "Roll up your line. Then warm your handsbefore we start."
Polly had dropped her hook back into the water. All in a minute she felta good bite.
"Oh, I have one, I have one!" she cried.
"Pull in!" said father.
Polly pulled. Up through the hole came a beautiful big trout.
"Well, well, well!" said father. "Isn't that a beauty? I wonder how ithappened to bite our pork. We must throw it back. It's too bad."
"O father, my fish!" cried Polly. "Why did you? Wasn't it a good fish?"
"Indeed it was, Polly. But back it had to go. We can't keep trout in thewinter."
"Then let's go home now," said Polly. "I might catch more. And I shouldnot like to throw them back."
"I'm all ready," said Peter. "I think we have had a good time. Youcaught a big fish and I caught a big fish and we can't eat either ofthem."
MAKING MOLASSES CANDY
It was a wet, rainy day. Peter and Polly had been out in the rain. Itdid not hurt them.
They had on rubber boots, rubber coats, and rubber caps. Peter's rubbercoat was yellow. Polly's was black. They played that they were firemen.
In the afternoon, mother wished them to stay in the house.
She said, "The rain makes the snow wet. It is not nice to play in. Wewill have a candy party. We will make molasses candy. You may each pullsome."
"I should rather do that than play out of doors," said Polly.
"So should I," said Peter.
"Very well, children. Put on your aprons. Now, Polly, get the molassesjug."
Mother measured out the molasses. Then she put it on the stove to boil.Soon she measured out some white sugar. She poured it into themolasses.
"Peter, you may carry away the sugar. That is the way you helpedgrandmother, you know."
"Now let me stir," said Polly.
"Oh, no," said mother. "We do not stir this candy. I thought you knewbetter than that."
Soon the molasses boiled. The children liked to watch it. They liked thegood smell.
Peter said, "See it bubble up just like our spring."
"It is the steam, trying to get out, that makes the bubbles," saidmother. "You know that steam is strong. You have seen it lift the lid ofthe teakettle.
"Now let us try the candy. Bring a cup, Polly. Bring a cup, Peter. Fillthem half full of cold water."
Mother dipped a spoon into the boiling candy. She poured part of thespoonful into Polly's cup, and the rest into Peter's cup.
"Let it stand a minute. Then we will see if the candy is hard enough topull. After that you may eat it."
This was just what the children wished to do. They were glad becausemother had to try the candy again.
At last, it was poured into cake tins. It was set out of doors to cool.There was a big tin for mother, a little tin for Polly, and a little tinfor Peter.
Peter and Polly could hardly wait for the candy to cool. They were insuch a hurry to begin pulling it. Polly stuck her finger into hersbefore it was ready. It almost burned her.
A few minutes after this, mother said, "Yours is cool enough now. Mineis not. Wash your hands again. Then you may begin."
What a sticky time there was!
Polly pulled her piece over and over quite well. Soon it began to growlight colored. When it stuck to her hands, she ran out of doors. Thiscooled the candy.
But Peter could not pull so fast. His piece stuck to both hands. It gotbetween his fingers. Mother scraped it off and he began again.
At last, he dropped part of it on the floor. Mother said, "Let it alone,Peter. I will scrape it up. It is not good to put with yours now."
Peter said, "I guess I do not like to pull candy. I am going to make flypaper of mine. It is sticky enough."
"Yes," said mother. "It is sticky. But you are doing very well."
"Mine is ready to cut up, I think," said Polly.
She laid it on the clean kitchen table. She pulled it out into a long,thin strip. Then she took a pair of clean scissors. She cut the stripinto short pieces.
"That is just the way," said mother. "Put it on the buttered plate. Youare a good candy maker. Grandmother must have some of this. O Peter!What are you doing?"
Poor Peter had somehow got his hand stuck to his hair.
"I am just trying to get my hand away," said Peter. "But it is stuck."
"I should think it is," said mother. "You must sit quite still until Iget my candy ready to cut. Then I will help you."
"O Peter! How funny you look!" laughed Polly. And indeed he did lookfunny, with his hand held close to his hair.
"But I don't feel funny, Polly. You stop laughing at me."
Mother gently pulled his hair away from the candy. Then she scraped hishands.
"Please save my candy, mother," said Peter.
"I cannot, Peter. It is not clean now."
And Polly said, "You may have mine, Peter. I am sorry I laughed."
Then mother washed Peter's hands. "I must wash your hair, too," shesaid. "But never mind. It needed washing. You have had fun with yourcandy, haven't you?"
Peter answered, "Yes, I have, mother. But please do not make it sosticky next time."
GRANDMOTHER'S BIRTHDAY PARTY
"Here is grandmother. Light the fire, Peter. Light the fire, Polly."
Peter and Polly each took a match. Peter lighted the open fire at theleft. Polly lighted it at the right side.
Soon the kindling wood began to crackle. Then the flames leaped high inthe fireplace.
Grandmother had come over to supper. She was to spend the evening. Itwas her birthday. Peter and Polly were to stay up later because of this.
The Story Lady was coming to supper, too. Perhaps, just perhaps, shewould tell them a story. She knew stori
es about everything.
"Here she is now," cried Polly. And the Story Lady walked in at the doorwith grandmother.
Soon supper was ready. Polly had helped mother set the table. Shethought that it looked very pretty.
Grandmother's birthday cake was in the center. On it were a dozen small,colored candles. Polly had helped to put them there.
When mother had shown her the candles, she had said, "Why, mother,grandmother is more than twelve years old.
"She must have a candle for every year. That is what I have."
"I know you do, Polly," mother had said. "But grandmother is sixty yearsold. We cannot put sixty candles on this cake. It is not large enough.
"So we will count the fives in sixty. Then we will use one for everyfive years. That makes just twelve."
"Yes," Polly had answered, "I have learned that. Twelve fives makesixty. It is a good way to do. I shall do it when I am sixty years old."
Now the cake was on the table. Just before it was time to cut it,father lighted the candles.
They all watched them burn for a few minutes. The melted wax ran downthe sides. They grew shorter and shorter.
"See Nan Etticoat," said Polly. "The longer she stands, the shorter shegrows. Do you know that story, grandmother?"
"My grandmother taught me to say Nan Etticoat," said grandmother. "Thatwas many years ago. She told me about making candles, too.
"When she was a little girl, there were no electric lights. There wereno gas lights. There were no lamps. Every one used candles.
"Not such pretty, colored ones as these. They were larger and quiterough. How should you like to make them, Polly?"
"Oh, I should like to," said Polly. "May we?"
"Perhaps not," said grandmother. "We do not need to do so. We have otherlights.
"But in those old days, people made their own candles. They called it'dipping candles.' It was a hard task.
"I am sure that they did not light many at once. I am sure that mygrandmother did not have candles on her birthday cakes.
"Now, my son, the wax is dripping on the frosting. The candles arenearly burned. If you will put them out, I will cut my birthday cake."
Mr. Howe pinched the lighted ends in his fingers. He did this veryquickly.
"Don't they burn your fingers, father?" asked Polly.
"No, indeed, Polly. I do not give them time to burn me. This is betterthan to blow them out. Then there is smoke. But children must not do itthis way."
Grandmother took the knife and cut the cake. She cut it as a pie is cut.Each one had a very fat piece.
"Now we shall see if this cake is as good as it looks," saidgrandmother. "I am sure that it is, for your mother is a good cook,Polly."
But Polly was not listening. She was looking at something that she hadfound in her cake.
She poked it with her fork. Then she took it up in her fingers.
"Why, mother," she said, "what a queer thing there is in my cake. Howdid it get there?"
Just then Peter said, "There is a lump in my piece, too. It is somethinghard."
Father said, "Clean the cake from your lumps and see what they are. Why,I have a lump myself."
"And so have I," said the Story Lady.
"And so have I," said mother.
"Then," said grandmother, "I am the only one who has no lump. How didyou let these lumps fall into your cake, daughter? Can I ever again callyou a good cook?" And she laughed at Mrs. Howe.
Just then her fork struck something.
"Dear me!" cried grandmother. "A lump in my piece, too! Now I think theymust have been put in the cake on purpose."
"Oh, see, see, grandmother! See what mine is!" And Polly held up alittle, white china pig.
"Look at mine!" shouted Peter. He had scraped the cake from his lump. Inhis hand was a small, white china monkey.
"What is yours, Story Lady? And yours, mother? And yours, father?" askedPolly.
"Mine is a cat," said the Story Lady.
"And here is a kitten to go with her," said mother.
"And here is a naughty dog, to chase your cat and kitten," said father."Let's put them in a row on the table. Then we can all see them."
"But where is your lump, grandmother?" asked Polly.
Grandmother held out her hand. On it, there lay a beautiful, goldthimble.
"Oh! Oh! Isn't it pretty!" cried Polly. "Who gave it to you?"
"Indeed it is, Polly. I think I know who gave it to me. It was you, mydaughter. You knew that I had lost mine.
"I thank you for this. And I thank you for another happy birthday party.Perhaps you may put lumps in your cakes, just on birthdays."
"I will not do it at other times," said mother. "Now let us all go intothe other room and sit before the open fire."
"When our bedtime comes we need not go, need we, mother?" asked Polly.
"Not to-night, Polly. You and Peter may sit up a while," said mother.
AROUND THE OPEN FIRE
The open fire was blazing well. "Let me draw the chairs about it," saidfather. "Then we can all enjoy it."
"We do not need chairs, father," said Polly. "Peter and I will sit onthe floor. I will sit next to grandmother."
"I will sit next to mother," said Peter.
"When I was little," said grandmother, "I liked to sit on the floor. Ithought it quite soft enough. Now that I am older, I like chairsbetter."
"If you sit in a chair, it is never in the right place," said Polly. "Afloor is always in the right place. It is a big seat, too."
"What a good fireplace this is," said the Story Lady. "It is so largethat you can put real logs into it. And it never smokes."
"Just think of long ago, when there were no stoves," said grandmother."How would it seem now to heat our houses with open fires?"
"Why weren't there any stoves, grandmother? And where were thefurnaces?"
"People did not know how to make stoves and furnaces, Peter. They hadvery large fireplaces, instead. My grandmother told me about them."
"What beautiful white birch logs," said the Story Lady. "They make sucha good fire."
"They came from our woods," said Peter. "We were up there one day. Wewent to see next winter's wood. There is plenty. Some is already cut andpiled."
"At first, I did not like to see the pretty trees cut down," said Polly."But father told me that it is sometimes best."
"So it is, Polly," said the Story Lady. "We need the wood to keep uswarm, and for many other things, too. What are some of them?"
"Carts, sleds, telephone poles!" shouted Peter.
"Houses, barns, bridges!" shouted Polly.
"Yes, indeed, children, for all those and more. So we must cut down someof the trees. But we must take care that others grow in their places.
"Thousands of years ago, people believed strange things about trees.They believed that in some lived beings called dryads.
"These dryads were like lovely maidens. A maiden is a girl, you know.They could come out of their trees. But still they were a part of thetree.
"If a tree was cut down, the lovely dryad who lived in it died. So, inthose days, most people did not wish to cut down trees. They were afraidof hurting the dryads.
"When trees grew old and fell, the dryads died, too. Sometimes kindpeople propped up old trees. Then the dryads could live a littlelonger."
"Oh, I wish I could see one," said Polly. "What did they wear?"
"No one knows exactly, Polly, because no one ever saw a dryad. It is oneof those stories that have come to us from thousands of years ago.
"Most of the stories are not true. We call them myths. And we like themvery much."
"Are myths as good as 'Once upon a time' stories?" asked Peter.
"Yes, indeed, Peter. Get your mother to tell you some, and see."
"Now I shall think of this story, when I see our fire burning a dryad'shouse," said Polly.
"I shall play that there are dryads in our trees, too. Perhaps, if Iplay hard enough, one will really be there.<
br />
"When spring comes, I shall go to the woods often. I know where there isa hollow tree. That will make a good dryad's house."
"Spring is coming soon," said mother. "The cold winter is nearly over.But, first of all, bedtime is coming. It has nearly come, now. Say goodnight, Peter and Polly. Then off with you."
So Peter and Polly said good night and went upstairs to bed. Perhapsthey dreamed of dryads. Perhaps they dreamed of spring-time. Perhapsthey slept soundly and did not dream at all.
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