Read Ebook: The Nursery August 1877 Vol. XXII No. 2 A Monthly Magazine for Youngest Readers by Various

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THE POOR MAN'S WELL.

AMONG the Azores, is situated the beautiful Island of Fayal, with its orange-groves and profusion of flowers. But, notwithstanding the fruit and flowers, there is one thing which Americans who live there miss sadly, and that is fresh, cool water. There are no lakes or ponds, such as we have here; and so the people have to use rain-water, which they save in large tanks or cisterns.

There are a few wells on the island, which, as the water rises and falls in them twice in every twenty-four hours, are called "tide-wells." But there was a time, many years ago, when the people had neither cisterns nor wells, and were obliged to get water from hollows in the rocks. And this is the story of the first well.

The year 1699 was a year when scarcely any rain fell. The grain did not grow, the cows and sheep died from thirst, and many of the poor people also. Now there was a very rich man on the island, who had come here to live many years before, from another part of the world.

Though he was so rich, and might have done much good with his money, he was so stingy and so hard, that the people did not love him at all. But his bags of silver and gold did not buy him water; and at last the thought came to him, "Why! I will dig a well, as people used to do in my country. I will dig it on my own land, and no one shall have a drop of the water but myself."

So he hired men to come and dig the well; but he paid them only a little money, and was very unkind to them. They dug and they dug; but no water came. At last they said they would work no longer unless their master would promise them some of the water, and he promised them the use of the well for half of every day.

Now they dug with more patience; and one morning, as early as six o'clock, they suddenly found water. They claimed the privilege of using the well for the first six hours; and the master dared not refuse. As they were drawing the water, they noticed that it began to grow lower and lower in the well; and at twelve o'clock, the master's hour, none was left.

He was very, very angry, and said he would never give the men any work again. However, at six o'clock that night, they again demanded the use of the well. He mockingly asked them if they expected the water would come for them, and not for him. Nevertheless they went to the well; and, to the master's awe and wonder, it was full of water.

At midnight, the master again tried to get water from the well, and, as before, found it empty. He now felt afraid, believing that some divine power controlled the action of the water. He went to the church and vowed, before God, that if the water should come again next morning, he would dedicate it to the poor forever.

In the morning, when the men visited the well, there was the fresh water awaiting them. The master kept his vow, and thus the well became "The Poor Man's Well." To this day the water rises and falls in it twice in every twenty-four hours. I give you here a picture of the well, and should you ever go to Fayal you may see the original.

K. H. S.

SPITFIRE.

CAN you guess what she was? She was a little black kitten; and I must tell you all about her, and why we gave her such a funny name. Teddikins had a great mouse-colored cat called Maltie, and she had three little kitties,--Spitfire, Miss Tittens, and Cuddle. Spitfire was all black, just as black as a lump of coal, while Miss Tittens was gray, and Cuddle was gray and white.

Maltie was very proud of her kitties, and used to take Cuddle and Miss Tittens in her mouth, and carry them into the dining-room when we were eating our breakfast, to show them to us. But Spitfire would not let her mamma carry her. She would walk in all alone, tumbling over on her little nose very often , but carrying her little black tail just as straight as little boys carry sticks when they call them guns.

You know how kitties like to go to sleep, all cuddled up together. But Spitfire would not lie down with the others: she always tried to get on top of them.

E. F.

THE COSSET-CALF.

WHEN I was quite a little girl I had a cosset-calf, And, when it ran about the fields, It always made me laugh.

It seemed as gentle as a lamb, And from my hand was fed; And how I grieved when first I felt The horns upon its head!

It always answered to my call, And thrust its wet nose through The bars, and tried its very best To say, "How do you do?"

I left it in the early fall, And kissed my pet with tears; For to a little child the months Stretch out as long as years.

And when the summer came again, I never shall forget With what dismay I gazed upon My former little pet.

I was afraid of those great horns, So crooked on its brow, Nor would believe my little calf Was that enormous cow!

But soon I learned to know its face And conquered my alarm, And thought there was no nicer cow On any other farm.

And oh the rich sweet milk she gave! Why, just to make me laugh, My mother used to call me then Her little cosset-calf!

JOSEPHINE POLLARD.

PRIMER AND SLATE.

PRIMER and slate, primer and slate! Hurry up, mother! I fear I am late. A, B, C, D, and 1, 2, 3, 4, Must be studied, so I can recite them once more. Primer and slate, primer and slate, Must be carefully conned if we hope to be great: A man cannot hope much of a man to be, Unless, when a boy, he has learned A, B, C.

UNCLE THEO.

"GREAT I AND LITTLE YOU."

"HOW do you like that little new neighbor of yours?" asked Herbert Greene's big brother, who had seen the two little boys playing together in the yard.

"Oh, you must mean Georgie Worthman," said Herbie. "Why, I don't know. I like him, and I don't like him."

Wallace laughed. "Then you quarrel a little sometimes," said he. "Is that it?"

"No, we don't quarrel," said Herbie. "I don't let him know when I'm mad with him."

"What does he do to make you mad with him?" asked Wallace.

"Oh, he says things," said Herbie.

"Such as what?"

"Well, he looks at my marbles, and says, 'Is that all you've got? I have five times as many as that,--splendid ones, too. They'd knock those all to smash.'"

"What do you mean by that?" said Herbie.

"Well, if you don't find out by Saturday night, I'll tell you," said Wallace. This was on Monday.

On Wednesday afternoon Herbie was out at play, and presently Georgie Worthman came out. Wallace was in his room, reading, with the windows open, and could hear all that was said.

Georgie brought his kite with him, and asked Herbie if he would go to the common with him to fly his kite.

"Oh, yes! if mother is willing," said Herbie. "But where did you get that kite?--made it yourself, didn't you? I've got one ever so much bigger than that, with yards and yards of tail, and, when we let it out, it goes out of sight quick,--now, I tell you!"

"This isn't the best I can make," said Georgie; "but if I had a bigger one I couldn't pitch it, or hold it after it was up."

"Pooh! I could hold one that pulled like ten horses," said Herbie; and he ran in to ask his mother if he could go with Georgie to the common.

His mother was willing if Wallace would go too; and so, after a little good-natured bothering, and pretending he did not want to go, Wallace took his hat, and Herbie got his kite and twine, and the three boys set off for the common.

Georgie's kite was pitched first, and went up in fine style. Then Herbie's went off, and soon passed it, for it had a longer string; and both were far up in the dazzling blue of the sky.

"There now!" said Herbie, "didn't I tell you my kite would beat yours all to nothing? I bet there isn't another kite in town that will begin to be a match for it!"

"How is this? How is this?" said Wallace. "Seems to me 'great I and little you' are around here pretty thick."

"What do you mean by that?" said both the little boys.

Herbie looked at Georgie, and both blushed a little. The boys had great fun with their kites; and when they got home, and Wallace and Herbie went up stairs to put away the kite, Herbie said, "Well, my kite did beat Georgie's, just as I told him it would."

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