I can fix up a brush-pile, and fire it up, because I am going to roast you this day-that's sure.' "I don't care what you do with me, Brer Fox,' says Brer Rabbit in an humble voice, 'so long as you don't fling me into that brier-patch. Roast Brer Fox, but don't fling me into that brier me, patch.' "It's so much trouble to kindle a fire,' says Brer Fox, that it seems as if I'll have to hang you.' 666 Hang me as high as you please, Brer Fox,' says Brer Rabbit, but don't fling me into that brier-patch.' “I haven't any string,' says Brer Fox, 'and I am afraid I shall have to drown you.' "Drown me as deep as you please, Brer Fox, but don't fling me into that brier-patch,' says he. "There is no water near,' says Brer Fox, 'so it seems I must skin you, Brer Rabbit.' "Skin me, Brer Fox,' says Brer Rabbit, 'tear out my ears by the roots, cut off my legs, but please, Brer Fox, don't fling me into that brierpatch!' "Of course Brer Fox wanted to hurt Brer Rabbit as much as he could. So he got hold of his hind legs and slung him into the middle of the brier-patch. "There was some flutter as Brer Rabbit struck the bushes, and Brer Fox sat down to watch. "By-and-by he heard somebody call him, and up the hill he saw Brer Rabbit sitting cross-legged on a log, combing the tar out of his hair with a chip. "Then Brer Fox knew that he needn't watch the bushes any longer for Brer Rabbit. And Brer Rabbit called out to him— "Bred and born in a brier-patch, Brer Fox, bred and born in a brier-patch!' and with that he skips off as lively as a cricket in the embers." Adapted. THANKSGIVING DAY BY LYDIA MARIA CHILD Over the river and through the wood, To carry the sleigh Through the white and drifted snow. Over the river and through the wood,Oh, how the wind does blow! It stings the toes, And bites the nose, As over the ground we go. Over the river and through the wood, "Ting-a-ling-ding!" Hurrah for Thanksgiving day! Over the river and through the wood, Like a hunting hound, For this is Thanksgiving day! Over the river and through the wood Extremely slow, It is so hard to wait. Over the river and through the wood- Is the pudding done? Hurrah for the pumpkin-pie! ARACHNE A GREEK MYTH Arachne was a beautiful girl who lived many, many years ago in the far-away land of Greece. She was a wonderful spinner. People came from far and near to see her at her work. She liked best to spin under the green trees in the forest. There she pictured so skilfully the birds flying in and out among the branches that people said, "We can almost hear them sing.' All of this praise quite turned Arachne's pretty little head. She became so proud and vain that no one could love her. 66 "No one can equal my work," she would say, with a toss of her head. 'Athene, herself, can not do it." Now, Athene, the goddess of wisdom, became much vexed that Arachne should make such a boast. "She is a foolish little girl," said Athene, "and I must teach her better." One day as Arachne sat spinning, an old woman came up. It was Athene herself, but Arachne did not know it. |