THE TWINS’ BETTER DAY

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 270, 4 February 1928, Page 29

THE TWINS’ BETTER DAY

‘‘What an awful day,” said Dick, slowly. First Derek had refused to get up and Dick, seeing this, refused too. Finally, when they did get up, they went into the bathroom and splashed each other until they were wet through. They refused to eat their porridge, then, to crown all, Derek pushed a basin of water over baby. Nurse, entirely disgusted with their behaviour, bundled them outside to play. “Now, don’t get into any more mischief, Master Derek,” was her parting injunction as she closed the door upon them. They wandered down to a garden seat. “What an awful day,” said Derek’s twin brother. “Everything seems to go wrong, and Mummy is so cross with us for wretting baby. Anyway, I couldn’t help it. The silly basin just slipped out of my hands, and—and —everything seems to go wrong,” he said again, disconsolately. “It’s your own fault,” said a voice sharply, and, looking down, they saw the figure of a fairy seated on a tuft of grass at their feet. “It’s your own fault,” he went on. “If you had done what was asked of you, none of thes~ things would have happened. It’s juf because you don’t want to be good that you are naughty. Now, to-morrow, you do everything that you are told and everything will go all right.’’ “We’ll try,” said Dick thoughtfully, “but I don’t think it will.” “Oh, yes, it will,” said the fairy hopefully. “You see,” and he disappeared. Next morning, when they were called by nurse to get up, they rose obediently, mindful of their promise. .All day they did exactly as they w r ere bid, and they found that it paid better to be obedient, so they decided to be better boys in future. “You see, Master Derek,” nurse said as she tucked them into bed that night, “that you really can be better boys if you like, and, besides, it makes everybody much happier. Now, don’t you agree?” she added, smiling. And for once both Dick and Derek agreed! —Norma Waller (aged 12). HOLLOW TREES I love looking in the Hollow Tree. It is just like a real, gnarled hollow old oak tree, where one drops messages for dear friends. I believe in the olden days there were no letter-boxes' or post offices, and people used hollow trees. I wish we still retained trees instead of unromantic, matter-of-fact letter-boxes, don’t you? How exciting it would be to search for your letter among such a host! / —Becky Pelham. DIGGING I am digging, digging, digging, just as fast as I can, I am digging in the sand by the sea; For I think that down below, Where the palms and lions grow, A little boy is digging up to me. He is digging, digging, digging as quickly as he can, He is digging in the desert hot and dry, I can almost hear the sound Of his shovel in the ground. And soon we shall be talking, he and I. —Sent in by Nancy Waller. A SHADOW THEATRE Have you ever made a Shadow Theatre? It’s quite easy. All you need is is a large dust sheet and a lamp. A good bicycle lamp will do. Hang the sheet on a cord across the middle of the room. One side of the sheet is the stage. The other side is for the audience. On the atage side, and about 12 feet away from the sheet, put your lamp. Stand it on a stool or a soap-box. The “actors,” of course, stand between the sheet and the lamp and as close to the sheet as possible. What sort of plays are you going to act? 'Well, you make them up as you go along. As it is “dumb show” it is best to act stories which have plenty of movement. Most of the fairy tales that you already know make good shadow plays. One of the great advantages of the shadow play is that yeti don’t need sceriery and you want very little in the way of “properties” or costumes. Animals’ heads cut out of cardboard and held between your own head and the sheet look very real. Indeed, dressing up is the easiest thing in the world. Put a tea-cosy on your head and another arranged in front to make you look fat, and see the effect of your shadow. You’ll be surprised. A.B.C. My book. I haven’t read it yet. It teaches me the alphabet. There’s A for Apples, B for Bear, And C for Camel pictured there. What lots I’ll have inside my head, When I have studied A to Z!

AMBITION The twins were fair-haired, blueeyed, sturdy little boys, and, although they had many toys, their one ambition was to smoke a cigar. Each evening, instead of listening to nurse’s fairy tales, they sat jealously watching their daddy smoking contentedly. As the smoke circles rose higher into the air their longing to be* grown up increased. At last the day arrived. On creeping into the study one afternoon they found a packet of cigars on the table. “Why should we wait to be men? We can light a cigar,” they said. So taking just one they hurried off to a seat in the garden. There was the scraping of a match, a flicker of flame, and—the cigar was alight. “I’m first,” said Tom, and took the initial puff. “It’s great!” he added. “I’m next,” said Tony, taking a puff. “It’s fine!” he exclaimed. But. at the second puff, he felt . his head going round and round. At the third, he threw the cigar to the other end of the garden. “Oh!*' he cried. “Don’t touch it!” “But I haven’t had my smoke,” said Tom, raeng off to find the treasure. He took an extra big puff, but a dizzy feeling came over him and he hastily dropped the cigar. A few hours later when their mother came to look for them they were sit- j ting on tlie garden seat as white as | ghosts. But they had made one resolution and this was not broken for many years. —Joan O’Brien (aged 14). IN ANCIENT DAYS The men and women who lived hundreds of thousands of years ago. lived such hard lives that at first they had no time for writing and drawing. All their days were spent in hunting for food, or defending themselves against wild animals and enemies, or making rough clothes out of skins. So that it was not till much later that writing .was used at all. Tou can think of a farmer one day, in those far-away times, wanting to remember how many sheep he had. Now how was he to do it? He couldn't count them —for there was no such thing as counting. So, at last, he decided to make a scrafth on a piece of bone or wood, one mark for each sheep. Then he called his little boy to drive the sheep through a narrow opening; and as each sheep went past, the farmer made a scratch on his piece of wood. After that, whenever he wanted to “count” his sheep to see that the wolves hadn’t run off with any of them, all he had to do was to see that there were as many sheep as he had marks on his wood. Wasn’t that a good idea? For the scratches were the first attempts at writing. RIDDLES Why is Happy Town like a pillar box? —Because it is red (read) all over. What bow can no one untie?—A rainbow. —Sent in by Nola Craig. CRICKET Jack: I say, Bill, you’ve got the pad on the wrong leg. Bill: Yes, I know; I thought I was going in at the other, end. Betty liad dropped her bun in the gutter, and was crying bitterly. A kind old gentleman who happened to be passing stooped to rescue it. “Here, what are you doing?” cried Betty indignantly. ‘That’s my bun.” t * * * “Now, William,” said the teacher, after devoting the morning to a lesson on the bee, “tell the class all that you know about this useful insect.” “It stings,” said solemnly. Nellie had a hen of her own, which she tended with the greatest care. One day, going to see if an egg had been I laid, she found a broken nest-egg. “Oh. I mother, what a pity!” she cried. My hen will never be able to lay an egg again; she’s broken the pattern.'

THE GNOME AND THE ACORN Once upon a time there was a tiny gnome called Bilbil. who lived in the middle of a great forest. He had made himself a cosy little house between the roots of a big oak tree. It was cool in summer, and in v\ inter the trunk of the tree sheltered it from the cold winds. But his house had one draw - back—it had no back door. One morning, when Bilbil was having breakfast. East Wind began to roar through the forest, and very soon the oak tree was groaning and cracking as East Wind tried his hardest to bend it. Bilbil was standing In his doorway watching the branches swirling in the air, when there was a crash. He was so startled that lie tumbled back into his house, and when he picked himself up and went to see what had happened, he found that his front door wa.s blocked. An acorn had fallen on tl:e ground in front of Bilbil's house, and had rolled down until it had stuck in his doorway, blocking it completely. It was then that Bilbil wished he had a back door. He pushed and strained at the acorn with all his might until lie was red in the face, but it was too big and heavy for him to move. “What ever shall I do.” he thought as he sat on his toadstool, getting his breath baeje; “if the acorn isn’t moved I can’t get out, and if I can't get out. I shan’t have anything to eat. and if I don’t have something to eat I shall starve! ” As he came to the end of the list of things that might happen to him, Bilbil jumped to his feet and once more tried to push the acorn away. “This is a terrible fix.” he panted; “what shall I do?” Just at that moment there was a slithering sound outside, and a voice said: “Good morning. Bilbil.” It was Tommy Squirrel, who Jived on one of the top branches of the oak tree. “It’s a very bad morning.” said poor Bilbil gloomily. “Bad!” echoed Tommy Squirrel; “you do surprise me! The sun is shining. East Wind has chased all the ‘cloud* out of sight, and you’ve got a perfectly splendid acorn right in. your doorway. I don’t know what more you want.” “Splendid adorn!” shrieked Bilbil. “It’s a horrid acorn!” "Do you—do you really mean you don’t like it?” said Tommy Squirrel, in awed tones. “I hate it,” said Bilbil. “It’s blocking my doorway, and I can’t get out.’ “But — but don’t you want it?” atsked Tommy Squirrel. “I want it moved!” snapped Bilbil “Then I’ll have it," exclaimed Tommy Squirrel, and before Bilbil could say “Jack Robinson.” the acorn had becio dragged out of his doorway and To/niny* Squirrel was half-way home with it. “Saved!” said Bilbil. as he stepped', into the sunshine and took a deep breath; “but I must really see about, making a back door.” THE MUSIC BOX In music shop it was not found. But lying by the sea, I never turn a handle round, Nor wind it with a key. I lift it from the mantel-shelf And hold it .to my ear— Its tunes are only for myself Since no one else can hear. It sings to me of sunny isles Where palm-trees fringe the shore. Of shelving sands where sunshine, smiles On ocean’s treasure store. An echo of the mermaid’s song Which lures to certain death — Then frqm the waves which glide* along A little sighing breath. And far away I seem to hear The chiming of a bell — My music box close to rny ear I hold—it is a shell! MOVING HOUSE Sammy Snail was a well-behaved little fellow, but he had one great fault. He always wanted to copy other people. One day he met Spider swinging along in a great hurry. “Where are you going?” he asked, quite ready to stop and chat about it for an hour, for Sammy was rather a slowcoach. “Oh, don’t bother me, I’m busy,” returned Spider, who was looking very hot and flustered. “We’re moving house to-day and I've got my hands - full.” % “Moving house?” said Sammy. “What does that mean, please?” But the Spider had gone by that time. Sammy hurried home as fast as he could, which wasn’t awfully fast. “Mother, * what does moving house mean, because I want to do it?” he said, all in a breath. “Little silly,” said his mother, laugh - ing. ‘T suppose you’ve been talking to someone who is moving house, isn’t that it? Well, it means moving out of one house to go and live in another one. We snails may be slow.but at least we’re sensible enough not to go in for moving.” But Sammy wasn’t listening to her.. He’d discovered that moving meant! leaving your house, and Spider was do-, ing it, so he wanted to, also. Andwithout,any more ado he crawled out of his nice snail-shell house and went Off. He hadn’t gone far before it began to get very sunny: and he didn't like that at all. Usually when it got hotr he went into his shell and waited for the sun to go in, but to-day he couldn't. “Oh, dear,” he thought, “I do hop% I find a house soon.’’ A big thrush was sitting on the fence just above him. and suddenly Sammy heard him say; “Oh, look, a nice fat snail without a shell. What a tasty morsel!” Sammy didn’t wait to hear mote. Luckily for him there was a crack in the rockery just in front of him. In he popped and waited there in fear and trembling until it got dark. Then he crept out, made for his own shell, and craw led in with a great sigh of relief. There was an old man with a flute: A serpent ran into his boot. But he played day and night Till the serpent took flight And avoided that man with a flute.