LOOP HOOP

Sun (Auckland), Volume IV, Issue 1046, 9 August 1930, Page 31

LOOP HOOP

You can play this good game in the playground or the garden. Any number of players may join in. It is called Loop Hoop. For the game you need a small hoop, and each player must have a stick. The hoop should be not more than about 12 inches across, so if you have to buy one it won’t cost much.

The game is to throw the hoop from one player to the other, catching it each time on the stick —and not touching it at all with the hands. Having caught it on the stick, you merely throw it off again, and the other player catches it, and so you go on. If a number of players join in, they must stand in a circle and throw it on from on© to the other. Or you might like a variation and arrange to throw it to anyone you please. This will make everybody more alert, of course.

TUMBLE-DWARI- AND THE FAIRY PAINTER

Molly had just finished reading a fairy story. “So if you find a fourleaved clover, hold it tight, wish with all your might, count three carefully and follow your nose wherever it goes,” was the ending. She read the spell aloud. “What a funny ending,” she said. “And, oh, I’ve just remembered that I found a four-leaved clover yesterday, and it’s inside my fairy book.” Hastily she found it and. holding it up, read the spell again. “Now, what shall 1 wish?” she thought. “1 know, I’ll wish to see a fairy.” And, with the magic clover clutched tightly in her hand, she began to follow her nose. How funny it seemed, but she felt herself walking onward, she knew not where, until suddenly she heard someone crying. The spell broke, and she ran to see who was in distress. She saw a little fairy, clad in blue and mauve, sitting on a bluebell and weeping bitterly. “Little fairy,” called Molly, softly, “what is the matter?”

The fairy looked up in surprise. “Hello, little mortal. J am in a sad plight, but I believe you could help me. Listen; I am the Fairy Painter. I point the dawn and the sunset, the moon and the stars with my magic paint-brush, hut Tumble-Dwarf, my greatest enemy, lias stolen it, and now I cannot paint at all. Oh, what shall I do?” And, forgetting Molly, the Fairy Painter wept afresh. “Perhaps I could get the paintbrush back again,” said Molly, “so don’t cry. Let us think out a plan.” The Fairy Painter stopped crying and thought for a moment. “TumbleDwarf told me he had hidden it in the ground and that it could only be dug up if someone could lift the enchanted spade (which is as big as a mortal’s) from where it hangs in his home. But I could never hope to lift it.” “But I could,” said Molly, brightly. “Together we will go to TumbleDwarf’s home and see if we can get it.” “You are kind.” said the Fairy Painter, gratefully, “but it may be dangerous. He may turn us Into frogs or something of the sort. Have you a four-leaved clover? You have? Good! As long as you have that he cannot harm us.” And, quite cheerful again, the Fairy Painter led her to Tumble-Dwarf’s home. As they drew near they heard a low rumble. “Whatever is that?” asked Molly. “It’s Tumble-Dwarf snoring.” replied the Fairy Painter. “He’s asleep. We’re in luck.” They had arrived at a little brown house and. seated on the doorstep, sleeping and snoring, was TumbleDwarf. “S-sh.” whispered the Fairy Painter, “I will fly in and open the other door and you must tiptoe in.” In a flash he disappeared inside and Molly, with her heart beating loudly, crept in after him.

The Fairy Painter was standing before a huge cupboard. “It’s in there.” he whispered. Molly reached up and. opening the door, took down a large spade: then, still holding the clover, she tiptoed out again with the Fairy Painter dancing joyfully round her. “Where do I dig?” she asked. “There.” answered the Fairy Painter, pointing to a freshly-dug spot in the dwarf’s garden. Molly set to work and dug with all her might. All at once she dropped the spade and, with a joyful shout, picked up the paint-brush. But her shout awakened Tumble-Dwarf, and with a cry of rage, he sprang up. The Fairy Painter snatched the brush and gave Molly a violent push, which sent her falling down, down, down . . . And there she was back in her own garden with the fairy book in her hand, but there was no sign of the four-leaved clover. —Creina Mosse. aged 14.