"MY master, my master! why does he stay So long at the tavern across the way? I've waited and watched an hour and more, And there he stands at the tavern-door. "I've stamped my foot, and champed my bit; And this musty post, I've gnawed at it; I've pawed the ground, I've shaken my mane, And neighed and snorted again and again. "I'm tired and dusty and hungry too; I want my dinner! I'm getting blue! Its ten long miles we have yet to go, And that my master must surely know. "'Tis time for us to be on our way; I want my oats and my clover-hay; I want a roll on the smooth barn-floor. Ah! here comes master, I'll say no more!" HELEN M. WHITNEY [Illustration] [Illustration] THE DESERTED HOUSE. THIS house has no roof, no chimney, no windows, no front-door, no back-door. Yet it was once the home of a happy family; and, if you went near it, you would hear their sweet low voices from morning till night. Such was this little house when I visited it one fine day last summer. To-day I called again. All was still. Not a voice did I hear. The roofless house was filled with snow. The walls looked dark and sad. The leaves that once cast lovely shadows about them were gone. As I stood looking at the empty house, Ethel, who is very young but very wise, exclaimed, "The family have gone south for the winter, but are sure to come back in the spring. There will be gay times here pretty soon." Just then a sharp gust of wind came, and the old house shook as if about to fall. Ethel stood ready to catch it. What, a child catch a falling house, as if it were a baseball! What if the timbers should strike her? Ah! but this house was a very light building. Snow and all, it was not much heavier than a handful of roses. Now you know what I mean. Vine Street runs from the floor to the top of the piazza. The swallow homestead is just at the head of that street. The timbers are sticks and straw. The roof is the sky. And, as to the happy little family of Mr. and Mrs. Swallow, if you come here in the month of May, I will show them to you in their home. GEORGE T. PACKARD. [Illustration] TOMMY TUCKER. THIS is Tommy Tucker, Whose mouth was in a pucker, Crying for his supper, A little while ago. But, now that Tommy Tucker Has had a hearty supper, He looks as bright and happy As any boy I know. W. G. DAME TROTT AND HER SON. [Illustration] IN this little house lives good Dame Trott, who keeps eggs and milk for sale. She has two cows and a flock of hens. Her son John helps her to take care of them. He is a very good boy. [Illustration] John is just ten years old. He goes to school. When the school is done for the day, he goes out to the field to drive home the cows. Here you may see him on a fence at the end of the lane. He wears a queer sort of frock.