Mother Stories by Maud Lindsay


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Page 1

Most of these stories have been told and retold to little children, and
are surrounded, in my eyes, by a halo of listening faces.

"Mrs. Tabby Gray" is founded on a true story of a favorite cat. "The
Journey" is a new version of the old Stage Coach game, much loved by our
grandmothers; and I am indebted to some old story, read in childhood,
for the suggestion of "Dust Under the Rug," which was a successful
experiment in a kindergarten to test the possibility of interesting
little children in a story after the order of Grimm, with the wicked
stepmother and her violent daughter eradicated.

Elizabeth Peabody says we are all free to look out of each other's
windows; and so I place mine at the service of all who care to see what
its tiny panes command.

MAUD LINDSAY.




LIST OF STORIES



The Wind's Work

Mrs. Tabby Gray

Fleet Wing and Sweet Voice

The Little Girl with the Light

The Little Gray Pony

How the Home Was Built

The Little Traveler

The Open Gate

Inside the Garden Gate

The Journey

Giant Energy and Fairy Skill

The Search for a Good Child

The Closing Door

The Minstrel's Song

Dust Under the Rug

The Story of Gretchen

The King's Birthday




_THE WIND'S WORK_

MOTTO FOR THE MOTHER

_Power invisible that God reveals,
The child within all nature feels,
Like the great wind that unseen goes,
Yet helps the world's work as it blows_.

One morning Jan waked up very early, and the first thing he saw when he
opened his eyes was his great kite in the corner. His big brother had
made it for him; and it had a smiling face, and a long tail that reached
from the bed to the fireplace. It did not smile at Jan that morning
though, but looked very sorrowful and seemed to say "Why was I made? Not
to stand in a corner, I hope!" for it had been finished for two whole
days and not a breeze had blown to carry it up like a bird in the air.

Jan jumped out of bed, dressed himself, and ran to the door to see if
the windmill on the hill was at work; for he hoped that the wind had
come in the night. But the mill was silent and its arms stood still. Not
even a leaf turned over in the yard.

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Wed 17th Jul 2019, 1:11