Books with title Our Little Dutch Cousin

"Oh, mamma!" cried little Germaine, as she jumped out of bed and ran to the window, "how glad I am it is such a beautiful day." Germaine was up bright and early on this sunshiny day, for many pleasant things were going to happen. However, this was not her only reason for early rising. French people always do so, and little French children are not allowed to lie in bed and to be lazy.

"Oh, mamma!" cried little Germaine, as she jumped out of bed and ran to the window, "how glad I am it is such a beautiful day." Germaine was up bright and early on this sunshiny day, for many pleasant things were going to happen. However, this was not her only reason for early rising. French people always do so, and little French children are not allowed to lie in bed and to be lazy. At the first peep of daylight Germaine's papa and mamma were up, and soon the "little breakfast," as it is called, was ready in the big kitchen of the farmhouse. Even the well-to-do farmers, like Germaine's papa, eat their meals in their kitchens, which are also used as a general sitting-room.

"Londonderry, Cork, and Kerry, Spell that to me without a K." "Can you do it now?" said Norah, laughing. "Can I do it? Yes, easy enough, for I've heard the riddle before. T-h-a-t. There, Norah, you didn't catch me this time." Molly laughed, too, as she spoke, and the little girls went on dressing their rag dolls. They were great friends, these two children of Ireland, and, although they were ragged and dirty most of the time, and neither of them owned hats or shoes, they were happy as the day is long. And, when I say this, I mean one of the longest days of Ireland, which are very long indeed.

"Now it is really time to get ready, is it not, Miss Green?" exclaimed Edith, looking up at the clock for the twentieth time during the last half-hour, and breaking off in the middle of the list of English kings and queens which she was trying to commit to memory. Which king came after Henry III., in that far-away time, seemed a small matter compared to the outing which she and her governess had planned to enjoy on the river that lovely afternoon.

It was early autumn in the Finland forest by the lake. Gold glistened from the underbrush, from the great beds of bracken, from the shining birches, from the paler aspens, and even from the prized rowans and juniper trees. On one side where the forest grew thinner, there was a glimpse of marshy land where big whortleberries grew in profusion. Around this marshy spot a tiny path led to a succession of fields in some of which were grazing cattle, in some, queer tall haystacks, and in two smaller ones, grain still uncut.

Of course Osman cannot remember his first birthday. He is a big boy now, with brown eyes and soft, dark hair. Ten years have rolled over his head since he lay in the little cradle by the side of his mother's grand bedstead. He made an odd picture,—this tiny baby in cotton shirt and quilted dressing-gown. His head was encased in a cap of red silk. A tassel of seed-pearls hung down at one side. Several charms were fastened to the tassel. His mother thought they would keep harm and danger away from this precious baby boy. He could not have felt very comfortable. His nurse had straightened out his arms and legs, and bound them tightly with bandages. After dressing him, she placed him in his little bed and covered him with several quilted wrappers. Last of all, a thin, red veil was spread over this little Turkish baby.

Elizabeth Roberts MacDonald (1864-1922) was born in the Rectory of Westcock, N.B., February 17th, 1864, and was educated at the Collegiate School, Fredericton, and at the New Brunswick University. She taught for a time in the School for the Blind, Halifax, N.S. Poems of hers have appeared in the Century, the Independent, Outing and other prominent magazines, and in 1906, her book, Dream Verses and Others, was published. She is the author also of Our Little Canadian Cousin (1904) a popular child's story, and has written many charming essays and short stories.