ers watching, until she steps into a
small pool and scares some geese aloft.]

PRIDE IN DISTRESS

Mistress Polly Poppenjay
Went to take a walk one day.
On that morning she was dressed
In her very Sunday best;
Feathers, frills and ribbons gay,--
Proud was Mistress Poppenjay.

Mistress Polly Poppenjay
Spoke to no one on her way;
Passed acquaintances aside;
Held her head aloft with pride;
Did not see a puddle lay
In front of Mistress Poppenjay.

Mistress Polly Poppenjay
Harked to naught the folk could say.
Loud they cried, "Beware the puddle!"
_Plump!_ She stepped into the middle.
And a pretty plight straightway
Was poor Mistress Poppenjay.

Mistress Polly Poppenjay;
From your pickle others may
Learn to curb their pride a little;--
Learn to exercise their wit, till
They are sure no puddles may
Lie in front, Miss Poppenjay.

Howard Pyle.

[Illustration: Profession & Practice. This full page poem has the saint
at the door of a thin man with empty purse, then at the door with the
man well fed and full purse, and finally the saint alone scratching his
head.]

PROFESSION & PRACTICE

Once, when Saint Swithin chanced to be
A-wandering in Hungary,
He, being hungered, cast around
To see if something might be found
To stay his stomach.

Near by stood
A little house, beside a wood,
Where dwelt a worthy man, but poor.
Thither he went, knocked at the door.
The good man came. Saint Swithin said,
"I prithee give a crust of bread
To ease my hunger."

"Brother," quoth
The good man, "I am sadly loath
To say" (here tears stood on his cheeks)
"I've had no bread for weeks and weeks,
Save what I've begged. Had I one bit,
I'd gladly give thee half of it."
"How," said the Saint, "can one so good
Go lacking of his daily food,
Go lacking means to aid the poor,
Yet weep to turn them from his door?
Here--take this purse. Mark what I say:
Thou'lt find within it every day
Two golden coins."

Years passed. Once more
Saint Swithin knocked upon the door.
The good man came. He'd grown fat
And lusty, like a well-fed cat.
Thereat the Saint was pleased. Quoth he,
"Give me a crust for charity."
"A crust, thou say'st? Hut, tut! How now?
Wouldst come a-begging here? I trow,
Thou lazy rascal, thou couldst find
Enough of work hadst thou a mind!
'Tis thine own fault if thou art poor.
Begone, sir!" _Bang!_--he shut the door.

Saint Swithin slo