an by spilling the milk? your little brothers and
sisters must go without their suppers."

Then said the little girl, "Titty's dead, and Tatty weeps, the stool
hops, and the broom sweeps, the door jars, and the window creaks, the
old form gallops round the house, the walnut tree sheds all its leaves,
the little bird moults all its feathers, and so I spill the milk."

"Oh!" said the old man, "then I'll tumble off the ladder and break my
neck."

So he tumbled off the ladder and broke his neck; and when the old man
broke his neck, the great walnut tree fell down with a crash and upset
the old form and house, and the house falling knocked the window out,
and the window knocked the door down, and the door upset the broom, and
the broom upset the stool, and poor little Tatty Mouse was buried
beneath the ruins.

JACK AND THE BEANSTALK

A long long time ago, when most of the world was young and folk did what
they liked because all things were good, there lived a boy called Jack.

His father was bed-ridden, and his mother, a good soul, was busy early
morns and late eves planning and placing how to support her sick husband
and her young son by selling the milk and butter which Milky-White, the
beautiful cow, gave them without stint. For it was summer-time. But
winter came on; the herbs of the fields took refuge from the frosts in
the warm earth, and though his mother sent Jack to gather what fodder he
could get in the hedgerows, he came back as often as not with a very
empty sack; for Jack's eyes were so often full of wonder at all the
things he saw that sometimes he forgot to work!

So it came to pass that one morning Milky-White gave no milk at all--not
one drain! Then the good hard-working mother threw her apron over her
head and sobbed:

"What shall we do? What shall we do?"

Now Jack loved his mother; besides, he felt just a bit sneaky at being
such a big boy and doing so little to help, so he said, "Cheer up! Cheer
up! I'll go and get work somewhere." And he felt as he spoke as if he
would work his fingers to the bone; but the good woman shook her head
mournfully.

"You've tried that before, Jack," she said, "and nobody would keep you.
You are quite a good lad but your wits go a-wool-gathering. No, we must
sell Milky-White and live on the money. It is no use crying over milk
that is not here to spill!"

You see, she was a wise as well as a hard-working woman, and Jack's
spirits rose.

"Just so," he c