But it must not be supposed that only children in this by-gone era, did the fishing for their tribe. Just as the men captured the larger game, so they took the bigger fishes; but it is scarcely probable that the boys who waded the little brooks with bows and arrows would remain content with that, and, long before they were men, doubtless they were adepts in catching the more valuable fishes that abounded, in Indian times, in all our rivers.
So, fishing, I think, was another way in which the stone-age children played.
A very fair singer was Mynheer Schwop, Except that he never knew when to stop; He would sing, and sing, and sing away, And sing half the night and all of the day-- This "pretty bit" and that "sweet air," This "little thing from Tootovère." Ah! it was fearful the number he knew, And fearful his way of singing them through. At first, the people would kindly say: "Ah, sing it again, Mynheer, we pray"-- [This "pretty bit," or that "sweet air," This "little thing from Tootovère"]. They listened a while, but wearied soon, And, like the professor, they changed their tune. Vainly they coughed and a-hemmed and stirred; Only the harder he trilled and slurred, Until, in despair, and rather than grieve The willing professor, they took their leave, And left him singing this "sweet air," And that "pretty bit from Tootovère;" And then the hostess, in sorry plight, While yet he sang with all his might, Let down the blinds, put out the light, With "Thanks, Mynheer! Good-night! good-night!"
My moral, dear singers, lies plainly a-top: Be always obliging, and willing--to stop. The same will apply, my dear children, to you; Whenever you've any performing to do, Your friends to divert (which is quite proper, too), Do the best that you can--_and stop when you're through_.
"Boom-er-oom, a boom-er-oom, a boom, boom, boom! Zim-er-oom, a zim-er-oom, a zim, zim, zim!"
It was a familiar sound, that of the great bass-drum. Puck Parker and Snarlyou and Kiyi had all heard it, time and time again. These little friends lived in Paris during the late war between Germany and France, when the German army was besieging the city, and soldiers were always marching about to the sound of the drum. This morning all three of them were at the kitchen door that opened into the corridor, which led into the court where you had a view of the street. Snarlyou was a little white Angora cat, and she puffed out her tail and waved it angrily over her back as she snarled fiercely at Kiyi, who was a little Prussian pup. Unlike the army he represented, he was getting the worst of the fray, and stood yelping in a cowardly way behind the scraper. Puck was doing all he could to encourage the dog by waving his porridge spoon at him, but it was of no use.