A little later we heard a shot, and before long father returned, bringing the bear's skin, and some choice pieces of his flesh for supper. Lack of butter compelled us to break up camp next day, and notwithstanding the beautiful bear-skin rug Will and I have in our room, we never quite forgave the thief who stole our butter.
Translated into English, the name of this bright-faced fisher-boy is "Little Jack." Mönkgut is a barren peninsula forming the southeastern extremity of Rügen, an island off the coast of Prussia, in the Baltic Sea.
The Mönkgutes, as the inhabitants of the wild and comfortless strip of land call themselves, are distinguished by many original traits in dress, customs, and language. They are a peculiar race, opposing anything new that comes to them from the outside world, and clinging stubbornly to the ways and manners of their ancestors.
Yet these people have kind hearts, and many of the boys and girls who lead constrained lives in our great cities might well envy the freedom and fun enjoyed by Little Jack as he roams up and down the shore, gathering shells, and playing hide-and-seek with the snow-capped waves.
One of these days, when he grows up, he will without doubt be a sailor or a fisherman, as all his forefathers have been. Even now he is all equipped, with his home-spun vest and wide hat tied so closely under his chin. Presently he will be permitted to help his father with an oar, and then the time will come when he himself will command some brave boat as it rides out over the billows.
Nearly two hundred years ago, when Queen Elizabeth was seated on the throne of England, there lived in the quiet little village of Woodborough, in Nottinghamshire, a modest, earnest, thoughtful boy called William Lee. So great was his love for study and for reading of almost any kind that, after finishing school, his parents sent him to Cambridge.
One day, while out for a walk, William saw a young girl sitting at a cottage door knitting a stocking. Very soon he made her acquaintance, and during the visits he paid her he would read aloud while she plied her knitting-needles. When tired of reading, William frequently suggested a ramble in the fields, but Nellie nearly always refused, giving as her reason that her work must be attended to, and that she dare not lay it aside for pleasure. Of course her lover admired her industry, but he could not help wondering if some means could not be discovered by which stockings might be made more quickly.