The gate to the greenhouse barely opens and behind me are the hurried sounds of little tiny feet, determined not to miss an entry into the green house. Prepared with her own little tools for helping out and anxious to plant seed and pick what is ripe.... and may not what is ripe she is always by my side.

Many are headed back to school in the coming months and I'm reminded of our Kindergarten/1st grade science books. They are full of how to plant seeds, types of seeds, harvesting the plants, the plant parts. What really counts though is THIS. Getting out there in the soil, putting the seed in and watching it grow, taking care of it, harvesting it and preserving it. Learning how it nourishes our bodies and the wonders of God's creations. Can you garden with a toddler? YES! It does require some patience but the lessons are totally worth it.

​Hope you enjoy and thanks for stopping by the farm!

In the year 1757, during the Seven Years' War between Frederick the Great, King of Prussia, and other European Powers, it happened that a cavalry officer was commissioned to go forth on a foraging expedition in one of the provinces occupied by the troops.

When he reached a certain valley where he had expected to find abundance of corn, he discovered that the whole country as far as his eyes could reach was barren and uncultivated. He was about to return to the camp, when his eyes happened to fall on a hut almost hidden in the dense foliage of a thicket not far from the rough path on which he rode.

Going up to the door, he knocked, and it was opened by a hermit, whose hair and beard, white as the driven snow, showed that he had reached the evening of life.

"My father," said the officer, "could you point out to me any place in the neighborhood where I might be able to procure provisions for our horses?"

The old man informed him that at some distance there was a field of barley, and offered his services to accompany him and his men, and point it out to them.

When they had proceeded about the distance of a mile through the valley, they came to a field on which was growing a magnificent crop of the cereal they wanted.

"Ah," cried out the officer, on seeing it, "this must be the place. What a splendid crop!" 

"No, sir," replied the hermit, "the field to which I am leading you is still at a little distance, but we shall soon now reach it."

About half a mile further on they came to another field, covered also with ripe corn, but not so luxuriant as the one they had passed. Here the hermit stopped, and pointing to it, said: "This is th field of which I spoke to you."

The men dismounted and cut down the ripe crop; them binding it in large bundles, placed them upon their horses, and returned by the path they had come. When they were passing near the other field, the officer thus accosted the hermit: "My Father, you have made us take a useless journey in bringing us so far, when here, much nearer to your abode, is a field of barley even more abundant than the one you brought us to."

"Yes, sir," replied the old man, "the barley in this field is certainly better than that which you have taken; but then, this field belongs to someone else, whereas the field you have harvested belongs to me."

The officer, struck with astonishment at these words, and filled with admiration at the conduct of the pious old man, uncovered his head, and bowed it towards him in token of his profound respect. He had observed with scrupulous exactness during his whole lifetime every point of honor exacted by his position, but he had never before seen an example of such admirable disinterestedness displayed by those among whom his rank caused him to be associated. "This is indeed the sublime fruit which the love of God and of His law produces," he said, "in the hearts of those who love God and serve Him perfectly."

The Catechism in Examples Vol. III
By: Rev. D. Chisholm 1908

May is a little girl who has always lived in the city. She has come with her mother for her first visit to the country. Every thing is new and strange to her. She has never seen real live chickens, or ducks, or geese before. She is just a little bit afraid of them.

Her cousins, Bessie and Frank, have taken her out to the grove to play. Bessie is sitting on a log in a cool shady place. She holds May on her knee.

Frank has just brought a tiny chick and placed it in May's hand. She seems to be afraid to touch the downy thing, but Frank tells her it can not hurt her. He holds his hand so it won't fall and get hurt for he loves his little chick.

After a while May sees that it will not hurt her and she thinks it would be nice to have a chick to keep. Soon May's mother comes out to see how her little girl is getting along. They start back to the house for it is almost supper time.

In the way back they pass the barn yard. May sees some little yellow balls and thinks they are little chicks. She runs to pick one up when she hears a dreadful hiss. The old gander was trying to save his goslings. May is so frightened she cries out, mamma, mamma, save me!

Her mother hurries and takes her frightened little girl in her arms. She tells her that the gander did not mean to hurt her. He was only taking care of his family.

The Catholic Education Series, First Book
+ Imprimatur Cardinal Gibbons 1908

A little downy chick one day
Asked leave go on the water,
Where she saw a duck with her brood at play,
Swimming and splashing about her.

Need, she began to peep and cry,
When her mother would not let her,
"If the ducks can swim there, why can't I?
Are they and bigger or better?"

Then the old hen answered, "Listen to me,
And hush your foolish talking,
Just look at your feet, and you will see
They were only made for walking."

But chicky wistfully eyed the brook,
And didn't half believe her,
For she seems to say, by a knowing look,
such stories could not deceive her.

And as her mother was scratching the ground, 
She muttered lower and lower,
"I know I can go there and not be drowned,
And so I think I'll show her."

SING the almighty power of God, 
That made the mountains rise; 
That spread the flowing seas abroad, 
And built the lofty skies. 

I sing the wisdom that ordained 
The sun to rule the day: 
The moon shines full at His command. 
And all the stars obey. 

I sing the goodness of the Lord, 
That filled the earth with food: 
He formed the creatures with His word, 
And then pronounced them good. 

Lord ! how Thy wonders are displayed. 
Where'er I turn mine eye; 
If I survey the ground I tread, 
Or gaze upon the sky! 

There's not a plant or flower below, 
But makes Thy glories known; 
And clouds arise and tempests blow, 
By order from Thy throne. 

Creatures (as numerous as they be) 
Are subject to Thy care; 
There's not a place where we can flee. 
But God is present there. 

In heaven He shines with beams of love; 
With wrath in hell beneath! 
'Tis on His earth I stand or move, 
And 'tis His air I breathe. 

His hand is my perpetual guard; 
He keeps me with His eye: 
Why should I then forget the Lord, 
Who is forever nigh ?

​The Metropolitan Second Reader
By: A Member of the Holy Order of the Cross 1883​

"I think you like tomatoes, John," said his grandmother. "Yes, grandma, I do," said Joh. "I like them raw, baked, and almost every way." "I wonder if you would like them the way I ate them last summer out West?" said Cousin May. "We ate them like fruit, with cream and sugar." "I should like to try them that way," said John. "Why, bless you, child!" said grandma, "we will have some for supper. That is the way I used to eat them long ago."

"Did you not like tomatoes when you were little, grandma?" asked John, as he saw her looking at him with a smile in her bright eyes. "No," said grandma, "because I was a big girl before I ever tasted them. I never saw any until I was twelve years old.

"I can remember it so well! A man who came to our farm once a month bringing many little things to sell, brought the seed to my good mother. He used to carry seeds and slips of plants from one farmer's wife to the next. He was such a kind old gentleman that they all liked to see him coming. One spring morning he came. After mother had bought from him all that she needed, and he had fed his horses and was sitting by the fire, he put his hands into his big pockets in search of something. At last, he drew out a very small package and handed it to mother. "

"I have brought you some love-apple seeds,' he said. 'I got them in the city. I gave my sister half of them, and saved the other half for you.'

"'Thank you, kindly,' said mother, as she looked at the little yellow seeds. 'I am glad to get them. What kind of plant is the love-apple?'

"' Well,' said the man, 'the person who gave me the seeds had his plants last year in the sunny corner. The flowers are small, but the fruit is bright red, and is very pretty among the dark green leaves. you should not eat the fruit: it is poisonous. The man who gave me the seeds got them from a friend in South America. The love-apples grow wild down there.'

"So mother planted her love-apple seeds in the warm corner. In a short time, they grew; the little yellow blossoms came; and then the green fruit, which soon changed to a pretty red. We children would go and look at it, talk about it, and wonder if it would hurt us if we ate it. On one occasion, mother heard us talking about it. She called us to her and said: 'If you children cannot look at the pretty fruit without wanting to eat it, then I shall have to pull up all my love-apple vines, and throw them away.'

"We knew that she would not like to do that, because she was very proud of the vines. So we kept away from that corner. In the meantime, the vines grew and blossomed, and the red showed in new places every day. The birds did not seem to be afraid of the poisonous fruit. They ate all they wanted of it. One day, in the early autumn, my Uncle George came from the city of New York to visit us. When he went into the garden, he stopped in great surprise.

'Why, Mary, what fine tomato vines you have!' he said to my mother. 'Where in the world did you get them?'

"'We call them love-apples,' said mother. Then she told him how she got the seeds.

"When my Uncle George found that we were afraid to eat them, he had a good laugh at us. Then he showed mother how to prepare some for our supper."

"' Don't be afraid to eat the tomatoes, children: they will do you no harm,' uncle said.

"We did eat them; and enjoyed them very much."

The Ideal Catholic Readers; Third Reader
By: A Sister of St. Joseph + Imprimatur 1915

 NATURE affords but few more striking evidences of then wisdom and the goodness of the Creator, than may be observed in the labors of bees. The observer is at a loss which to admire most, the wonderful manner in which these insects are adapted to their circumstances, or the unity, industry, loyalty, and sagacity which prevail among them.

When they begin to work in their hives, they divide themselves into four companies ; one of which roves the fields in search of materials ; another employs itself in laying out the bottom and partitions of then: cells ; a third is employed in smoothing the walls ; and the fourth company brings food for the rest, or relieves those who return with their respective burdens.

But they are not kept constantly at one employment; they often change the tasks assigned them; those that have been at work, being permitted to go abroad, and those that have been in the fields take their places.

They seem even to have signs by which they understand each other ; for when any of them wants food, he holds out his trunk towards the bee from which he expects it. The latter, understanding the desire of his companion, immediately deposits for his use a small quantity of honey. Their diligence and labor are so great that in a few days they are enabled to make cells sufficient for several thousand bees. In the plan and formation of these cells they display a wonderful sagacity.

The danger of being stung by bees, may be in a great measure prevented by remaining quiet. A thousand bees will fly and buzz about a person without hurting him, if he stands' perfectly still and does not disturb them even if they are near his face. It is said that a person is in perfect safety in the midst of a swarm of bees, if he is careful to shut his mouth, and breathe gently through his nostrils.

Many amusing stories are told about the effect produced by the sting of bees. In 1825, a mob attacke'd the house of a gentleman in Germany. He endeavored in vain to dissuade them from their designs ; at length when every thing else had failed, he ordered his servants to bring a large bee-hive which he threw into the midst of the enraged multitude. The result answered his expectations. The mobites, stung by the bees, immediately fled in all directions, and thus gave the gentleman time to escape from their fury. 

​Bees have one fault common to bad boys, they are inclined to fight among themselves. Quarrels and combats are frequent among them. Sometimes it seems that their contests are commenced in the hive, as the combatants may often be seen coming out in the greatest fury, and joining in the deadly strife the moment they reach the door of the hive. In some cases a bee peaceably settled on the outside of the hive is rudely jostled by another, and then a fierce struggle is commenced, each endeavoring to obtain the advantage of the position.

They turn, dance about, throttle each other, and such is their bitter eagerness, that a person can approach near to them without their perceiving it.

Other times, the combat takes place in the hive, and in those cases the contest usually continues until one kills the other ; then the victor takes up the dead body of his antagonist and carries it outside the hive. Bees are remarkable for their industry, and those among them that will not, or cannot work, are driven from the hive and not permitted to return.

​The Metropolitan Third Reader
​By A Member of the Order of the Holy Cross 1872

How pleasant the life of a bird must be,
Flitting about in each leafy tree;
In the leafy trees so broad and tall,
Like a green and beautifal palace hall,
With its airy chambers, light and boon,*
That open to sun, and stars, and moon;
That open unto the bright blue sky,
And the frolicsome winds as they wander by!

They have left their nests on the forest bough;
Those homes of delight they need not now ;
And the young and the old they wander out,
And traverse their green world round about;
And hark! at the top of this leafy hall.
How one to the other in love they call!
" Come up ! come up!" they seem to say,
"Where the topmost twigs in the breezes sway.

 " Come up, come up ! for the world is fair
Where the merry leaves dance in the summer air."
And the birds below give back the cry,
"We come, we come to the branches high."
 How pleasant the lives of the birds must be,
Living in love in a leafy tree !
And away through the air what joy to go,
And to look on the green, bright earth below!

How pleasant the life of a bird must be,
Skimming about on the breezy sea;
Cresting the billows like silvery foam.
Then wheeling away to its cliff-built home !
"What joy it must be to sail, upborne
By a strong, free wing, through the rosy morn'!
To meet the young sun face to face,
And pierce like a shaft the boundless space ;

To pass through the bowers of the silver cloud;
To sing in the thunder halls aloud
To spread out the wings for a wild, free flight
With the upper-cloud winds,--Oh, what delight
Oh, what would I give, like a bird, to go
Right on through the arch of the sun-lit bow,
And see how the water-drops are kiss'd
Into green, and yellow, and amethyst!

How pleasant the life of a bird must be,
Wherever it listeth there to flee.
To go when a joyful fancy calls.
Dashing adown 'mong the waterfalls ;
Then to wheel about with their mates at play,
Above, and below, and among the spray,
​Hither and thither, with screams as wild
As the laughing mirth of a rosy child !

What joy it must be, like a living breeze.
To flutter about 'mid the flowering trees ;
Lightly to soar, and to see beneath
The wastes of the blossoming purple heath,
And the yellow fiirze, like fields of gold.
That gladden'd some fairy region old !
On mountain tops, on the billowy sea,
On tha leafy stems of the forest tree,
How pleasant the life of a bird must be!
​
-Metropolitian Third Reader
By a Member of the Order of the Holy Cross 1872

My Little Farm
When a little farm I keep,
I shall tend my kine and sheep,
And my pretty lambs shall fold
In deep pastures starred with gold.

On green carpets they shall tread;
Gold and purple be their bed,
Honeyed clover make their food 
Im a watered solitude.

And my garden places shall
Grow me fruits on tree and wall,
Give me blossoms in the spring
And an autumn gathering.

An old dial and a cote
Where the pigeons fly and float,
And a well so green and dim
Where the little fishes swim.

Hives of honey I shall own,
Bees with drowsy monotone
Toil all day to bring me home
Heather honey at the gloam.

'Twixt the mountains and the sea
There my little farm will be,
I shall tend my sheep and kine,
And a thankful heart be mine.

-Katherine Tynan Hinkson
Ideal Catholic Readers #6  +Imprimatur 1916

How to Plant Carrots- Obedience
This mornings question: What is the fourth commandment? Honor thy father and thy mother. Honor in that catechism answer means to obey. Every one of Christ's children must learn to obey. To obey does not mean to do what you are told. It means to do exactally as you are told. There is a difference there. Maybe this story will help to make that clear to you.

While the great St. Francis of Assisi was alive two men came to the door of his monastery and asked if they could join his order - the Friars Minor. St. Francis asked them several questions and finally said, "Will you keep the vow of poverty? Both the men said they would. "Will you keep the vow of chastity?" asked Francis. "We will," replied the men. Finally St. Francis asked, "Will you keep the vow of obedience?" Both said "Yes." "Then come with me," said St. Francis, and he led the two men into the garden. In the garden the two men got the correct idea of the religious life and of obedience. St. Francis gave them each, of all things, two carrots and said, "Plant these." The two began to dig into the ground. "Now," said the Saint, "I do not want them just planted. I want them planted upside down." One man planted his carrots upside down. The other man scratched his head and said, "Oh, no, Father Francis, you are a very holy man and know many things, but you do not know how to plant carrots. Here's how you do it. You plant them this way." And he planted his right side up. St. Francis smiled at him tolerantly and said, "Young man, you would make a very good gardener, because you plant carrots right side up, but you will not make a good Franciscan unless you learn to obey. Now plant them upside down. You must learn that to obey means to do exactly what you are told to do." But St. Francis was not finished with his lesson on obedience. He said, "What a shame! I've made you spoil the carrots that were meant for our supper. There are some nice ones in the next garden. Jump over the fence to steal two of the carrots. Immediately St. Francis called him back and finished the lesson. "To plant carrots upside down is one thing. To steal them is another. You must obey your superiors - but only in things which are not sinful."

That story shows that obedience means that we should do exactly as we are told as long s we are not told to sin. It does not mean that we may do the thing any old way that we please. If we are told to do our homework now, that means that we must do it now and not after we finish the chapter of the novel we are reading. If we are told to be home at seven o'clock, we do not obey if we just straggle home when we are ready. We must be home on time. If our parents wanted us home at 7:15 they would say 7:15. But they said seven and that meant seven, IF we are told to wash the dishes, we do not obey if we put them away without being dried properly. To be obedient we must do exactly what we are told. That means that we must do the things we are told to do (and not something else); when we are told to do it (not when we feel like it) and in the proper manner (not carelessly or sloppily). If you do not do all of these things you cannot call yourselves obedient. Both of the men in the story planted the carrots in the ground but one was obedient and the other was not. One did exactly as he was told. The other did it the way he felt like doing it. Remember this next time you are told to do something. If you are told to plant carrots upside down, then plant them upside down. It is not your mistake if you do what you are told to do. You obeyed - and to obey means to do exactly what you are told to do.

From Heavenwards; Instructional Stories in Religion
By: Wilfrid Diamond +Imprimatur 1941

Q. Why did Christ suffer and die?
A. Christ suffered and died for our sins.

THE BURIED SEED
A little city girl was one springtime visiting her country cousins, and seeing the laborers in the field planting the seed, she cried out: "Oh, what a foolish thing! to bury the beautiful seed in the earth to rot and die!" The farmer smiled and said: "Yes; but if we don't bury it, we shall have no fine fields of corn this summer, nor abundant harvest in the fall." The law of nature is also the law of grace. Whoever humbleth himself shall be exalted. So, too, Christ's voluntary degradation was the cause of our exaltation. He Himself expressed this truth when He said: "Unless the grain of wheat falling into the ground die, itself remaineth alone, but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit."

From: Anecdotes and Examples for the Catechism
By: Spirago and Baxter +Imprimatur 1906

There were once five peas in one pod; they were green and the pod was green, and so they believed that the whole world must be green also, which was a very natural conclusion. The pod grew, and the peas grew ; they sat all in a row. The sun shone without and warmed the pod, and the rain made it clear so that they could see through it. It was warm and pleasant in broad daylight, and dark at night, as it generally is. And the peas, as they sat in a row, grew bigger and bigger, and more thoughtful, too. They all felt sure there must be something for them to do, but they didn't know what it was. 

"Are we to sit here forever?" asked one; "shall we not become hard by sitting so long? There must be something outside this pod ; I am sure of it." And so weeks passed by ; the peas became yellow, and the pod became yellow. "All the world is turning yellow, I suppose,"they said, and perhaps they were right. 

Suddenly they felt a pull at the pod. It was torn off the vine and held in human hands ; then it was slipped into the pocket of a jacket in company with other full pods.

"Now we shall soon be let out," said one,—just what they all wanted. "I should like to know which of us will travel farthest," said the smallest of the five; "we shall soon see now." 

"What is to happen will happen," said the largest pea.

"Crack!" went the pod as it burst, and the five peas rolled out into the bright sunshine. There they lay in a child's hand. A little boy was holding them tightly ; he said they were fine peas for his pea shooter. And immediately he put one in and shot it out.

"Now I am flying out into the wide world," said the pea ; "catch me if you can ;" and he was gone in a moment.

"I," said the second, "intend to fly straight to the sun; that is a pod that lets itself be seen, and it will suit me exactly," and away he went.
​
"Wherever we find ourselves we will go to sleep," said the two next; "we shall still be rolling
onwards;" and they did certainly fall on the floor and roll about before they were put into the pea shooter; but they were put in, for all that. "We will go farther than the others," said they. "What is to happen will happen," exclaimed the last pea, as he was shot out of the pea-shooter. As he spoke, he flew up against an old board under a garret window, and fell into a little crack, which was almost filled up with moss and soft earth. The moss closed itself about him, and there he lay a captive, indeed, but not unnoticed by God.

"What is to happen will happen," said he to himself. Within the little garret lived a poor woman who had to go out to work every day. She had to leave her only daughter at home alone because the child was very delicate. For a whole year the little girl had kept her bed, and it seemed as though she could neither die nor live.

"She is going to her little sister," said the woman.

"I had two children. God took one of them to His home in Heaven. The other was left to me, but I suppose she will soon go to her sister in Heaven."

However, the sick girl remained where she was; she lay quietly and patiently in bed all day long while her mother was away from home at work. Spring came, and early one morning the sun shone brightly through the little window and threw his rays over the floor of the room. Just as her mother was going to work, the sick girl, looking at the window pane, said :
"Mother, what can that little green thing be that peeps in at the window? It is moving in the wind."
​
Her mother stepped to the window and half opened it. "Oh !" she said, "there is actually a little pea here which has taken root and is putting out its green leaves. How could it have got into this crack? Well, now, here is a little garden for you to amuse yourself with."

So the bed of the sick girl was drawn nearer to the window that she might see the budding plant ; and the mother went out to her work.

"Mother, I believe I shall get well," said the sick child in the evening; "the sun has shone in here so brightly and warmly to-day, and the little pea is growing so well, I shall get on better, too, and go out into the warm sunshine again."

"God grant it !" said the mother, but she did not believe it would be so. She propped up with a little stick the green plant which had given her child such pleasant hopes of life, so that it might not be broken by the wind. She tied a piece of string to the window-sill and to the upper part of the frame, so that the pea tendrils might twine round it when the pea shot up. And it did shoot up ; indeed, it might almost be seen to grow from day to day.

"Now, really, here is a flower coming," said the mother one morning. And at last she began to hope that her little sick daughter might get well. She remembered that for some time the child had spoken more cheerfully, and during the last few days had raised herself in bed in the morning to look with sparkling eyes at her little garden, which contained only the one little pea plant.

A week later the sick girl sat up for the first time, and she felt quite happy at the open window in the warm sunshine. Outside the window grew the little plant, and on it was a pink pea blossom in full bloom. The little maiden bent down and gently kissed the delicate leaves. This was like a feast day to her.

"Our Heavenly Father, Himself, has planted that pea and made it grow so as to bring joy to you and hope to me, my beloved child," said the happy mother. She smiled at the flower as if it had been an angel from God.

Catholic Education Series Vol. 4
​+ Imprimatur 1910

A blessed Friday yet again! Today we have a little poem about bee's. We hope you enjoy and that you have a wonderful weekend!!!

THE BUSY BEE 
HOW doth the little busy bee 
Improve each shining hour, 
And gather honey all the day 
From every opening flower. 


How skilfully she builds her cell, 
How neat she spreads the wax 
And labors hard to store it well 
With the sweet food she makes. 


In works of labor or of skill, 
I would be busy too; 
For Satan finds some mischief still 
For idle hands to do. 
​

In books, or work, or harmless play, 
Let my first years be passed, 
That I may give, for every day, 
Some good account at last.
From the Metropolitan Second Reader 1883

My apologies for yet another late Young Farmer Friday! This week we thought we would share this little poem that embraces so many of God's wonderful creations and even helps to regulate our time during the day. Down at the Farm the angelus bell rings three times a day reminding us of the Incarnation of God.

FIRST CHILD MORNING 
HAIL, Mary! now the sun is up 
All things around look glad and bright, 
And heather-bell and butter-cup 
Shake off the dew-drops of the night. 
The lambs are frisking in the fields, 
The lark is singing in the sky; 
And man his waking tribute yields 
To thee and thy sweet Son on high. 

SECOND CHILD NOON 
Hail, Mary! midway in the sky 
The noontide sun its lustre sheds, 
The field-flowers almost seem to die, 
So low they hang their drooping heads. 
The lambs have sought the woodland shade. 
The lark has ceased her note of glee; 
And pausing in the furrowed glade, 
The ploughman lifts his heart to thee. 

THIRD CHILD EVENING 
Hail, Mary! now the sun is far 
Adorn his western path of light, 
The flowers, beneath the evening star. 
Drink up the dew-drops of the night. 
The lambs are by their mothers laid, 
The lark is brooding o'er her nest, 
And when the evening prayer is made, 
Then weary man shall sink to rest.
From the Metropolitan Second Reader 1883

If you are just joining us for Young Farmer Friday, last week we shared the first part of The Little Lamb, you may find that post here. Apologies for no printable this week, life has been busy down on the farm!

WHEN Christina drew near the farmer's house, she saw his wife standing at the door, with the youngest child in her arms, while the elder ones stood around her. They were looking at the beautiful rainbow, which now after the storm appeared among the dark gray clouds in all the splendor of its seven colors. 

" Look at the rainbow,'' said the mother, as she pointed with uplifted arm, "and glorify Him that made it. In the fiery lightning and fearful thunder, God shows us his great pow-er and majesty; but in the beautiful colors of the rainbow, He displays his goodness and His mercy." 
​
Christina was charmed, now in looking at the beautiful colors of the rainbow, now at the smiling faces of the children; and she was silent until the rainbow disappeared. Then she took the lamb out of her apron, and setting it on its feet, told how she had found it. 
"It was very good and honest of you," said the farmer's wife, kindly, "to come out so late in the evening, and even while it was raining! You are a good, honest little girl." 

"That she is, indeed," said the farmer, who now came out. ''I trust that you, my chil-dren, will ever be as honest and as upright as this poor little girl. It is better never to have a single sheep, and to be honest and virtuous, than to be the dishonorable and dishonest possessor of a hundred. 

"The honesty which impelled this poor child to bring back the lamb, is a treasure of the heart more precious than a whole flock of sheep,—a treasure of which the wolf or the enemy can never deprive her." Frank, the farmer's little boy, now ran to the. fold and brought out the old sheep. 

How the little thing jumped and sprang about her for joy! "Oh!" cried Christina, when she saw this; "if it were only for this delight that the poor little thing feels, I do not re-gret bringing it back—though I wished so much to keep it!" 

"Well," said the farmer, “since you are so honest, and so fond of the little creature, I will make you a present of it. But it would do you no good at present. It cannot live without milk, and would perish miserably. But in about a fortnight it will be strong enough to feed on grass and herbs, and then Frank will bring it to you." 

"But be sure to take good care of it," said his wife. " It will neither be troublesome nor expensive to bring it up. While you are gathering strawberries or sewing, you can easily herd it, and, without ever trespassing on any one's meadow, you can gather as much grass to dry for hay, as will feed it during the winter. 

"When it once grows up, the milk will be very useful for your own and your mother's humble housekeeping, and the wool will supply a few pairs of stockings every year," "And if you have luck," said the farmer's little boy, " perhaps you will have a whole flock in time!"
 
Christina was forced to stay for supper, and heartily enjoyed the milk and bread and butter. The good woman then gave her a fine large slice of fresh, rich butter, wrapped in vine-leaves, and a dozen of eggs, to carry home. "Take these to your moth-er," said she, while she carefully put the eggs in her apron; "greet her kindly from me, and may God soon restore her to health!" 

Christina hastened joyfully home through the flowery little valley. Meanwhile the sky had cleared, and the evening star and the slender moon, which now appeared for the first time, beamed gently into the valley. All the flowers and shrubs still dropped with rain, and had a fragrant perfume. Christina's heart felt indescribably happy. 

"The heaven and earth," thought she, “are always more beautiful after a storm; but I never before saw them look so sweet and lovely as they do this evening." When she reached home, she told all this to her mother. 

"You see," said her mother, "it is just as I told you. That is the pleasure of a good conscience. When we do what is right, our heart is filled with sweet peace; for God teaches us through our conscience that he is pleased with us. Christina! always hearken to the voice of conscience, and never do any thing that is not right and just before God. 

" You know well we are poor, and have very little in this world; but let us keep a good conscience, and we are rich enough; and we will never want happiness—yes, the noblest and sweetest happiness in the world will be ours."
From the Metropolitan Second Reader 1883

CHRISTINA, a poor little girl of about ten years, was in the woods gathering strawberries. It was a very hot afternoon; and in the open, sunny part of the wood, where there was not a breath of air, the heat was very great. Her light straw bonnet scarcely protected her from the burning rays of the sun. 
The clear drops stood upon her forehead, and her cheeks glowed like fire; still she con-tinued diligently to gather the strawberries, without ever looking up. "For," said she, cheerfully, as she wiped her forehead with her handkerchief, "they are for my poor, sick mother. The money for which I shall sell my berries, will procure some little things to do her good, I will buy her some nice tea and an orange," 
Towards evening, with her basket full of strawberries, she went through the woods back home. It began to grow very dark. The drops of rain fell faster and faster, and the heavy peals of thunder resounded in the distance. As she came out of the woods a tempest arose, the rain beat furiously against her, and black clouds arose in the fiery evening sky, towering over one another like mountains. 

 Christina knew that the lightning most frequently strikes the highest trees, and there-fore she sought shelter at a distance from them, beneath some hazel-bushes; and here she stood waiting until the storm should pass away. But suddenly she heard among the bushes close at hand, a mournful cry, almost like that of a little child. 

 The storm and rain and thunder and lightning did not prevent this good little girl from going to see what it was. She went, and lo! there was a tender little lamb, all dripping with rain and shivering in the storm, "Ah, you poor little creature!" said Christina; "you must not perish—come, I will take you home with me." 

And she took the lamb carefully in her arms, and as soon as the rain ceased, she hur-ried home with it to her little cottage. "Oh, dear mother!" said she, as soon as she entered their clean, tidy little room, "look what I have found! Look what a beautiful little sheep! Oh, how lucky I was ! What care I shall take of it. It shall be my only pleasure." 

"Child," said the sick mother, raising herself up in bed, and supporting her head on her hand, "in your joy you forget that this lamb must have an owner. It has only strayed away, and, therefore, we must give it back again. It probably belongs to the rich farmer over the hill. It is not right to keep other people's property a single night in the house. So you had better carry it home tonight." 

"What nonsense!" cried a rough voice through the open window. "It is folly to be so particular!" The man who said this was a mason, who, while outside repairing the wall of their cottage, had overheard their conversation. The mother and daughter looked at him in alarm; but he continued: "Why do you make such strange faces?” I only speak for your good. We will cut up the lamb and divide it. 

" We shall have a couple of little roasting pieces from the flesh, and the skin, too, is worth something. The rich farmer has more than a hundred fine large sheep; and, doubtless, he will never feel the loss of this poor little thing. So I will kill it immediately. And you need not be afraid. No one sees us, and you may trust me; I can be as silent," said he, flinging a trowel full of mortar on the wall—" as silent as a wall." 

Christina was shocked at what the mason said. The thought how wicked it would be to keep the lamb, now became clear to her. " You are wrong," said she to the mason. " Though no man sees us, yet God does ! But you, dearest mother, are right—and I only wonder that what you said did not occur to myself. Gladly, in-deed," continued she, while the tears started into her eyes, "gladly would I have kept the little lamb! Yet we ought to be willing to obey our good God." 
​
She wrapped the lamb in her apron, and went with it towards the farmer's, though the rain had not yet quite ceased, and the sun had almost set.

To be continued next week....

From the Metropolitan Second Reader 1883

A blessed Friday to you all! We are starting a new 'season' here at St. Fiacre's Farm with a Friday blog series for our young farmer readers. Each week we will feature a lovely, oldie but goodie, story about farm life, the great outdoors, animals or the like. Along with this story we hope to add a free downloadable activity sheet to go along with the story. Jjoin us every week to see what is new. For Pope Pius XII says, "The farm is the ideal nursery for the family", and we hope that family young and old (er) will benefit from our little homesteading journey. Without further ado.... 

THE FOUR SEASONS 

“I WISH it were always winter!” said Ernest, who had returned from a sleigh-ride, and was making a man out of snow. His father desired him to write down this wish in his notebook; and he did so. 

The winter passed away, and the spring came. Ernest stood with his father by the side of a bed of flowers, and gazed with delight upon hyacinths, the violets, and the lilies of the valley. “These are the gifts of spring,” said his father; “but they will soon fade and disappear.” “Ah!” said Ernest, “I wish it were always spring!” “Write that down in my book,” said his father; and Ernest did so. 

The spring passed away, and summer came Ernest went with his parents, and some of his playmates, into the country, and spent the day there. Everywhere the meadows were green and decked with flowers, and in the pastures the young lambs were sporting around their mothers. 

They had cherries to eat, and passed a very happy day. As they were going home, the father said, "Has not the summer its pleasures too, my son?" "Oh, yes," said Ernest; "I wish it were always summer!" And this wish Ernest wrote down in his father's book. 

At last autumn came. Ernest again went with his parents into the country. It was not so warm as in the summer, but the air was mild and the heavens were clear. The grape-vines were heavy with purple clusters; melons lay upon the ground in the gardens; and in the orchards the boughs were loaded with ripe fruit. 

"This fine season will soon be over," said the father, "and winter will be upon us." "Ah!" said Ernest, "I wish it would stay, and always be autumn!" 

 "Do you really wish so?" said his father. "I do, indeed," replied Ernest. "But," contin-ued his father, taking at the same time his note-book out of his pocket, "see what is writ-ten here." 

Ernest looked and saw it written down, "I wish it were always winter." "Now turn over another leaf," said his father, " and what do you find written there ?" " I wish it were al-ways spring." "And farther on, what is written?" "I wish it were always summer." 

"And in whose hand-writing are these words?" "They are in mine," said Ernest. "And what is now your wish?" "That it should always be autumn." " That is strange," said his father. "In winter, you wished it might always be winter; in spring, you wished it might always be spring and so of summer and of autumn. Now, what do yon think of all this?" 

Ernest, after thinking a moment replied, "I suppose that all seasons are good.'' "That is true, my son: they are all rich in blessings, and God, who sends them to you, knows far better than we what is good for us. Had the "wish you expressed last winter been granted, we should have had no spring, :no summer, no autumn. 

​"You would have had the earth always covered with snow, so that you might have had sleigh-rides and made snow-men. How many pleasures would you have lost in that event! It is well for us that we cannot have all things as we wish, but that God sends us what seems good to him." - The Metropolitan Second Reader Published in 1883 ~*~ By A Member of the Order of the Holy Cross