



Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Matthew Wheaton and the
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    PETER AND POLLY IN WINTER

    BY

    ROSE LUCIA


    Formerly Principal of the Primary School
    Montpelier, Vermont

    _Author of "Peter and Polly in Spring," "Peter and Polly in
    Summer," and "Peter and Polly in Autumn."_


    AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY

    NEW YORK      CINCINNATI      CHICAGO

    BOSTON      ATLANTA


    COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY
    ROSE LUCIA.

    COPYRIGHT, 1914, IN GREAT BRITAIN.

    PETER AND POLLY IN WINTER.

    E. P. 21


    To
    C. M. G.

    [Illustration: _Frontispiece_ MAP]




    CONTENTS


    PETER AND POLLY
    THE BIRDS' GAME OF TAG
    THE STONE-WALL POST OFFICE
    PLAYING IN THE LEAVES
    "HOW THE LEAVES COME DOWN"
    THE BONFIRE
    THE HEN THAT HELPED PETER
    THE FIRST ICE
    THE THREE GUESSES
    THE FIRST SNOWSTORM
    THE STAR SNOWFLAKE
    HOW PETER HELPED GRANDMOTHER
    THE SNOW MAN
    PETER'S DREAM
    CUTTING THE CHRISTMAS TREE
    THE GIVE-AWAY BOX
    CHRISTMAS MORNING
    THE SNOW HOUSE
    THE FALL OF THE IGLOO
    PULLING PETER'S TOOTH
    DRIVING WITH FATHER
    THE STAG
    POLLY'S BIRD PARTY
    THE NEW SLED
    BROWNIE
    DISH-PAN SLEDS
    CAT AND COPY-CAT
    POLLY'S SNOWSHOES
    THE WOODS IN WINTER
    THE WINTER PICNIC
    THE SEWING LESSON
    FISHING THROUGH THE ICE
    MAKING MOLASSES CANDY
    GRANDMOTHER'S BIRTHDAY PARTY
    AROUND THE OPEN FIRE




PETER AND POLLY IN WINTER




PETER AND POLLY


Peter Howe is a little boy. Polly is his sister. She is older than
Peter.

They live in a white house. The house is on a hill. It is not in the
city. It is in the country.

There are no houses close about it. But there are trees and fields
around it.

In summer these fields are green. In winter the snow covers them.

The fields and the hills are as white as the house. Then there is fun
playing in the snow.

Peter likes to watch the snowflakes. He calls them "white butterflies."
But he knows what they are.

His friend, the Story Lady, told him. They are just frozen clouds.

Peter said to her, "I think they are prettier than raindrops. They can
sail about in the air, too. Raindrops cannot. I like winter better than
summer."

"It will be winter soon, Peter," said the Story Lady. "But many things
must happen first.

"The birds must fly away. The leaves must turn red and yellow. Then they
will fall and you can rake them into heaps. We will go to the woods for
nuts.

"All these things will happen before winter comes."

"Yes," said Peter. "And my grandmother must knit me some thick
stockings. And my father must buy me a winter coat. Grandmother must
knit some stockings for Wag-wag, too."

"But Wag-wag is a dog, Peter. Dogs do not need stockings."

"My dog does," said Peter. "He needs a coat, too. His hair is short. It
will not keep him warm. I shall ask father to buy him a coat."

"Do, Peter," said the Story Lady. "It is good to be kind to dogs. And
when Wag-wag wears his coat and stockings, bring him to see me. I will
take his picture."




THE BIRDS' GAME OF TAG


It is fall. Summer is really over. But it is still warm. Jack Frost has
not yet begun his work.

Peter and Polly have been watching the birds. For days they have seen
great flocks of them. In the summer there were not so many together.

One day they saw several robins. These were flying from tree to tree.

Peter said, "I know they are having a party. They are playing tag."

"Perhaps they are," said his father. "Perhaps each bird is telling
something to the bird he tags."

"What is he telling?" asked Peter.

"I think he is saying, 'Brother bird, don't you know that winter is
coming? Soon the snow will be here. What shall we do then?

"'We cannot get food. We shall freeze. Come, let us fly away to the
South. It is warm there.'"

"What does brother bird say?" asked Peter.

"I think brother bird says, 'It is a long way to the South. It will take
many days and nights to fly there.

"'Are our children's wings yet strong enough? I do not like to go. But
I know that we must.'"

"Doesn't he like to go, truly?" asked Peter.

"We do not know, Peter. The robins make their nests here. They lay their
blue eggs here. They hatch their little birds here. They never do this
in the South.

"Besides, they sing their beautiful songs here. They never sing them in
the South. We like to think that they love the North better. But, of
course, we do not know."

"How can they find their way back?" asked Polly.

"We do not know that, either, Polly. Many birds fly in the nighttime.
Then they rest a part of the day."

"I couldn't find my way in the dark," said Polly.

"But the birds can," said father. "We do not know how. The winter home
of some of our birds is thousands of miles from here."

"I like to watch the swallows," said Polly. "They sit in a line on a
telephone wire. Then one flies to another wire. In a minute they all
fly, too.

"I think that they are talking about going away soon. I hope they will
not get lost."

"Yes," said father. "They will soon be gone. But perhaps some of these
very birds will come back here next summer."

"I wish we could know them," said Polly.

"We shall have a few birds left this winter," said father. "You know
some of them. You know the chick-a-dees and the woodpeckers. And this
winter I shall show you others."

"May we hunt for nests and eggs, father?" asked Peter.

"We may hunt, Peter, but we won't find any eggs in winter. We shall find
other things. Perhaps we shall find the white-footed mouse. He sometimes
makes his home in an old bird's nest."

"Can a mouse climb trees, father? If he lives in a bird's nest, does he
lay bird's eggs?"

"He can climb trees, Peter. But he cannot lay eggs. We will see if we
can find Mr. White-foot some day.

"But first we will watch the birds fly away and the snow come."




THE STONE-WALL POST OFFICE


Around Peter's house is a beautiful field. This is Mr. Howe's hayfield.
You can find it on the map in the front of this book.

The children like this field. All the year round, it is a pleasant
place.

In the spring they find blue violets here. In the summer they watch the
birds that make nests in the tall grass. In the winter they slide here
on the crust.

At the farther side of the field, there are some trees. These are
butternut trees. In front of the trees is a stone wall.

Peter and Polly like to play by this wall. Sometimes they play that it
is a post office.

The holes in the wall are the boxes. There is a box for every one in the
village. Peter has more than one box; so has Polly.

The children take turns being the postmaster. If Peter is the
postmaster, Polly calls for the mail.

The real post office is in their father's store. So they have often seen
Mr. Howe put the mail into the boxes.

They use little sticks for the post cards. Leaves are the letters.
Stones are the packages. Sometimes the boxes are full of
mail--especially Peter's and Polly's.

Often they play that it is Christmas time. Then the boxes are full of
packages. It is fun to guess what is in each package.

One day Peter said, "There is a knife in this package. I like it. There
is a hammer in this package. I will build a house with it.

"There is a game in this package. Will you play it with me, Polly? And,
O Polly! There is a pony in this package! That is what I wish for most
of all."

"But, Peter, a pony is too big to be in your post-office box. It would
not come by mail."

"Then Santa Claus will bring it," said Peter. "If I get it, I do not
care how it comes."

One day the children saw that the butternuts were falling.

Polly said, "Let's pick up all we can. We will put them in our
post-office boxes. When they are full, we will bring your cart. Then we
can take the nuts home. We will crack them next winter."

So they filled the boxes with nuts. The nuts were still green. The
children stained their hands with them.

While they were playing with the nuts, they saw two squirrels. These sat
in the trees above them. They watched Peter and Polly with their bright
eyes, and scolded them a great deal.

"They want our nuts," said Polly. "But we have put them into our
post-office boxes. We will keep them."

The next day the children went for their nuts. They took Peter's cart
with them. What do you think they found?

Why, they found their boxes empty! The nuts were all gone!

"Some one bad has been here," said Peter.

Polly laughed. "You always say that, Peter. I think it was those
squirrels. And I don't care, because they need the nuts to eat this
winter."

"I don't care, either," said Peter. "I think we forgot to lock our
boxes."

"Perhaps we did," said Polly. "But I guess the squirrels thought the
boxes were theirs. When they called for their mail, they found the boxes
full. How pleased they must have been! Let's pick up more nuts for
them."

So the children again filled the post-office boxes with nuts. Then they
went home and left them for the squirrels.




PLAYING IN THE LEAVES


One day Peter saw something that pleased him. It was a branch of red
leaves on a maple tree.

He said to mother, "It will be winter soon."

"Why do you think so, Peter?"

"I have seen red leaves," said Peter.

"But, Peter, a few red leaves do not count. There are red leaves in the
summer. You must watch until you see many red, yellow, and brown
leaves."

"What makes the leaves red and yellow, mother? Is it magic?" asked
Peter. "Can you do it?"

"Perhaps it is a kind of magic, Peter. It is like the clouds turning
into snow. I cannot do that."

Then Peter watched for all the trees to turn. At last they were bright
with colors.

The maples were red and yellow; the oaks a deep red. The beeches were a
bright yellow.

Even the elm trees in front of the house were yellow. Now Polly liked
more than ever to swing. The swing took her way up among the yellow
leaves.

Then, one day, the leaves began to fall. Down they came, a few at a
time. The next day more fell, and the next and the next.

Polly said, "They are prettier than the snowflakes. The snow is white.
These have lovely colors. See them flying through the air."

At last most of the trees were bare. The leaves lay on the ground.

Then Peter said, "Oh, the poor trees! They haven't any clothes on. I am
so sorry."

Polly said, "The leaves are not clothes. They are children. Now they
have gone to bed. The snow is their blanket. When it comes, it will keep
them warm. If we leave them alone, they will sleep all winter. I learned
it in a poem."

"They cannot go to sleep yet," said Peter. "I shall not let them. I
shall wake them up."

"How