imate
friend. Then practise keeping it in that general range, unless it prove
to have a distinct fault, such as a nervous sharpness, or hoarseness. A
quiet voice is good; a hushed voice is abnormal. A clear tone is
restful, but a loud one is wearying.

Perhaps the common-sense way of setting a standard for one's own voice
is to remember that the purpose of a speaking voice is to communicate
with others; their ears and minds are the receivers of our tones. For
this purpose, evidently, a voice should be, first of all, easy to hear;
next, pleasant to hear; next, susceptible of sufficient variation to
express a wide range of meaning; and finally, indicative of personality.

Is it too quixotic to urge teachers who tell stories to little children
to bear these thoughts, and better ones of their own, in mind? Not, I
think, if it be fully accepted that the story hour, as a play hour, is a
time peculiarly open to influences affecting the imitative faculty; that
this faculty is especially valuable in forming fine habits of speech;
and that an increasingly high and general standard of English speech is
one of our greatest needs and our most instant opportunities in the
schools of to-day.

And now we come to the stories!

STORIES TO TELL TO CHILDREN

TWO LITTLE RIDDLES IN RHYME[8]

There's a garden that I ken,
Full of little gentlemen;
Little caps of blue they wear,
And green ribbons, very fair.
(Flax.)

From house to house he goes,
A messenger small and slight,
And whether it rains or snows,
He sleeps outside in the night.
(The path.)

THE LITTLE YELLOW TULIP

Once there was a little yellow Tulip, and she lived down in a little
dark house under the ground. One day she was sitting there, all by
herself, and it was very still. Suddenly, she heard a little _tap, tap,
tap_, at the door.

"Who is that?" she said.

"It's the Rain, and I want to come in," said a soft, sad, little voice.

"No, you can't come in," the little Tulip said.

By and by she heard another little _tap, tap, tap_ on the window-pane.

"Who is there?" she said.

The same soft little voice answered, "It's the Rain, and I want to come
in!"

"No, you can't come in," said the little Tulip.

Then it was very still for a long time. At last, there came a little
rustling, whispering sound, all round the window: _rustle, whisper,
whisper_.

"Who is there?" said the littl