ah, much nicer pictures than the others!
“But—how can
both
these sets of things happen?” asked Jennifer, surprised. “Benjy can’t lose the scholarship and win it, too!”
“You’re rather slow at understanding, aren’t you?”
said the little fellow, putting his mirror away again. “Any of the things
might
happen, but which happen in the end depends on you and your behaviour now! Don’t you
see?
If Benjy’s lazy he won’t get the scholarship—if he works hard, he will. So either of the things may happen. It all depends on him. And if you disobey your mother and play with matches, you’ll certainly get burnt. But if you are sensible, you will leave the matches alone—and instead of getting burnt you’ll probably go to a party. Didn’t you notice that it was a party dress in the picture that was scorched?” “Yes, I did,” said Jennifer. She sat and thought for
a long time. “I understand what you mean now, little New Year,” she said at last. “You mean that all sorts of things are going to happen—but we
make
them happen ourselves. Oh, I’m glad I’ve peeped into your magic mirror. Now I know what to do. But why don’t you show everyone your mirror? Let them see the things that might happen, then everyone would be extra careful to do sensible, right things, and try to be good and generous.”
“I haven’t time,” said the little New Year. “Besides—people wouldn’t believe me. I’m glad
you
do. I think you’ll have a happy New Year now!”
He slipped across to the window, climbed into the tree and slid down it. “Goodbye,” he said. “The noise has stopped. I must go and find the First of January!”
Off he went. The children lay down in bed, puzzled and wondering—and in the middle of their wondering they fell fast asleep, and didn’t wake till the morning.
Mother came into the room. “Wake up! Happy New Year to you both!” she said.
Jenny sat up. She looked across at Benjy. She remembered the strange visitor they had seen the night before. Or hadn’t they? Was it a dream?
She called softly to Benjy. “Benjy! Do you remember the magic mirror?”
“I shall never forget it,” said Benjy. “Never. Jenny, let’s tell everyone about it. People ought to know that it’s themselves that make a year happy or sad.”
Yes, they ought to know it, and that’s why I’m telling it to you, so that you can make yours a happy one.
And what about Jenny and Benjy? Well, they are sensible children, so I don’t think they will fall in an icy pond, get chased by a farmer, burn themselves, or lose scholarships—but if they do, I’ll be sure to tell you.
She Stamped Her Foot
Matilda had a dreadful temper. When she was in a rage she went red in the face, shouted—and then stamped her foot!
“Matilda! Please don’t stamp your foot at me!” said her mother crossly. “No matter what you want, I shan’t give it to you if you stamp like that. It’s rude.”
Matilda stamped her foot again. It wasn’t a bit of good—she was just sent up to bed!
So after that she didn’t stamp her foot at her mother any more—only at Jane the maid, George the gardener, and her little friends. They couldn’t send her to bed—but they didn’t like her at all when she stamped her foot at them.
One afternoon Matilda went to pick blackberries in Farmer Gile’s field. She knew where there was a fine hedge of them—and as they were the last of the autumn’s feast of blackberries, she meant to have a very nice time!
But she found a little old lady there, picking away fast, and putting the big juicy blackberries into her basket. Matilda stared in rage.
“I came to pick these blackberries,” she said.
“So did I,” said the old lady, still picking.
“I saw them the other day, and I said to myself that they should be mine and no one else’s,” said Matilda, going red in the face.
“How funny! That’s just what I said to myself!” said the old dame, still picking
“But—how can
both
these sets of things happen?” asked Jennifer, surprised. “Benjy can’t lose the scholarship and win it, too!”
“You’re rather slow at understanding, aren’t you?”
said the little fellow, putting his mirror away again. “Any of the things
might
happen, but which happen in the end depends on you and your behaviour now! Don’t you
see?
If Benjy’s lazy he won’t get the scholarship—if he works hard, he will. So either of the things may happen. It all depends on him. And if you disobey your mother and play with matches, you’ll certainly get burnt. But if you are sensible, you will leave the matches alone—and instead of getting burnt you’ll probably go to a party. Didn’t you notice that it was a party dress in the picture that was scorched?” “Yes, I did,” said Jennifer. She sat and thought for
a long time. “I understand what you mean now, little New Year,” she said at last. “You mean that all sorts of things are going to happen—but we
make
them happen ourselves. Oh, I’m glad I’ve peeped into your magic mirror. Now I know what to do. But why don’t you show everyone your mirror? Let them see the things that might happen, then everyone would be extra careful to do sensible, right things, and try to be good and generous.”
“I haven’t time,” said the little New Year. “Besides—people wouldn’t believe me. I’m glad
you
do. I think you’ll have a happy New Year now!”
He slipped across to the window, climbed into the tree and slid down it. “Goodbye,” he said. “The noise has stopped. I must go and find the First of January!”
Off he went. The children lay down in bed, puzzled and wondering—and in the middle of their wondering they fell fast asleep, and didn’t wake till the morning.
Mother came into the room. “Wake up! Happy New Year to you both!” she said.
Jenny sat up. She looked across at Benjy. She remembered the strange visitor they had seen the night before. Or hadn’t they? Was it a dream?
She called softly to Benjy. “Benjy! Do you remember the magic mirror?”
“I shall never forget it,” said Benjy. “Never. Jenny, let’s tell everyone about it. People ought to know that it’s themselves that make a year happy or sad.”
Yes, they ought to know it, and that’s why I’m telling it to you, so that you can make yours a happy one.
And what about Jenny and Benjy? Well, they are sensible children, so I don’t think they will fall in an icy pond, get chased by a farmer, burn themselves, or lose scholarships—but if they do, I’ll be sure to tell you.
She Stamped Her Foot
Matilda had a dreadful temper. When she was in a rage she went red in the face, shouted—and then stamped her foot!
“Matilda! Please don’t stamp your foot at me!” said her mother crossly. “No matter what you want, I shan’t give it to you if you stamp like that. It’s rude.”
Matilda stamped her foot again. It wasn’t a bit of good—she was just sent up to bed!
So after that she didn’t stamp her foot at her mother any more—only at Jane the maid, George the gardener, and her little friends. They couldn’t send her to bed—but they didn’t like her at all when she stamped her foot at them.
One afternoon Matilda went to pick blackberries in Farmer Gile’s field. She knew where there was a fine hedge of them—and as they were the last of the autumn’s feast of blackberries, she meant to have a very nice time!
But she found a little old lady there, picking away fast, and putting the big juicy blackberries into her basket. Matilda stared in rage.
“I came to pick these blackberries,” she said.
“So did I,” said the old lady, still picking.
“I saw them the other day, and I said to myself that they should be mine and no one else’s,” said Matilda, going red in the face.
“How funny! That’s just what I said to myself!” said the old dame, still picking
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