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    The Story of Patsy
    The Story of Patsy
    The Story of Patsy
    Ebook54 pages44 minutes

    The Story of Patsy

    By Kate Douglas Wiggin

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    About this ebook

    Classic short story for very young children. According to Wikipedia: "Kate Douglas Wiggin ( 1856 -1923) was an American children's author and educator. Kate Douglas Smith Wiggin was born in Philadelphia, and was of Welsh descent. She started the first free kindergarten in San Francisco in 1878 (the Silver Street Free Kindergarten). With her sister in the 1880s she also established a training school for kindergarten teachers. She was also a writer of children's books, the best known being The Birds' Christmas Carol (1887) and Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm (1903)."
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSeltzer Books
    Release dateMar 1, 2018
    ISBN9781455359196
    The Story of Patsy
    Author

    Kate Douglas Wiggin

    Kate Douglas Wiggin (1856–1923) was an American educator, author, and advocate who is best known for writing Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm. After graduating from kindergarten-teacher training in Santa Barbara, Wiggins moved to San Francisco, where she founded the first free kindergarten on Silver Street in 1878.

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      Book preview

      The Story of Patsy - Kate Douglas Wiggin

      THE STORY OF PATSY BY KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN

      Published by Seltzer Books

      established in 1974, now offering over 14,000  books

      feedback welcome: seltzer@seltzerbooks.com

      Children's books by Kate Douglas Wiggin available from Seltzer Books

      The Birds' Christmas Carol

      Cathedral Courtship

      Diary of a Goose Girl

      Flag-Raising

      Homespun Tales

      Marm Lisa

      Mother Carey's Chickens

      New Chronicles of Rebecca

      Penelope's English Experience

      Penelope's Experiences in Scotland

      Penelope's Irish Experiences

      Penelope's Postscripts

      Polly Oliver's Problem

      Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm

      Romance of a Christmas Carol

      Story of Patsy

      Story of Waitstill Baxter

      Summer in a Canyon

      Timothy's Quest

      Village Stradivarius

      IN REMEMBRANCE

      I. THE SILVER STREET KINDERGARTEN.

      II. PATSY COMES TO CALL.

      III. TWO 'PRENTICE HANDS AT PHILANTHROPY.

      IV. BEHIND THE SCENES.

      V. I SEEK PATSY, AND MEET THE DUCHESS OF ANNA STREET.

      VI. A LITTLE HOODLUM'S VIRTUE KINDLES AT THE TOUCH OF JOY.

      VII. PATSY FINDS HIS THREE LOST YEARS.

      To H.C.A.

      IN REMEMBRANCE OF GLADNESS GIVEN TO SORROWFUL LITTLE LIVES

      "The young lambs are bleating in the meadows,

      The young birds are chirping in the nest,

      The young fawns are playing with the shadows,

      The young flowers are blowing toward the west--

      But the young; young children, O my brothers,

      They are weeping bitterly!

      They are weeping in the playtime of the others

      In the country of the free."

      MRS. BROWNING.

      The original Story of Patsy was written and sold some seven years ago for the benefit of the Silver Street Free Kindergartens in San Francisco. Now that it is for the first time placed in the hands of publishers, I have at their request added new material, so that the present story is more than double the length of the original brief sketch.

      K.D.W.

      New York, March, 1889.

      CHAPTER I. THE SILVER STREET KINDERGARTEN.

      It makes a heaven-wide difference whether the soul of the child is      regarded as a piece of blank paper, to be written upon, or as a living power, to be quickened by sympathy, to be educated by truth.

      It had been a long, wearisome day at the Free Kindergarten, and I was alone in the silent, deserted room. Gone were all the little heads, yellow and black, curly and smooth; the dancing, restless, curious eyes; the too mischievous, naughty, eager hands and noisy feet; the merry voices that had made the great room human, but now left it quiet and empty. Eighty pairs of tiny boots had clattered down the stairs; eighty baby woes had been relieved; eighty little torn coats pulled on with patient hands; eighty shabby little hats, not one with a strawberry mark to distinguish it from any other, had been distributed with infinite discrimination among their possessors; numberless sloppy kisses had been pressed upon a willing cheek or hand, and another day was over. No,--not quite over, after all. A murderous yell from below brought me to my feet, and I flew like an anxious hen to my brood. One small quarrel in the hall; very small, but it must be inquired into on the way to the greater one. Mercedes McGafferty had taunted Jenny Crawhall with being Irish. The fact that she herself had been born in Cork about three years previous did not trouble her in the least. Jenny, in a voice choked with sobs, and with the stamp of a tiny foot, was announcing hotly that she was NOT Irish, no sech a thing,--she was Plesberterian! I was not quite clear whether this was a theological or racial controversy, but I settled it speedily,

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