Squirrels are interesting little creatures. Besides being so pretty, bright-eyed, and active, they are remarkably intelligent. They make their nests in trees as birds do, but with even more ingenuity than most birds. The materials of the nest are moss, leaves, grass, and fibres of the bark of trees, all neatly woven together. The nest is waterproof, and secure from the roughest gale of wind; it is, besides, carefully hidden from the view of any passer-by beneath. The food of squirrels consists of vegetables, nuts, acorns, and other fruits and seeds. These little animals have the forethought to lay up provisions for the winter; and not only do they keep a little store in their nests, but in any hole they may chance to find in the surrounding trees. Sometimes they have a dozen secret storehouses within a few leaps of their nest.
Squirrel
Pumpkinhead
O
Of all the things to make you stare,—A Pumpkin-Head, I do declare!That such a thing could come aboutOne almost feels inclined to doubt.The story’s sad, if true it be:I’ll tell it as ’twas told to me.A man once lived whose name was Nocket,Who dearly loved to fill his pocket,And for the poor he had small pity.By trade a hatter in the city,He from his shop went up and downTo his cottage out of town;And in his garden took delight,And worked in it with all his might.A treatise he had written tooOn kitchen-gardening. So youMay well suppose he heard with gleeA garden-show there was to be;And that a prize among the restWould be awarded for the bestAnd largest pumpkin at the show.“Ha! ha!” thought Nocket, “now I’ll growA pumpkin shall be such a sizeIt will be sure to gain the prize.”In hothouse, where the heat was greaterAlmost than in Mount Etna’s crater,The pumpkin grew, and grew so fineThat Nocket asked his friends to dine.And showed it to them all with pride.“Magnificent!” the friends replied;Excepting one, who looked quite sly,And said, “You’ll see mine, by-and-by.”’Twas Nocket’s next door neighbour, Wright,Who spoke those words: and all that nightNocket slept not; spiteful and sad,At length he formed a purpose bad:At early dawn, without a fallHe clambered o’er the garden wall,And of Wright’s greenhouse ope’d the door,Laid his own pumpkin on the floor;There found the biggest ever seen,Compared to which his own look’d mean.Upon his head with might and mainHe hoisted, it; and once againHe climbed the wall. Then found—worse luck!—The pumpkin on his shoulders stuck.In vain he wriggled, struggled, fought,His head was in the pumpkin caught;And from that day the thing stuck fastOn Nocket’s neck. ’Tis sometime past;Still, if the story be but true,We yet may see it—I or you.
Of all the things to make you stare,—
A Pumpkin-Head, I do declare!
That such a thing could come about
One almost feels inclined to doubt.
The story’s sad, if true it be:
I’ll tell it as ’twas told to me.
A man once lived whose name was Nocket,
Who dearly loved to fill his pocket,
And for the poor he had small pity.
By trade a hatter in the city,
He from his shop went up and down
To his cottage out of town;
And in his garden took delight,
And worked in it with all his might.
A treatise he had written too
On kitchen-gardening. So you
May well suppose he heard with glee
A garden-show there was to be;
And that a prize among the rest
Would be awarded for the best
And largest pumpkin at the show.
“Ha! ha!” thought Nocket, “now I’ll grow
A pumpkin shall be such a size
It will be sure to gain the prize.”
In hothouse, where the heat was greater
Almost than in Mount Etna’s crater,
The pumpkin grew, and grew so fine
That Nocket asked his friends to dine.
And showed it to them all with pride.
“Magnificent!” the friends replied;
Excepting one, who looked quite sly,
And said, “You’ll see mine, by-and-by.”
’Twas Nocket’s next door neighbour, Wright,
Who spoke those words: and all that night
Nocket slept not; spiteful and sad,
At length he formed a purpose bad:
At early dawn, without a fall
He clambered o’er the garden wall,
And of Wright’s greenhouse ope’d the door,
Laid his own pumpkin on the floor;
There found the biggest ever seen,
Compared to which his own look’d mean.
Upon his head with might and main
He hoisted, it; and once again
He climbed the wall. Then found—worse luck!—
The pumpkin on his shoulders stuck.
In vain he wriggled, struggled, fought,
His head was in the pumpkin caught;
And from that day the thing stuck fast
On Nocket’s neck. ’Tis sometime past;
Still, if the story be but true,
We yet may see it—I or you.
Flowers
M
Mr. and Mrs. de Roisel were accustomed to spend the winter in Paris; and when November came on, and the time for their departure arrived, it was not without anxiety that Maurice thought of taking Cressida to live on the first floor of a Paris house. The rooms were large and handsome, it is true, but not suitable for a horse: it was necessary, however, to make the best of circumstances.
They drove to the railway station at Savigny, where Mr. de Roisel arranged for them to have a carriage to themselves, and Cressida was lifted into it, for Maurice wanted to make the journey to Paris mounted, on the back of his horse. Off they started: my little friend, firmly seated on his saddle, went along at the rate of forty miles an hour. In less than an hour, however, they reached Paris, and then Maurice confessed that he felt tired: it was the first time he had made so long a journey on horseback.
Arrived at their own house, Maurice at once set about making the pony as comfortable as he could. The first night Cressida had to rough it a little; but in the course of two or three days Maurice had fitted up in his own bedroom a stable, which corresponded with the general comfort and elegance of the rooms occupied by the family.
THE WORKMAN, AFTER HIS DAY’S TOIL IS OVER, WALKS THERE WITH HIS CHILDREN.
THE WORKMAN, AFTER HIS DAY’S TOIL IS OVER, WALKS THERE WITH HIS CHILDREN.
Picture to yourselves a white tent embroidered in blue, supported against the wall of the room. The entrance to it is shut up by curtains; but when open, these curtains are held back on each side by broad blue ribbons. Inside the tent, at the end against the wall of the room, are a rack and a manger of ebony. At one side stands a large chest, also of ebony: it is divided into two compartments—onefor corn, the other containing everything required for grooming a horse. Also at the end of the tent, hanging against the wall, are a saddle and bridle of Russia leather, and two or three whips. I must add that a beautiful sheepskin rug, white and soft as the down of a swan, takes the place of the straw put down for litter in a common stable. Such was the new abode of the pretty pony.
When it became known that Maurice possessed a wonderful horse, which, though made of wood, could gallop, and neigh, and shake his head like a real horse, he received numerous visits; and his little friends envied him his happiness. Several of them proposed to him that he should give them Cressida in exchange for some of their own beautiful toys; such as, for instance, a mule with bells, like the mules in Spain; a pretty sailing boat, intended to sail on the basin in the Tuileries; a box containing everything required for performing the astonishing tricks of the famous conjuror Robert Houdin; a whole flock of sheep with their shepherd; and one little girl offered him her most beautiful doll—a doll that had the air of a queen, and whose clothes were made of fine cambric and lace.
But what were the most beautiful toys in the world compared to Cressida? Maurice, who had so bravely resisted the temptation of giving his horse in exchange for Jeanne, found no difficulty in refusing these offers.
For some days after Maurice arrived in Paris, the weather continued mild and fine, although it was so late in the autumn; and he was able to go out several times with Cressida into the gardens of the Luxembourg. These gardens may not be particularly fashionable, but they are very beautiful all the same. You may see there elegantly dressed ladies and gentlemen, and children with clean and tidy nurses; but you also see there, in the evening, the workman, after his day’s toil is over, walking with his children; perhaps carrying one in his arms: and though he may carry it awkwardly, it is still touching to see what care he takes of it.
ONE OF THE KEEPERS OF THE GARDENS MAKES A MISTAKE.
ONE OF THE KEEPERS OF THE GARDENS MAKES A MISTAKE.
My little friend, whose parents had no prejudice against the gardens for reasons of this kind, went there often, and delighted in riding up and down the great avenue upon Cressida. They made a sensation together, I assure you.Not only the children, but the mammas and even the gentlemen expressed their surprise and admiration. Many people thought at first that Cressida was a real pony. I have been told, though I do not vouch for the fact, that one of the keepers of the gardens, going up to Maurice, summoned him to leave, because it was not permitted to ride there on horseback. This caused great amusement, as you may suppose, among the lookers-on. It has been said also that this mistake of the keeper was reported in theJournal des Enfants—(The Child’s Journal)—a day or two after it occurred, but I cannot say I recollect reading it. Maurice used to take his horse into the Luxembourg gardens every day that it was fine, and enjoyed his rides very much.
Maurice had an uncle—his mother’s brother—a lieutenant in the navy, who returned about this time from a distant expedition. He came to rest from his fatigues at Paris, and took up his abode with his sister, of whom he was very fond. He was a young man of about twenty-eight or thirty years of age, intelligent, and of very agreeable manners. But beneath this amiable and gentle surface, he possessed a strong will, and a resolute devotion to whatever he might consider to be a duty.
The uncle and nephew soon became great friends, and were almost inseparable. They used to go out walking together, and sometimes the uncle would teach Maurice his lessons. In the evening they often went together to the circus or to an exhibition of some sort. But when they passed the evening at home, Maurice was almost more amused; for he never tired of looking over books of sketches, which his uncle had made during his voyages.
There were sketches representing the Red Indians of America; the natives of Australia; the inhabitants of the islands in the Southern Pacific, and of the coasts of Africa. Maurice was astonished to see faces painted in all the colours of the rainbow; and he wondered at the singular ideas savages have of making themselves look more beautiful.He saw some with pieces of wood fixed into their under lips, to make them hang down; some with their teeth blackened; others with their eyelids painted red. There were also sketches of Laplanders, who were certainly not handsome,—not figures that a sculptor would choose for models. Maurice’s uncle gave him an account also of the manners and customs of all these people, and my little friend learnt with horror that among savages, there are those who roast and devour their fellow-creatures with the same relish with which we eat good roast beef and mutton.
Then his uncle showed him landscapes of strange countries, all drawn by himself, and sketches of the principal cities he had visited; afterwards, drawings of foreign birds and flowers, such as are not to be found in Europe. All this interested Maurice, and while it amused him, gave him lessons in natural history and geography. You will easily understand how fond he was likely to become of such a kind companion and teacher.
The uncle always showed a great interest in Cressida, admired its mechanism, and was fond of watching the little horse and its rider as they went along together. One day, when he had been looking at them for some time with a very thoughtful air, he said suddenly:—
“I wish I had a horse like Cressida.”
“Why not buy one then?” replied Maurice.
“Ah, you know very well that is impossible. There is no such horse to be had anywhere.”
“That’s true,” rejoined Maurice; “but why do you want a wooden horse—you who are so big, and can ride a real horse, if you wish?”
“No real horse—not the most beautiful in the world—could be the same to me as Cressida,” rejoined the uncle. “It may seem like a caprice, but it is not. I am going to sea again very soon, and I confess I should like to take Cressida with me. I could amuse myself with him on board ship. He would be a great resource during the long tedious hours when there is nothing to do. Besides,if I had the horse I should feel myself less separated from you all; and it would remind me of you particularly, Maurice, whom I shall be so sorry to leave.”
“Ah, my dear uncle, what you desire is impossible. I cannot give you Cressida.”
“I don’t expect you to give it me for nothing, of course.”
“Indeed I wish I could give it you for nothing.”
“Listen, now, to what I intend to do: I will leave you in exchange all my books of sketches.”
“Oh, pray stop, uncle,” cried Maurice, feeling more and more unhappy; “what you are saying makes me so miserable. You know I promised Fritz never to part with Cressida.”
“But every day people make promises which they do not keep: besides, Fritz did not know that I should ever wish to have the horse, when he asked you to make that promise.”
“Still, I gave my word.”
“Yes, the word of a child: what does that signify?”
“Does age make a difference? Are not children expected to keep their promises?”
“Oh, I don’t mean to say exactly that,” replied the uncle. “Your own conscience must teach you how that ought to be. But I think it strange that you should prefer that old Fritz to me.”
Now you must not suppose, my little readers, that Maurice resisted his uncle’s persuasion with the calm steadfastness of a grown-up man, whose mind is quite clear as to his duty, and who is quite decided to keep to it. No: poor little Maurice found his heart drawing him one way and his conscience another. At last he wisely determined that he would take an opportunity, when alone with his father, to ask his advice: but the young lieutenant did not give him a chance of doing this, for he began again upon the subject the same evening.
“I have been reflecting,” he said to Maurice, “and Ithink my books of sketches are not sufficient to give you for your horse. Listen now: besides the books, I will give you a real pony. Perhaps he will be rather bigger than Cressida; but I will buy one as much like Cressida as possible.”
“YOUR SON IS A HERO!”
“YOUR SON IS A HERO!”
“Well, but,” said Maurice, “why not keep the live one for yourself? You can even call it Cressida if you like.”
The young officer was a little put out by this suggestion, but after a minute he replied:—“I could not take a real horse with me on board ship; but a wooden horse is different. Now look here: not only will I give you the pony, but you shall have a groom expressly to take care of it; and both groom and pony shall be kept at my expense while I am away. I will pay, besides, for you to have some lessons in riding, so that when your papa goes out on horseback to the Bois de Boulogne you will be able to ride by his side.”
“You will do all that?”
“Yes, really, I will do all that.”
“Ah, no, no! I cannot give you Cressida. If that poor Fritz should ever come back, I will tell him all; and perhaps he will let me give you the horse.”
“You behave to me like a selfish and ungrateful child.”
“Oh, uncle, uncle,” exclaimed poor little Maurice, and he began to weep bitterly, “is it possible that you say this to me seriously? Ah, well! then you shall have——” He was going to say,—“you shall have Cressida;” but as he spoke his mother entered the room. Her presence seemed to remind him that he was going to break his promise after all; and he went on:—“You may think what you please, uncle, but I will not give you Cressida.”
“Really!” exclaimed the young man with an appearance of delight which astonished Maurice.
“And now go away from me, pray,” said Maurice, still crying bitterly. “I am ill; I think I am going to faint:” and he ran into the arms of his mother.
“Your son is a hero!” cried the young officer, joyfully, addressing his sister. “He is a hero, I say.”
“And you—you are cruel,” replied the mother, caressing her son, who was sobbing convulsively.
“But did you not hear,” said the young man, “how he kept to his word,—how he refused to give me Cressida?”
“It is not right,” said the mother, “to torture a child by such a trial. Suppose out of love for you he had given way; you would have reproached him for listening to the dictates of his heart rather than obeying his sense of duty. Let me tell you that what is a virtue in grown-up people, is not always so in a child. It is through their affections that we govern children, and you would teach him to combat his tenderest feelings. Besides, you set a bad example: you were practising a deception in pretending that you wanted the horse.”
“What! uncle,” cried my little friend, who began to recover, “was it only make-believe when you asked me for Cressida? You only wanted to see if I should keep my promise? You would not have loved me any longer, perhaps, if I had given it to you; and yet I should have given it because I love you.”
“You hear that,” said Mrs. de Roisel.
“What a great man this little fellow will make some day!” exclaimed the uncle.
I daresay my little readers can see, though the uncle did not, how near Maurice was to yielding and giving up Cressida at last. We will allow the young officer to remain in ignorance upon this point, but let us tell him that it is always better to prevent faults than to provoke them.
(To be continued.)
Flowers
Puzzle images
Now, children, try to find out this puzzle page. The names of two of these objects begin with C, one with E, one with G, one with I, and one with M.
Birds
B
Birds are in the woodland, buds are on the tree,Merry spring is coming, ope the pane and see.
Birds are in the woodland, buds are on the tree,
Merry spring is coming, ope the pane and see.
Then come sportive breezes, fields with flowers are gay,In the woods we’re singing through the summer day.
Then come sportive breezes, fields with flowers are gay,
In the woods we’re singing through the summer day.
Fruits are ripe in autumn, leaves are sear and red,Then we glean the cornfield, thanking God for bread.
Fruits are ripe in autumn, leaves are sear and red,
Then we glean the cornfield, thanking God for bread.
Then at last comes winter, fields are cold and lorn,But there’s happy Christmas, when our Lord was born.
Then at last comes winter, fields are cold and lorn,
But there’s happy Christmas, when our Lord was born.
Thus as years roll onward, merrily we sing,Thankful for the blessings all the seasons bring.
Thus as years roll onward, merrily we sing,
Thankful for the blessings all the seasons bring.
Little reader
D
Darling little Lily! This is just how I found her one day after somebody had given her a picture book of Cinderella.
“What is my little woman thinking about that she looks so sad and solemn?” asked I.
“I so sorry for Umbrella,” answered Lily, quite sharp and pat, thinking she had hit upon the name finely; “but I not be sorry any more, for my mamma come, and mamma love me.”
I finished the story to her, when her pity changed into joy at “Umbrella’s” happy marriage with the young prince.
Chamois and little ones
A
A hunter in the Tyrol, while engaged in his dangerous employment, spied a chamois with two little ones on the top of a rock. The little chamois were leaping and sporting by the side of their mother, and she, while watching their gambols, was on the alert to see that no enemy came near to hurt them. The hunter peeped over a rock at the happy family, and determined, if possible, to take one of the young ones alive. When the old chamois caught sight of him, she was in a sad state of alarm: she ran up to her little ones, and tried to lead them on to leap from one rock to another; but they were too young to leap far. In the meantime the hunter was clambering nearer and nearer, and would soon reach them.
Presently they came to a chasm, not very wide across, but of immense depth. One of the little chamois was big and strong enough to leap across it, the other was not. At last the mother hit upon a plan: she made her body into a bridge across the chasm, placing her forefeet upon the further rock. The young chamois, understanding her intention, sprang upon her as lightly as a kitten, and reached the other side; when they all scampered off. The hunter did not dare to follow them over this dreadful chasm, and they were soon safe beyond the range of his gun.
Family
What could we without them,Those flowers of life?How bear all the sorrowsWith which it is rife?As long as they blossom,Whilst brightly they bloom,Our own griefs are nothing,Forgotten our gloom.
What could we without them,
Those flowers of life?
How bear all the sorrows
With which it is rife?
As long as they blossom,
Whilst brightly they bloom,
Our own griefs are nothing,
Forgotten our gloom.
We joy in the sunshine,—It sheds on them light;We welcome the shower,—It makes them more bright;On our pathway of thornsThey are thrown from above,And they twine round about us,And bless us with love.
We joy in the sunshine,—
It sheds on them light;
We welcome the shower,—
It makes them more bright;
On our pathway of thorns
They are thrown from above,
And they twine round about us,
And bless us with love.
Bright, beautiful flowers,So fresh and so pure!How could we, without them,Life’s troubles endure?So guileless and holy,Such soothers of strife;What could we without them,Sweet flowers of life?
Bright, beautiful flowers,
So fresh and so pure!
How could we, without them,
Life’s troubles endure?
So guileless and holy,
Such soothers of strife;
What could we without them,
Sweet flowers of life?
Flowers
Fishermen
I
I must tell you to-day, my dear children, about one of the miracles of our Saviour of which I daresay you have already heard. Perhaps, too, you have seen engravings of the picture from which the woodcut above is taken. It is a large painting by Raphael, a great Italian artist of former days, whom you will know more about when you are older.
After our Saviour had healed the nobleman’sson—the miracle I described to you in our last Sunday-talk—we are told in the Bible that He left Cana and went to Capernaum, a town on the shore of the lake, or sea, of Galilee. The country surrounding this beautiful lake is now desolate and barren; but at the time when our Saviour lived upon earth, it was fertile and thickly populated. On the banks of the lake were towns and villages; on its waters boats plied, engaged in pleasure or trade; and many fishermen carried on their calling.
One evening our Lord walked on the shore of the lake, teaching His disciples, when He found Himself surrounded by a multitude of people. They pressed about Him, eager to hear Him preach; and in order to let them hear and see Him better, He entered into one of the fishing-boats which belonged to Simon Peter. And Christ prayed Simon Peter to thrust out the boat a little from the land: then He sat down, and taught the people from the boat.
We are not told what was the particular purport of His teaching on this occasion, but when He had done, He resolved to render what He had said more impressive by performing a miracle before the eyes of all the people. He turned to Simon, and told him to cast forth his nets to catch fish; upon which, St. Luke tells us, Simon answered: “Master, we have toiled all the night and have taken nothing; nevertheless at thy word I will let down the net.”
This is the language of obedience and faith. The net was at once cast into the sea, and it enclosed such a quantity of fish that it began to break. In the boat with Christ, besides Simon Peter, was another fisherman, named Andrew; and they beckoned to their partners, James and John, the sons of Zebedee, who were in another boat, to come to their assistance. Both boats were filled so full of fish that they were almost sinking.
Scripture does not give us any account of the impression this miraculous draught of fishes made upon the multitudethat were looking on from the shore; but the first thought of Simon Peter seems to have been a sense of his own unworthiness. Falling down at our Saviour’s feet, he cried: “Depart from me; for I am a sinful man, O Lord.”
With mingled feelings of humility, gratitude, and awe, he entreated Jesus to depart from one who was so guilty and undeserving. But he did not know the love of Christ towards him, or the gracious design of this miracle. His fears were soon calmed. “Fear not,” said Jesus to His trembling disciple: “from henceforth thou shalt catch men.” From that time Simon Peter, and his companions, Andrew, James, and John, were to be employed in preaching the gospel. These poor, ignorant fishermen became endowed with wisdom and eloquence; and in the wonderful draught of fishes they might foresee their future success. They were to be “fishers of men”; the world the sea in which they were to labour.
St. Luke says of them: “When they had brought their ships to land, they forsook all and followed Him.”
Fairy with book
Girl standing on chair
T
The little girl you see in the picture is one of the very nicest of my little friends. She looked just as you see her there on the day of her party, which was given in honour of her fourth birthday. I remember going into the nursery while she was being dressed. Nurse was just arranging her sash, while she stood on a chair in front of the looking-glass, admiring her little self generally; but most admiring her pretty blue shoes, which just matched her sash.
When she saw me at the door, she cried out: “I ready now; wait for me.” And jumping off the chair and seizing my hand, she tripped away downstairs, chattering merrily as she went. The time of the year was the end of April, and Ruby’s home being in the country, and the weather very fine and warm, some of the festivities took place out of doors in the garden. There were dances, and all sorts of games, on the dry sunny lawn, a soft westerly wind blowing on the happy children the while, bringing health and enjoyment with its sweet balmy breath.
While their fun was at its height, a curious figure appeared upon the lawn. It was a queer-looking old woman with a nutcracker face, carrying a large basket under her arm. She went hobbling along here and there, in and out, among the children. From the basket came balls, tops, dolls, and all sorts of toys, for the younger ones; useful presents for the bigger children. Was there ever such a curious old woman, or ever a basket that held so much? How they all laughed when presently she threw off her mask, bonnet, and cloak; and behold! Ruby’s papa stood before them.
Now it was tea-time, and the little people trooped into the house. After tea they were requested to walk into the drawing-room to be introduced to Count Shuffalongofriski, the Polish dwarf, and his friend Captain Sovveritall, the wonderful giant. Going into the room, they beheld a little man standing on a table placed in the recess of a large window, the curtain being partly drawn round the table. The dwarf wore a turban and large beard: he had a long pipe in his mouth, and was dressed up in shawls. He seemed very affable and pleasant, jabbering away continually in some unknown language, while now and then he threw a handful of crackers among the children to be scrambled for.
Presently an enormous figure appeared stooping to come through the door of the room. He was covered up with a long cloak, and was an oddly made giant too, for hisshoulders seemed to stick out little more than half-way up him, and he had a tiny little face, with a voice much weaker than the dwarf’s. He stalked up to the dwarf’s table and stood beside him. At last a little boy of the party, being very curious, lifted up the giant’s cloak to peep beneath, but happening to pull it at the same time, down it fell, and there stood Ruby’s papa again, with her little brother Johnnie on his shoulders.
And now the boys were becoming uproarious, and tried to peep behind the curtain to find out how the dwarf was made, when their attention was attracted by the sound of a fiddle playing outside. They saw, in the fading light of evening, a poor blind man being led up the carriage drive by a barefooted little girl about the size of Ruby. As the blind fiddler and his little girl turned the corner of the drive towards the hall-door, they passed out of sight from the drawing-room windows, and I observed that Ruby and three or four other children ran into the hall to meet them. The boys, however, turned once more to pursue their investigations concerning the dwarf, and were becoming quite riotous, when I thought I might as well see what was going on in the hall, for I heard the fiddler playing lustily.
Entering the hall, what do you suppose I saw? I saw Ruby and four or five other little girls, including the fiddler’s child among them, dancing away with all their might to the inspiriting music of the fiddle, fiddler and children seeming as happy as possible together. But the strangest sight of all was to see Ruby’s pretty blue shoes upon the dirty stockingless feet of the fiddler’s child, while Ruby herself had only her white silk socks to dance in.
Dear little Ruby! hers was the true spirit of charity, though certainly not well directed.
Child’s face
Sowing
SPRING-VOICES.[play]
Allegretto.
1.“Caw! caw!” says the crow,“Spring has come again, I know:For, as sure as I am born,There’s a farmer planting corn;I shall breakfast there I trow,Long before his corn can grow.”
1.
“Caw! caw!” says the crow,
“Spring has come again, I know:
For, as sure as I am born,
There’s a farmer planting corn;
I shall breakfast there I trow,
Long before his corn can grow.”
2.“Quack, quack!” says the duck,“Was there ever such good luck!Spring has cleared the pond of ice,And the day is warm and nice,Just as I and Goodman DrakeThought we’d like a swim to take.”
2.
“Quack, quack!” says the duck,
“Was there ever such good luck!
Spring has cleared the pond of ice,
And the day is warm and nice,
Just as I and Goodman Drake
Thought we’d like a swim to take.”
3.“Croak, croak!” says the frog,As he leaps out from the bog;“Spring is near, I do declare,For the earth is warm and fair;Croak! croak! croak! I love the spring,When the little birdies sing.”
3.
“Croak, croak!” says the frog,
As he leaps out from the bog;
“Spring is near, I do declare,
For the earth is warm and fair;
Croak! croak! croak! I love the spring,
When the little birdies sing.”
Flowers
S
Some months later, when the Spring had come on, and the sun was beginning to give warmth, while the air was already perfumed with violets, Maurice was walking, one beautiful morning, in the Luxembourg gardens. He had Cressida with him, whom he sometimes rode and sometimes led, and Jacques the old servant was also there. A number of children were in the gardens, playing at different games, and enjoying themselves in the bright sunshine. They were chattering away too as gaily as the little wild birds overhead were singing in the soft air.
Maurice alone was not amusing himself, and old Jacques the servant walked after him in silence, looking as sad as his young master. Alas! my kind-hearted little readers, you will be grieved, I know, when you hear the cause of my little friend’s sadness: Maurice’s father was seriously ill.
That very morning Maurice had been present, without any one knowing it, at a consultation between two famous doctors, who were attending his father. He happened to be in the drawing-room, standing at a window and half hidden behind the curtain, when they came in, and they had not observed him. Although he did not understand all they said, he heard enough to cause him great unhappiness and alarm. He had now come into the Luxembourg gardens—not because he thought of amusing or enjoying himself, but because his mamma had wished him to go out.
MAURICE WAS PRESENT AT A CONSULTATION.
MAURICE WAS PRESENT AT A CONSULTATION.
While he was sitting on Cressida’s back, with the reins thrown carelessly on its neck, and moving at a slow walk to suit his thoughtful and sad mood, he noticed that a little girl, rather older than himself, was coming towards him asif she wished to say something. She was accompanied by a lady, too young to be her mother, of a graceful figure though simply dressed. The little girl, whose face expressed a bold and decided character, called out to Maurice,—
“Young gentleman, sell me your horse.”
“Sell Cressida!” cried Maurice, with astonishment. “Oh, no, certainly not.”
“I will pay you with ten pieces of gold money that I have here in my purse.”
“What! you’ve got ten pieces of gold money of your own?”
“My very own.”
“Do just let me look at them,” begged Maurice.
“Look!” said she, opening a pretty little purse with an air of triumph.
“What a lot of gold!” exclaimed my little friend, and he put out his hand to touch it. Then drawing his hand quickly back, he added: “No, no, I cannot sell Cressida. But tell me, who has given you all this gold?”
“It was my papa. Yesterday was his birthday, and I repeated to him a bit of poetry—such pretty poetry!—wishing him many happy returns of the day. Miss Henriette—she’s my English governess, the young lady you see there—she had written it out for me. When I repeated the lines to papa, he gave me these ten napoleons, and he told me to buy something handsome with them for myself,—anything I liked.”
“But I have no idea of selling Cressida,” repeated Maurice.
“You’ve not had him long then, I suppose—not got tired of him yet?”
“I don’t remember exactly how long; eight or nine months perhaps.”
“Nine months! It’s an age; I never kept a plaything for nine months.”
“What do you do then?”
“NO, NO, I CANNOT SELL YOU CRESSIDA.”
“NO, NO, I CANNOT SELL YOU CRESSIDA.”
“I give them away or I break them. Don’t you get tired of having the same toys always?”
“Cressida is not a common toy to me.”
“Oh, he’s very handsome, no doubt; I thought at firsthe was a real pony. But with ten napoleons you can buy another,—you can buy a white one, and that would be a change, you know. Come, you’ll alter your mind, won’t you?”
“No, certainly not.”
“Oh, yes.”
“Indeed, I’m sure I shall not.”
“You are not like me then,” replied the little girl, “I am always changing my mind. Yesterday, what I wished for most in the world was a set of cups and saucers of Sèvres china for my doll; this morning I wanted most a coral necklace for myself; then I wanted an ermine muff; and now I want to buy your horse. Don’t I change my mind often? But your horse I really wish for very much: the fact is I never saw one like it at any toy-shop.”
“I should think not,” said Maurice.
“But I shall only care for it, you know, till I have a real pony. My papa has promised to buy me a real pony in a year.”
“Your papa is rich then?”
“Is my papa rich! I should think so indeed. My papa is a wine-merchant, and he has made thousands upon thousands and millions upon millions in his business: he’s going to make a great deal more yet too, I can tell you.”
This heaping up of millions upon millions caused Maurice to open his eyes very wide.
“What is your name?” he asked of the young girl.
“I am called Adrienne,” she replied.
“Adrienne what?”
“Adrienne Fallachon, since you wish to know. But that will not be my name always, for my papa intends me to marry a duke or a prince when I am old enough. Some little girls I know turn up their noses at me because my papa is a wine-merchant, and I told him of it one day. Oh, he was in such a passion! What names he did call them! He took me up on his knee, and said he loved me doubly since my mamma died; and he declared he wouldmake such a deal of money to give me when I marry that I should be a princess, or a duchess at the least. That’s what he said: isn’t he a good papa?”
“Oh, yes, indeed he is. But those little girls were very ill-natured, I think.”
“Yes, were they not? Suppose now we become great friends. I shall be here every day, and sometimes we’ll play together: do you agree?”
Maurice said he should be very glad.
“But I’ve told you my name,” went on Adrienne; “tell me now in return, what’s your name?”
“Maurice de Roisel.”
“Maurice de Roisel! that’s a pretty name. Have you a title? If you have, I’ll marry you when you’re grown up.”
“Oh, as for a title, I really don’t know, but I’ll ask mamma if I have one.”
“Do; you need only be a duke, you understand.”
Saying this she went off to play with her hoop, and Maurice continued his ride, with Jacques walking by his side.
As Maurice approached the gate of the garden, he beheld a sight which filled his kind young heart with pity. Seated on the pavement outside the garden, and leaning against the iron railing, was a young woman with three pretty children. They appeared to be in the deepest despair, but there was a certain dignity in their grief; they wept silently, and seemed anxious to avoid the notice of the passers-by. As he watched them, he thought to himself—his mind dwelling upon his own anxiety—“I wonder if their father’s dead that they cry so bitterly?” He did not like to speak to them, however, but only looked at them from a little distance through the railings. Presently one of the children—a charming little girl—looked up at Maurice, and then he ventured to approach and ask her what made them so miserable.
THEY APPEARED TO BE IN THE DEEPEST DESPAIR.
THEY APPEARED TO BE IN THE DEEPEST DESPAIR.
“Alas!” she replied, speaking bad French with a German accent, “it is the greatest misfortune that could befall us: we are separated for ever from our father. Our poor dear papa is expecting us at New York, where he has some land, and where we could be rich and happy; andnow it is impossible for us to go to him. Alas! there is nothing for us but to die.”
“To die! Oh, don’t say that—it’s dreadful,” rejoined Maurice.
“Yes, it is dreadful,” continued the girl. “And my poor father—Ah, what grief for him too!”
“But how does it happen that you cannot go out to join him?”
“We have not the means; we are without money.”
“Money? I’ve got some money.” And Maurice hastened to offer the contents of his little purse—about five or six francs.
The little girl did not take them, but turned to her mother, who was pressing to her heart her other two children, handsome boys of three and four years old. The mother and her daughter spoke together for a minute in German.
“Why do you not take what I offer?” said Maurice.
“Because,” replied the girl,—for her mother could not speak French,—“because, though it is a good deal for you to give, it would be of no use to us. To save us we want two hundred francs—that is, ten gold napoleons. Who would give them to us?”
“Ten pieces of gold money,” cried my little friend. “Wait a minute; I know somebody who has them.”
He gave Cressida into the care of Jacques, and running after Adrienne, took her by the hand, and led her up to this poor family.
“Give your money to these good people,” said he.
“No, indeed!” replied Adrienne, astonished; “my papa told me to buy something with the money for myself, and I’m not going to give it to beggars.”
“But just consider, Adrienne,” said her English governess, who had followed her, “whether you would not do well to give some help to this unhappy woman and her little children: such a kind action would be all the kinder if you do it by the sacrifice of something you intended to buy for yourself.”