A WEAVER BIRD AND HER NEST.
How many of you have seen the nest of the Baltimore oriole? She hangs it upon the end of an elm branch, where it swings and dances in the wind.
I have for you this time, the nest of an African bird. This little bird belongs to the class called weavers. If you look at thenest, you will understand why this bird is called a weaver bird.
See how skilfully the nest is woven out of twigs, and grasses, and fibrous roots. There are many kinds of weaver birds, and each kind builds a different nest. Sometime I shall show you another weaver bird’s nest.
It was the day set for the picnic by the lake. Two little white gowns, and the boys’ best coats, and the ribbons and the neck-ties, had been joyfully laid out the night before.
But next morning it was not picnic weather. The sky was low and heavy. By nine o’clock there were thick, dense, black clouds.
“I think we might go,” said Flossie, “even if it does rain. We go to school, lots o’ days, when it rains.”
Just then the big black raindrops fell upon the window-panes—“A great pailful in every drop,” said Tom.
“I want a picnic,” wailed Susie, “and I can’t have it.”
“You shall have it,” said papa; “we will have an indoors picnic, such as my papa used to give me on a rainy day.”
He led the way to the library. He took down a huge set of maps, a great portfolio of engravings, and two or three heavy picture books. “We will visit India,” said he.
“Hurrah,” said Tom. “Tiger hunts, elephant rides, jungles, snake charmers, jolly old idols, and the Parsee merchants.”
Tom knew very well what it meant when papa gave his mind up to turning over picture books and talking as he turned.
They did have a good time; and before three o’clock it clearedaway, and though it was too late for the picnic they had planned, it was the most perfect picnic weather, and as papa wanted to trim up cedars on the knoll by the lake, they all went down. Papa and mamma played with them for a while like an older brother and sister. They harnessed the children in a “four-horse team,” and drove up and down until the “little colts” had had enough of fun and were glad to sit in the arbor and watch papa trim trees.
The family walking along together
A PICNIC AFTER ALL.
Was it a shiny black cane with a gold head? No. I think you never saw a cane like this one. It was made out of a small balm-of-Gilead-tree. It belonged to John Reed. He taught school. He was eighteen years old.
When vacation came, John walked home. It was forty miles, and a pretty long walk. But there were no railroads in those days, and John did not like to ride in a stage-coach.
He thought he could walk more easily with a cane to help him. So he made this cane I am going to tell you about.
When he got home he stuck this cane into the ground in the lane, and then forgot all about it. But the cane was alive! When John stuck it into the ground it began to drink up the water from the soil.
Tiny green leaves sprouted out all over it. John saw it one day. How surprised he was! It grew all summer long. The next year the branches began to grow; and year by year it grew larger and larger till it was fifty years old.
Then John Reed was sixty-eight years old; the little children called him “Grandpa Reed.”
The old man sits by an open window
GRANDPA REED.
They called the great balm-of-Gilead-treein the lane “Grandpa’s cane.” They used to like to put their arms about it and look up into the branches. They thought it wonderful that a cane should grow into such a big tree.
Then came the great Civil War. Your mamma or auntie can tell you about it. There were a great many wounded soldiers, and the people used to send bandages and lint for their wounds. Do you know what lint is? It is made of linen cloth. It is soft, like wool.
Grandpa Reed had a little granddaughter Clara. Clara saw the women and girls making lint, and she wanted to make lint too. But aunt Mary said she was not big enough to make lint.
CLARA.
“But I will tell you,” said aunt Mary, “where you can find some nice lint;” and she took her out to the great balm-of-Gilead-tree in the lane.
Now you have all seen the soft, white pussy-willows. Well, the pussies are the willow flowers; and the balm-of-Gilead-tree has pussies too. But they are not soft and white; they are brown. They look like brown caterpillars.
After the blossoms wither the seeds come. These seeds are covered with wool like that on the dandelion’s ball.
The wind blows this wool from off the trees, and there it was that morning. The ground was white with it.
“There is the lint,” said aunt Mary, and she gave Clara a bag to put it in.
It took a great many bits of wool to fill the bag. But Clara was patient, and worked diligently, and when the bag was full, she went with aunt Mary to carry it to the soldiers’ camp.
Clara gave it to the surgeon. He said the balm-of-Gilead lint was much better than the linen lint. So “Grandpa’s cane” and little Clara helped the sick soldiers to get well again.
Down by the seashore Miss Lollipop sat,Dropping the little white shells in her hat;“See!” cried the darling, and shouted with glee,“These pretty things were all waiting for me;Waiting for me!”Creeping and curving across the gray sand,The wavelets came dancing to kiss the fair land,Wooing with murmurs the flower-gemmed lea;“Ah,” cried Miss Pops, “they are whispering to me,Whispering to me!”Darting and flashing the gay sunbeams flewDown from a heaven of midsummer blue,Smiling and dimpling all over the sea;“There,” cried Miss Pops, “they are laughing at me,Laughing at me!”In the green meadows the tall grass stood fair,Waving and tossing in sweet summer air,Dipping and bending around her white knee;“Look,” cried Miss Pops, “it is bowing to me,Bowing to me!”
Down by the seashore Miss Lollipop sat,Dropping the little white shells in her hat;“See!” cried the darling, and shouted with glee,“These pretty things were all waiting for me;Waiting for me!”
Creeping and curving across the gray sand,The wavelets came dancing to kiss the fair land,Wooing with murmurs the flower-gemmed lea;“Ah,” cried Miss Pops, “they are whispering to me,Whispering to me!”
Darting and flashing the gay sunbeams flewDown from a heaven of midsummer blue,Smiling and dimpling all over the sea;“There,” cried Miss Pops, “they are laughing at me,Laughing at me!”
In the green meadows the tall grass stood fair,Waving and tossing in sweet summer air,Dipping and bending around her white knee;“Look,” cried Miss Pops, “it is bowing to me,Bowing to me!”
Miss Lillipop dropping shells into her hat
HAPPY MISS LOLLIPOP.
Over the hills the sweet flower bells rang,High in the tree tops the little birds sang.—Tipsy-top bobolinks bent on a spree;“Hark!” cried Miss Pops. “They are singing to me,Singing to me!”Deep in the roses the bumblebees flew,Sipping their rations of honey and dew,With jewel-necked humming-birds gorgeous to see;“Now,” cried Miss Pops, “they are shining for me,Shining for me!”Sweet little Happy Heart! Pure little soul!Earth would be robbed of its darkness and doleIf with the faith of thy heart I could seeHow much of God’s world is fashioned for me!
Over the hills the sweet flower bells rang,High in the tree tops the little birds sang.—Tipsy-top bobolinks bent on a spree;“Hark!” cried Miss Pops. “They are singing to me,Singing to me!”
Deep in the roses the bumblebees flew,Sipping their rations of honey and dew,With jewel-necked humming-birds gorgeous to see;“Now,” cried Miss Pops, “they are shining for me,Shining for me!”
Sweet little Happy Heart! Pure little soul!Earth would be robbed of its darkness and doleIf with the faith of thy heart I could seeHow much of God’s world is fashioned for me!
Mr. Allen’s early apples were almost ripe. They were uncommonly pretty apples—yellow, streaked with red. How tempting they looked! Ripe apples in August are always tempting.
Mr. Allen knew that, so he had put up a sign to warn the boys off. For boys were very apt to help themselves to ripe apples. Somehow they think that taking a few apples is not stealing.
So, as I said, Mr. Allen put up a board with these words on it—“Trespassers prosecuted.” That meant, if he caught any boy near his apple-tree, he would carry him off to a justice of the peace, for stealing.
Early one morning Tommy Tilden was walking through the lane. He had just driven the cows to pasture and was coming home. He stopped and looked at the apples. How good they did look, to be sure!
He searched on the ground to see if any had dropped into the lane. But he could not find one. Then he looked at the tree again. “I wish I had one,” he thought.
Ah, Tommy, Tommy, the best thing for you to do is to run away as fast as you can!
But Tommy didn’t do any such thing. He kept looking at the apples and wishing he had one. Then he thought, “I’ll just climb up and look at them.”
And now, of course, you can guess what happened. Tommy climbed up, and tried the apples with his thumb to see if they were ripe. Then he reached out to get a fine big one, and the branch broke, and over he went, with the branch, and the sign, and a shower of apples, into Mr. Allen’s garden.
The dog ran out barking furiously, and Mr. Allen, who was just eating his breakfast, came out too, and little May Allen, to see what was the matter.
How ashamed Tommy felt! “Trying to steal some of my apples, were you, eh?” said Mr. Allen, and Tommy could not answer a word.
Little May Allen felt very sorry for him. “Can’t you give him some apples, papa?” she said.
“No,” said Mr. Allen; “if he had come and asked me I would have given him some gladly. But he ought to be ashamed to try to get them in this way. But he can go. I sha’n’t punish him.”
So Tommy picked up his hat and went home. He told his mother all about it.
“Tommy,” she said, “you shouldn’t have stood and looked at those apples, and wished for them, when they were not yours. It is always best to run away from temptation.”
When mother was a young girl, she taught school in Illinois. Very few people lived there at that time. The settlements were far apart. The schoolhouse was built of rough logs, and the chinks were filled with clay and straw. Instead of glass windows, they had oiled paper to let in the light.
One night mother staid late at the schoolhouse, to help the girls trim it with evergreens. It was almost dark when she started for home. She walked very fast, as she felt lonely. Her way lay through a thick, tall woods, and the path was narrow.
All at once she saw a big animal in front of her. What was it? A calf? No; it was a big black bear.
Was she afraid? Of course she was afraid. Shouldn’t you be afraid if you met a big bear in the woods? She had an umbrella in her hand, and she held the point close to the bear’s nose, and opened and shut it as fast as she could. She called him all the bad names she could think of, and he walked off, growling.
He was a brave bear, wasn’t he, to be afraid of an umbrella? Mother hurried on, and just as she got to the edge of the woods, out he came again. Then she opened the umbrella at him again, and shouted as loud as she could, and away he went.
Mother was so tired and frightened she almost fainted when she got home. “I don’t believe it was a bear; it must have been neighbor Clapp’s big heifer,” grandma said.
But just as she said it, they heard a loud squeal. They ran to the door, and there was the bear carrying off a pig. He had jumped into the pen and got it.
Two adult bears and two cubs next to a tree
THE BEARS AT THE ZOÖLOGICAL GARDEN.
Aunt Stella seized the dinner horn and blew a loud blast. That was the way they used to call the settlers together when anything was the matter. There was a great rush for grandfather’s house, and when the men heard about the bear they said. “We must kill him as soon as possible.”
So they had a great hunt for him. They hunted all that night and the next day. They found him, at last, sitting upon the stump of a hollow tree, and they killed him.
What do you think they found in the hollow stump? Three little cubs. The hunters brought the cubs to grandfather’s farm, and uncle Stephen kept one of them for a pet.
My little daughter Anna often asks to hear the story of how the “Bear wanted to eat grandma.” Last summer I took Anna to the Zoölogical Garden. There we saw a family of bears.
One old bear was sitting in a tree, with his arms folded.
“Why, how pleasant he looks,” said Anna. “I don’t believe he would eat anybody.”
“No, I don’t think he would,” I said. “He is tame, and he would rather have a sweet bun to eat than anything else.”
A lizard on a grassy bank
Four ponies playing together
SHETLAND PONIES AT HOME.
“Anna, Anna!” shouted Harry. “Come quick, do! O such a!”—But mamma clapped her hand right over his mouth, and he couldn’t say another word.
“Pat, pat, pat!” Anna heard a queer sound of feet on the veranda, and in at the open windows trotted just the dearest little Shetland pony all saddled and bridled. Harry was leading it. A card hung from the saddle, and on it was printed, “A birthday gift for my little Anna, from Grandpa.”
“There! what do you think of that?” asked Harry.
“I think,” said Anna, as soon as she could speak, “that no little girl ever had such a splendid,splendidgrandpa as mine!”
“Isn’t he, though!” said Harry. “And now I’ll get out Boy Blue and we’ll ride over and thank him.” Boy Blue is Harry’s pony.
Do you know where these lovely little Shetland ponies live when they are at home? They live in the northern islands of Great Britain.
A butterfly
RALPH was walking with papa in the fields, when he saw a red and black butterfly. It was on a thistle.
“I will catch him,” said Ralph. So he walked slowly up to the thistle and put out his hand to catch the butterfly. But the butterfly spread his wings and flew up in the air. In a moment he came back and lighted on the thistle again.
Ralph wanted to try to catch him again, but papa said, “The butterfly is eating his dinner.”
“Does he eat the thistle?” asked Ralph.
“He eats the honey in the thistle,” said papa. “We will sit down and I will show you the honey. Each thistle head has a great many tiny flowers. See, like these!” and papa pulled some of them out. Then he took one of the blossoms between his thumb and finger. He pressed the slender tube till Ralph saw a wee drop of honey at the end. Then Ralph wanted to do the same. So he pressed one after the other of the purple tubes and found a drop of honey in each.
“Does the butterfly squeeze them that way?” asked Ralph.
“No; he has no thumb and finger,” said papa.
“How can he get the honey, then?” Ralph asked.
“He finds it with his long sucker, which reaches to the bottom of these slender tubes.”
“I wish he would eat this honey, papa, now I have got it all ready for him,” said Ralph. “I’ll ask him.”
So he walked slowly towards the butterfly, holding out the little purple blossoms.
“Here’s some honey all squeezed,” he said softly; “don’t you want it, Butterfly?”
But the butterfly opened and shut his pretty spotted wings and then flew away.
RALPH.
Ralph looked sorry. “Never mind,” said papa, “he isn’t used to having little boys wait upon him. He likes to get his dinner himself.”
Two butterflies
Bright the sun! gay the flowers!Gently falls the rain!O the jolly, the blithesome hours,Summer is come again!Eggs in my nest, snails to eat,A whole round world for my home,I sing, I sing, so sweet, so sweet!Summer again is come!
A LITTLE BIRD SAT ON A TWIG.
TOM’S LETTER.This is the letter a little English boy wrote to his American cousin whom he never had seen. He wrote it on his slate in “print letters,” and his sister Bess copied it on paper in “writing letters.”The words were spelled wrong on the slate. He worked four evenings to write it all.THE WAY TOM WROTE IT.“Dear cousin Dick:“You thought I would like to write letters because I am old like you—ten years. But I am not a school-boy, like you. I am a home-boy. I think home-boys don’t study regular, and learn truly like school-boys. Mother says she will tell your mother in her letter about how I have been sick always.“I think I would like to be a school-boy, but I wouldn’t either. School-boys are mean. If the new boy is lame and shy, they think that is big fun.Ido not see how the tricks can be any fun then.“If I was a school-boy I would not think it was fun to trip a lame boy up. I would not think it fun to see him splash down backward into a pool, and when he soused under and wet his lame back ice-cold, I would not call, ‘Cry-baby!’“But that is what the school-boys did that day I went.“So I can’t write handsome letters. Do you trick new boys the first day they come to your school in America? I have had twelve sore throats since, and I wear a scarf in the house.“I can knit, and I can mend, and I color pictures. But that is not learning as school-boys learn. Girls are good to me, and there is a school where they are all girls, but I think I would not like to go to it—would you? Write again.“Your cousin Tom.”A little girl helps Tom away from the bullies
This is the letter a little English boy wrote to his American cousin whom he never had seen. He wrote it on his slate in “print letters,” and his sister Bess copied it on paper in “writing letters.”
The words were spelled wrong on the slate. He worked four evenings to write it all.
THE WAY TOM WROTE IT.
“Dear cousin Dick:
“You thought I would like to write letters because I am old like you—ten years. But I am not a school-boy, like you. I am a home-boy. I think home-boys don’t study regular, and learn truly like school-boys. Mother says she will tell your mother in her letter about how I have been sick always.
“I think I would like to be a school-boy, but I wouldn’t either. School-boys are mean. If the new boy is lame and shy, they think that is big fun.Ido not see how the tricks can be any fun then.
“If I was a school-boy I would not think it was fun to trip a lame boy up. I would not think it fun to see him splash down backward into a pool, and when he soused under and wet his lame back ice-cold, I would not call, ‘Cry-baby!’
“But that is what the school-boys did that day I went.
“So I can’t write handsome letters. Do you trick new boys the first day they come to your school in America? I have had twelve sore throats since, and I wear a scarf in the house.
“I can knit, and I can mend, and I color pictures. But that is not learning as school-boys learn. Girls are good to me, and there is a school where they are all girls, but I think I would not like to go to it—would you? Write again.
“Your cousin Tom.”
A little girl helps Tom away from the bullies
LADY FLORENCE.—From the painting by G. A. Storey, A. R. A.
Janey lying on the lounge, looking out the windowHOW PLEASANT TO LIE ON THE LOUNGE.JANEY’S PRESENT.Janey had been very sick. She had not left her room for a month. But she was much better. Why, she was really hungry this morning! And here comes mamma with a nice breakfast! She looked at the pleasant room while she ate her toast and drank her milk.“It isn’t such an old, headachy place now,” she said. “But please open the windows and let all the sickness out.” Then mamma put on the soft red wrapper and knitted slippers that auntie had made for her to wear on this very day. How pleasant it was to lie on the lounge with her own dearest doll Belinda Button, tucked awayunder the afghan! She could see the children at play through the open window and hear their merry laughter.“Mamma,” she said, “I am so glad to be well. I want to make a present. May I give some things to Bobby’s lame sister? Not Belinda: she knows how sick I have been, and would not leave me. But I want to give her my red leather ball, and white rabbit and the picture book cousin George sent me. And mamma, will you buy a new dolly who has no mother, for Nellie?”Was not that a kind thought of Janey’s? and you may be sure Nellie had them.
Janey lying on the lounge, looking out the window
HOW PLEASANT TO LIE ON THE LOUNGE.
Janey had been very sick. She had not left her room for a month. But she was much better. Why, she was really hungry this morning! And here comes mamma with a nice breakfast! She looked at the pleasant room while she ate her toast and drank her milk.
“It isn’t such an old, headachy place now,” she said. “But please open the windows and let all the sickness out.” Then mamma put on the soft red wrapper and knitted slippers that auntie had made for her to wear on this very day. How pleasant it was to lie on the lounge with her own dearest doll Belinda Button, tucked awayunder the afghan! She could see the children at play through the open window and hear their merry laughter.
“Mamma,” she said, “I am so glad to be well. I want to make a present. May I give some things to Bobby’s lame sister? Not Belinda: she knows how sick I have been, and would not leave me. But I want to give her my red leather ball, and white rabbit and the picture book cousin George sent me. And mamma, will you buy a new dolly who has no mother, for Nellie?”
Was not that a kind thought of Janey’s? and you may be sure Nellie had them.
GOOD OLD ROSE.Rose is our old dog. Her hair is as curly as dandelion stems. Her tail waves like a great feather duster.When we say “Good dog,” it thumps like grandpa’s cane when he walks up-stairs. Now I will tell you why we call her “Good old Rose.”One day papa sent Lily to the store. Lily is six years old. The store is just beyond the railroad track.“Rose, take care of Lily!” said papa. Rose wagged her tail for “yes, sir!” and off they went. She trotted along by Lily’s side. Lily felt very grand to go to the store all alone. She didn’t know that Rose was taking care of her.All at once Rose caught Lily’s dress in her teeth. They were just going to cross the track.“Let me go!” said Lily. But Rose pulled her back hard. Lily looked up and down the track. There was no train in sight. ButRoseheardit shake the ground. “You shall let me go!” cried Lily. “Bad Rose!” and she jerked the dress, and tore it out of Rose’s teeth, and ran. Then Rose jumped right at Lily and threw her down on the ground, and dragged her back again.Just that instant the train thundered round the curve. But Lily was safe. How the men in the train cheered! how the ladies waved their handkerchiefs! Rose hadn’t any handkerchief, but she waved her tail, and that is all a dog can do.Wouldn’t you pat her big head too, and call her “good old Rose?”Rose lying downGOOD OLD ROSE.
Rose is our old dog. Her hair is as curly as dandelion stems. Her tail waves like a great feather duster.
When we say “Good dog,” it thumps like grandpa’s cane when he walks up-stairs. Now I will tell you why we call her “Good old Rose.”
One day papa sent Lily to the store. Lily is six years old. The store is just beyond the railroad track.
“Rose, take care of Lily!” said papa. Rose wagged her tail for “yes, sir!” and off they went. She trotted along by Lily’s side. Lily felt very grand to go to the store all alone. She didn’t know that Rose was taking care of her.
All at once Rose caught Lily’s dress in her teeth. They were just going to cross the track.
“Let me go!” said Lily. But Rose pulled her back hard. Lily looked up and down the track. There was no train in sight. ButRoseheardit shake the ground. “You shall let me go!” cried Lily. “Bad Rose!” and she jerked the dress, and tore it out of Rose’s teeth, and ran. Then Rose jumped right at Lily and threw her down on the ground, and dragged her back again.
Just that instant the train thundered round the curve. But Lily was safe. How the men in the train cheered! how the ladies waved their handkerchiefs! Rose hadn’t any handkerchief, but she waved her tail, and that is all a dog can do.
Wouldn’t you pat her big head too, and call her “good old Rose?”
Rose lying down
GOOD OLD ROSE.
AUNT PATTY’S PETS.Aunt Patty lives in a little bit of a house. It has only two rooms. In summer it is covered with vines—grapevines, morning glories and flowering beans. It is cosey as a bird’s nest and it is brimful of pets.The kittens look up at the birdsPANSY AND PICKWICK PAY A VISIT TO THE BIRDS.If you should call on aunt Patty, just as soon as you stepped into the yard, out would fly Gypsy, barking furiously. But he would not bite you. O, no! He only barks to let aunt Patty know you are coming.Then, when you opened the door, a sharp little voice would say “Good-morning! walk in.” That is the gray parrot, Nick. As you walked into the kitchen, Pansy and Pickwick would come up to you and purr, and put up their heads to be rubbed.In one window you would see two canaries in a cage. In the other would be a cage full of gay little African birds.If it were winter there would be a cage of big birds. But in summer aunt Patty keeps these big birds in the garden near the woodhouse.GYPSY.Where did aunt Patty get so many pets? They were given to her. Everybody knows that she likes pets. A sailor cousin once brought her a turtle. It is quite big enough for you to ride on. This turtle lives in the cellar in the winter, and in the garden in the summer.Somebody sent her a small alligator once, but she did not keep it. She likes pretty pets.“Do your pets ever quarrel?” I asked aunt Patty once.“Never,” said aunt Patty. “Pansy and Pickwick, and the birds and Gypsy, and Methusaleh are all good friends.”Methusaleh is the turtle.
Aunt Patty lives in a little bit of a house. It has only two rooms. In summer it is covered with vines—grapevines, morning glories and flowering beans. It is cosey as a bird’s nest and it is brimful of pets.
The kittens look up at the birds
PANSY AND PICKWICK PAY A VISIT TO THE BIRDS.
If you should call on aunt Patty, just as soon as you stepped into the yard, out would fly Gypsy, barking furiously. But he would not bite you. O, no! He only barks to let aunt Patty know you are coming.
Then, when you opened the door, a sharp little voice would say “Good-morning! walk in.” That is the gray parrot, Nick. As you walked into the kitchen, Pansy and Pickwick would come up to you and purr, and put up their heads to be rubbed.
In one window you would see two canaries in a cage. In the other would be a cage full of gay little African birds.
If it were winter there would be a cage of big birds. But in summer aunt Patty keeps these big birds in the garden near the woodhouse.
GYPSY.
Where did aunt Patty get so many pets? They were given to her. Everybody knows that she likes pets. A sailor cousin once brought her a turtle. It is quite big enough for you to ride on. This turtle lives in the cellar in the winter, and in the garden in the summer.
Somebody sent her a small alligator once, but she did not keep it. She likes pretty pets.
“Do your pets ever quarrel?” I asked aunt Patty once.
“Never,” said aunt Patty. “Pansy and Pickwick, and the birds and Gypsy, and Methusaleh are all good friends.”
Methusaleh is the turtle.
TOMMY AND THE GANDER.TOMMY sometimes visits his old nurse. Nurse lives in a tiny house and keeps geese. Tommy is afraid of the geese. The gander hisses at him and Tommy does not like that.One day Nurse went into the goose-house and brought out ten little goslings. Tommy took one of them in his hands. How pretty they were with their pink feet and fluffy white feathers!“To-morrow, they will go out and eat the tender grass,” said Nurse.“Then I shall catch them,” said Tommy.“The old gander won’t let you,” said Nurse.“Pooh! who’s afraid?” said Tommy very bravely.So the next day Tommy tried to catch a gosling. Nurse had gone down cellar and the gander was in the goose-house. But the mother-goose hissed and the gander heard her and flew out of the goose-house after Tommy.Tommy ran, but the gander caught hold of his clothes and began to beat Tommy’s legs with his wings. The old goose screamed, and Tommy ran and screamed, and the gander ran and screamed and whipped. What a noise they made! and Nurse ran up from the cellar to see what the matter was.Just as Tommy went up the steps the gander bit both his red stockings. Nurse picked Tommy up and shut the door so the gander could not get in. Then she kissed Tommy, and cuddled him, and laughed, and said, “Who’s afraid?”“I am,” sobbed Tommy. “And I want that old gander shut up in the barn. He isn’t good for anything.”“Oh, yes, he is,” said Nurse, “he takes care of the goslings.”The next day Tommy saw something very pretty. He was looking over the gate. He did not dare to go out for fear the gander would bite him again. He heard a gosling cry “peep, peep.” The goose and gander heard it too, and ran and looked down into a deep hole.Tommy used to play this hole was his “well.” Tommy saw the gander stretch his long neck down into the hole and lift out a little gosling, and put it carefully on the grass. Then the mother goose was so pleased that she screamed outright.TOMMY’S NURSE.And Tommy screamed too. “O Nurse, Nurse, that gander is good for something. He lifted a gosling right out of my well. I saw him!”Tommy peeps over the gate at the geeseTOMMY DOES NOT DARE TO GO OUT.
TOMMY sometimes visits his old nurse. Nurse lives in a tiny house and keeps geese. Tommy is afraid of the geese. The gander hisses at him and Tommy does not like that.
One day Nurse went into the goose-house and brought out ten little goslings. Tommy took one of them in his hands. How pretty they were with their pink feet and fluffy white feathers!
“To-morrow, they will go out and eat the tender grass,” said Nurse.
“Then I shall catch them,” said Tommy.
“The old gander won’t let you,” said Nurse.
“Pooh! who’s afraid?” said Tommy very bravely.
So the next day Tommy tried to catch a gosling. Nurse had gone down cellar and the gander was in the goose-house. But the mother-goose hissed and the gander heard her and flew out of the goose-house after Tommy.
Tommy ran, but the gander caught hold of his clothes and began to beat Tommy’s legs with his wings. The old goose screamed, and Tommy ran and screamed, and the gander ran and screamed and whipped. What a noise they made! and Nurse ran up from the cellar to see what the matter was.
Just as Tommy went up the steps the gander bit both his red stockings. Nurse picked Tommy up and shut the door so the gander could not get in. Then she kissed Tommy, and cuddled him, and laughed, and said, “Who’s afraid?”
“I am,” sobbed Tommy. “And I want that old gander shut up in the barn. He isn’t good for anything.”
“Oh, yes, he is,” said Nurse, “he takes care of the goslings.”
The next day Tommy saw something very pretty. He was looking over the gate. He did not dare to go out for fear the gander would bite him again. He heard a gosling cry “peep, peep.” The goose and gander heard it too, and ran and looked down into a deep hole.
Tommy used to play this hole was his “well.” Tommy saw the gander stretch his long neck down into the hole and lift out a little gosling, and put it carefully on the grass. Then the mother goose was so pleased that she screamed outright.
TOMMY’S NURSE.
And Tommy screamed too. “O Nurse, Nurse, that gander is good for something. He lifted a gosling right out of my well. I saw him!”
Tommy peeps over the gate at the geese
TOMMY DOES NOT DARE TO GO OUT.
A VAMPIRE BAT.A NIGHT VISITOR.We were all sitting in the parlor one evening last summer when in flew a creature through the open window. Bump—bump, he went against the wall and ceiling.“A bat! a bat!” shrieked aunt Mary, and ran behind the door. Mamma jumped up into a chair and gathered her skirts about her, just as though it were a mouse. Grace and Mabel ran out of the Room, while papa and Frank and Kate chased the bat.The poor little bat fluttered about, and almost fell into the kerosene lamp chimney. Then he got entangled in the windowdraperies. You know a bat cannot see by a light any more than an owl can. He finally tumbled behind the sofa where papa caught him.Mamma then got down from the chair, aunt Mary came out from behind the door, Grace and Mabel ventured in, and we all gathered about and looked at the bat. How he panted!“Think of being afraid of such a little creature as that,” said Kate scornfully.“But he bites,” said Grace. “Doesn’t he, papa?”“I don’t think he would bite,” said papa. “He’s a good deal more frightened than you were.”“What made him fly into the window then?” asked Grace.“He is out after insects,” replied papa. “He was dazzled by the light from the window, and flew towards it, as all half-blind creatures will.”Our little bats, the bats that live in cool countries, do not harm any one. But there is a big bat, called the Vampire bat, that will do a good deal of mischief, if he can get a chance.The Vampire bat lives in the tropics. It is very comfortable, sleeping out of doors, in the tropics.A traveller will oftentimes swing his hammock on a tree, and sleep in it all night. But he must be careful, and not sleep too soundly.For a Vampire bat may find him; and if he does, he will bite the traveller’s toe and suck his blood; and when the traveller wakes in the morning, he will feel weak and faint from loss of blood.A bat does not perch, and tuck his head under his wing, and sleep like a bird. He has some hooks on his wings, and he just hangs himself up by those, and that’s the way he sleeps!
A VAMPIRE BAT.
We were all sitting in the parlor one evening last summer when in flew a creature through the open window. Bump—bump, he went against the wall and ceiling.
“A bat! a bat!” shrieked aunt Mary, and ran behind the door. Mamma jumped up into a chair and gathered her skirts about her, just as though it were a mouse. Grace and Mabel ran out of the Room, while papa and Frank and Kate chased the bat.
The poor little bat fluttered about, and almost fell into the kerosene lamp chimney. Then he got entangled in the windowdraperies. You know a bat cannot see by a light any more than an owl can. He finally tumbled behind the sofa where papa caught him.
Mamma then got down from the chair, aunt Mary came out from behind the door, Grace and Mabel ventured in, and we all gathered about and looked at the bat. How he panted!
“Think of being afraid of such a little creature as that,” said Kate scornfully.
“But he bites,” said Grace. “Doesn’t he, papa?”
“I don’t think he would bite,” said papa. “He’s a good deal more frightened than you were.”
“What made him fly into the window then?” asked Grace.
“He is out after insects,” replied papa. “He was dazzled by the light from the window, and flew towards it, as all half-blind creatures will.”
Our little bats, the bats that live in cool countries, do not harm any one. But there is a big bat, called the Vampire bat, that will do a good deal of mischief, if he can get a chance.
The Vampire bat lives in the tropics. It is very comfortable, sleeping out of doors, in the tropics.
A traveller will oftentimes swing his hammock on a tree, and sleep in it all night. But he must be careful, and not sleep too soundly.
For a Vampire bat may find him; and if he does, he will bite the traveller’s toe and suck his blood; and when the traveller wakes in the morning, he will feel weak and faint from loss of blood.
A bat does not perch, and tuck his head under his wing, and sleep like a bird. He has some hooks on his wings, and he just hangs himself up by those, and that’s the way he sleeps!
THE NIGHT MONKEY.Isn’t this the very queerest creature you ever saw? He looks as though he had a candle in each eye; and just look at his feet! His eyes are round, like the eyes of owls. Like the owl, this monkey can see well only in the night.These monkeys are called night monkeys. Most other monkeys have long forelegs, but this monkey’s forelegs are short.He is very small; his body is six inches long, his tail is over nine inches.These little creatures sleep in the daytime, and go out in search of food, and to play in the night. They eat insects, lizards and crabs.THE NIGHT MONKEY.They are greedy creatures. They leap at one bound on their prey. They live in warm countries. They make very nice pets.
Isn’t this the very queerest creature you ever saw? He looks as though he had a candle in each eye; and just look at his feet! His eyes are round, like the eyes of owls. Like the owl, this monkey can see well only in the night.
These monkeys are called night monkeys. Most other monkeys have long forelegs, but this monkey’s forelegs are short.
He is very small; his body is six inches long, his tail is over nine inches.
These little creatures sleep in the daytime, and go out in search of food, and to play in the night. They eat insects, lizards and crabs.
THE NIGHT MONKEY.
They are greedy creatures. They leap at one bound on their prey. They live in warm countries. They make very nice pets.
Baby waking upBABY’S NAP.Now Baby’s asleep, mamma can sew—“Rock-a-by-baby—by-lo, by-lo!”Baby’s asleep and Tommy can tellOf the cat that was drown’d in the great big well.“She had the weest,teentiesttoes,And the leastest speck of a blackish nose,With great, great eyes”—“Coo, coo! coo, coo!”Baby’s awake—and listening too!
Baby waking up
Now Baby’s asleep, mamma can sew—“Rock-a-by-baby—by-lo, by-lo!”Baby’s asleep and Tommy can tellOf the cat that was drown’d in the great big well.“She had the weest,teentiesttoes,And the leastest speck of a blackish nose,With great, great eyes”—“Coo, coo! coo, coo!”Baby’s awake—and listening too!
Now Baby’s asleep, mamma can sew—“Rock-a-by-baby—by-lo, by-lo!”Baby’s asleep and Tommy can tellOf the cat that was drown’d in the great big well.
“She had the weest,teentiesttoes,And the leastest speck of a blackish nose,With great, great eyes”—“Coo, coo! coo, coo!”Baby’s awake—and listening too!
HURRAH! HURRAH!Hurrah for old winter, he’s coming at last!The snow flakes are falling so thick and so fast!Hurrah! Hurrah!My skates I have mended, and painted my sled;Now, boys, you will soon see this chap go ahead!Hurrah! Hurrah!I’ve jolly thick mittens, a brand-new fur cap;Now, what does it matter if I get a rap?Hurrah! Hurrah!I’ve got such a secret! We’ve built us a fort!But you must tell no one, ’twould spoil all our sport.Hurrah! Hurrah!Jack, Clement, and Robbie, are garrison men,And we can defend it against any ten.Hurrah! Hurrah!We’ve made heaps of snowballs, each one round and hard,They’re hid away safe in the old schoolhouse yard.Hurrah! Hurrah!Pell-mell through the snow rush the merry boy crowd;While the bare woodlands echo the hearty and loudHurrah! Hurrah!
Hurrah for old winter, he’s coming at last!The snow flakes are falling so thick and so fast!Hurrah! Hurrah!My skates I have mended, and painted my sled;Now, boys, you will soon see this chap go ahead!Hurrah! Hurrah!I’ve jolly thick mittens, a brand-new fur cap;Now, what does it matter if I get a rap?Hurrah! Hurrah!I’ve got such a secret! We’ve built us a fort!But you must tell no one, ’twould spoil all our sport.Hurrah! Hurrah!Jack, Clement, and Robbie, are garrison men,And we can defend it against any ten.Hurrah! Hurrah!We’ve made heaps of snowballs, each one round and hard,They’re hid away safe in the old schoolhouse yard.Hurrah! Hurrah!Pell-mell through the snow rush the merry boy crowd;While the bare woodlands echo the hearty and loudHurrah! Hurrah!
Hurrah for old winter, he’s coming at last!The snow flakes are falling so thick and so fast!Hurrah! Hurrah!
My skates I have mended, and painted my sled;Now, boys, you will soon see this chap go ahead!Hurrah! Hurrah!
I’ve jolly thick mittens, a brand-new fur cap;Now, what does it matter if I get a rap?Hurrah! Hurrah!
I’ve got such a secret! We’ve built us a fort!But you must tell no one, ’twould spoil all our sport.Hurrah! Hurrah!
Jack, Clement, and Robbie, are garrison men,And we can defend it against any ten.Hurrah! Hurrah!
We’ve made heaps of snowballs, each one round and hard,They’re hid away safe in the old schoolhouse yard.Hurrah! Hurrah!
Pell-mell through the snow rush the merry boy crowd;While the bare woodlands echo the hearty and loudHurrah! Hurrah!
Three deer in woodland
SOMEWHERE IN LEAFY FORESTS THE WILD DEER ROAM AND SLEEP.
MOSES GOES TO A CANDY PARTY.“No, Iwon’t!” said Moses. He felt pretty cross, for he did hate to have his hair cut.“Well, then,” said his grandma, “you can’t go to the candy party.”Moses thought a few moments, and then he jumped up and said, “Well, grandma, cut it, then.”Now grandma wasn’t much of a barber. She was apt to cut his hair so it hung in scallops. But this time she wanted to cut it very even, as Moses was going to a party. So she brought out an old wooden bowl that just fitted his head.MOSES HAS HIS HAIR CUT.Then she cut his hair straight to the edge of the bowl, and when she took the bowl off, there it was beautifully even, and banged right down over his forehead!Then he put on the trousers and jacket grandma herself hadmade, and his new shoes, and a blue bow where his collar met, and went off to the party. It was Sally Poole’s party and Sally was one of Moses’ playmates.They boiled molasses in a kettle over a fire in the big kitchen fireplace; then they poured it into buttered pans and set them out in the snow for the candy to cool. It was great fun pulling it, and when Moses went home, Sally gave him two sticks and a big braided piece.“And I think, Moses,” she said, “your hair is banged beautiful.”
“No, Iwon’t!” said Moses. He felt pretty cross, for he did hate to have his hair cut.
“Well, then,” said his grandma, “you can’t go to the candy party.”
Moses thought a few moments, and then he jumped up and said, “Well, grandma, cut it, then.”
Now grandma wasn’t much of a barber. She was apt to cut his hair so it hung in scallops. But this time she wanted to cut it very even, as Moses was going to a party. So she brought out an old wooden bowl that just fitted his head.
MOSES HAS HIS HAIR CUT.
Then she cut his hair straight to the edge of the bowl, and when she took the bowl off, there it was beautifully even, and banged right down over his forehead!
Then he put on the trousers and jacket grandma herself hadmade, and his new shoes, and a blue bow where his collar met, and went off to the party. It was Sally Poole’s party and Sally was one of Moses’ playmates.
They boiled molasses in a kettle over a fire in the big kitchen fireplace; then they poured it into buttered pans and set them out in the snow for the candy to cool. It was great fun pulling it, and when Moses went home, Sally gave him two sticks and a big braided piece.
“And I think, Moses,” she said, “your hair is banged beautiful.”
FAN’S CARDS:—A CHRISTMAS HINT.What do you think I did with all my beautiful Christmas cards?I had saved ever and ever so many, and Easter and New Year’s, and Birthday cards, and a lot of Valentines. I knew I would get more this Christmas, so I thought I would give these away.Then I thought I would paste them in a scrapbook, or tack them up on the wall instead. Then, I thought I would just keep them in a box forever, and show them to my grandchildren; but, when aunt Nora told me about the sick children at the hospital, then I thought I’d give my cards to them. I just made up my mind I would, and so I did.Aunt Nora took me to the hospital, and I wore my new red cloak and hat. I think I looked sweet, too. The hospital is pretty big, and we had to go down a long hall and a long pair ofstairs. I began to be frightened, ’cause suppose one of the doctors made a mistake and thought I was sick!So I held aunt Nora’s hand tight until we came to a big room where there were lots of beds and poor little sick boys and girls in them. Some more children were playing around, and they were sick too. One of them, a wee little mite, was eating bread and molasses, and her face was all sticky. She wanted to kiss me.A pretty nurse in a white cap came up and spoke to us, and aunt Nora told her about my cards. She said I might give them round myself.So I went up to the first cot, and, oh dear! there was such a sick little girl in it. I asked her if she would like a card, and she seemed so delighted that I gave her a beauty, with red and white fringe. Then all the children said, “Gi’me one too, lady! Oh, lady! gi’me one!”Fan and her cards“I THINK I LOOKED SO SWEET.”Nobody ever called me “lady” before, but then I am most grown up now. One child there was just as old as I am; only he was a boy, and he had a big iron thing on his leg. When Igave him a card, he said, “Thank you marm, and merry Christmas!”Then they all waved their cards and cried “Merry Christmas! merry Christmas!” as I went out of the door.I hope I’ll get ever so many cards this Christmas, so I can give them to the hospital children. It’s such fun!
What do you think I did with all my beautiful Christmas cards?
I had saved ever and ever so many, and Easter and New Year’s, and Birthday cards, and a lot of Valentines. I knew I would get more this Christmas, so I thought I would give these away.
Then I thought I would paste them in a scrapbook, or tack them up on the wall instead. Then, I thought I would just keep them in a box forever, and show them to my grandchildren; but, when aunt Nora told me about the sick children at the hospital, then I thought I’d give my cards to them. I just made up my mind I would, and so I did.
Aunt Nora took me to the hospital, and I wore my new red cloak and hat. I think I looked sweet, too. The hospital is pretty big, and we had to go down a long hall and a long pair ofstairs. I began to be frightened, ’cause suppose one of the doctors made a mistake and thought I was sick!
So I held aunt Nora’s hand tight until we came to a big room where there were lots of beds and poor little sick boys and girls in them. Some more children were playing around, and they were sick too. One of them, a wee little mite, was eating bread and molasses, and her face was all sticky. She wanted to kiss me.
A pretty nurse in a white cap came up and spoke to us, and aunt Nora told her about my cards. She said I might give them round myself.
So I went up to the first cot, and, oh dear! there was such a sick little girl in it. I asked her if she would like a card, and she seemed so delighted that I gave her a beauty, with red and white fringe. Then all the children said, “Gi’me one too, lady! Oh, lady! gi’me one!”
Fan and her cards
“I THINK I LOOKED SO SWEET.”
Nobody ever called me “lady” before, but then I am most grown up now. One child there was just as old as I am; only he was a boy, and he had a big iron thing on his leg. When Igave him a card, he said, “Thank you marm, and merry Christmas!”
Then they all waved their cards and cried “Merry Christmas! merry Christmas!” as I went out of the door.
I hope I’ll get ever so many cards this Christmas, so I can give them to the hospital children. It’s such fun!
KITTY’S TRAMP.ONE cold day in January Kitty Blake had dined with grandma and was on her way home through the fields. Perhaps you wonder why Kitty should walk in the fields when the snow was so deep. But there was a hard crust on the snow and she could skip along over it without breaking through. It was great fun.Suddenly she stopped, for there in a slight hollow in the snow lay a tiny bird.“Poor little birdie, it must have frozen to death,” said Kitty softly, and a tear stood in her eye, for she has a tender heart for all little creatures. Then she said “Oh!” and gave a start that sent the tears tumbling over her mufffor just that instant, one of the bird’s legs twitched and the tears would not stay back.“P’r’aps it’s still alive, after all;” she thought, and she picked it up and tucked it into her muff. Her muff was lined with fur.She reached home quite breathless, and when she took out the bird and laid it on mamma’s lap, it gave one little “Peep!” stood on its legs, and then flew up into the ivy that ran all about the south bay window.“What made it make b’lieve dead?” asked Kitty.“It didn’t make believe,” said mamma. “I think it was dizzy. Birds sometimes are dizzy. But if you had not found it, it would soon have frozen to death.”Kitty named him “The Tramp,” and he lived in the bay window with mamma’s plants. This bay window was shut off from the rest of the room by glass doors. It was a sunny and fragrant home for the little chickadee, and a lucky bird he was to have it just then.For on the first day of February it began to snow and snowed three days, and when it cleared there were piles and piles of snow.Great flocks of birds then came about the house searching for food.“We must feed them or they will die,” said mamma. “The snow is so deep they cannot find food.”So Kitty scattered meal and hemp seed on the snow and tied meaty bones on the lilac and rose bushes, and there wasn’t a moment of the day when some blue jay, or snow bird, or chickadee, or robin, was not picking up grain, or pecking at the bones.“That is the way to have birds in winter!” said Kitty.The Tramp did not seem to care a fig about his relations till one day in March when a flock of chickadees flew past,and he fluttered against the windows and begged to be let out.THE TRAMP VISITS CHARLEY.Mamma opened the window and off he flew! Kitty sighed and said, “That is the last of him, I suppose.” But it wasn’t.One sunny May day Charley was sitting up in bed. Charley is Kitty’s brother. He had been sick and the window was open so he could breathe the soft spring air. Suddenly a bird dropped upon the window sill and began to whistle “Chick-a-dee-dee-dee!” so blithely and cock his head at Charley.“It’s the Tramp!” said Charley; and sure enough it was! After that he came almost every day. If the window was shut they opened it for him. Charley used to hide hemp seed and sugar under the edge of the pillows for the Tramp to find. He always found it. Sometimes he would tie sugar up in a paper and the Tramp would peck at it until he got it out.THE TRAMP’S HOME.He would perch on Charley’s shoulder and eat seeds from his mouth.He wanted to build a nest in an old letter box nailed up againsta wall. Ever so many birds, blue birds, wrens and sparrows wanted to build in that box too.The Tramp was a brave little fellow and a good fighter; but he never would have driven the birds off, if Kitty hadn’t helped him.“I love all the birds,” said Kitty, “but the Tramp is my very own bird.”So he and his mate built a nest and raised a family of birds in peace, and now Kitty and Charley call the old letter-box “The Tramp’s Home.”
ONE cold day in January Kitty Blake had dined with grandma and was on her way home through the fields. Perhaps you wonder why Kitty should walk in the fields when the snow was so deep. But there was a hard crust on the snow and she could skip along over it without breaking through. It was great fun.
Suddenly she stopped, for there in a slight hollow in the snow lay a tiny bird.
“Poor little birdie, it must have frozen to death,” said Kitty softly, and a tear stood in her eye, for she has a tender heart for all little creatures. Then she said “Oh!” and gave a start that sent the tears tumbling over her mufffor just that instant, one of the bird’s legs twitched and the tears would not stay back.
“P’r’aps it’s still alive, after all;” she thought, and she picked it up and tucked it into her muff. Her muff was lined with fur.
She reached home quite breathless, and when she took out the bird and laid it on mamma’s lap, it gave one little “Peep!” stood on its legs, and then flew up into the ivy that ran all about the south bay window.
“What made it make b’lieve dead?” asked Kitty.
“It didn’t make believe,” said mamma. “I think it was dizzy. Birds sometimes are dizzy. But if you had not found it, it would soon have frozen to death.”
Kitty named him “The Tramp,” and he lived in the bay window with mamma’s plants. This bay window was shut off from the rest of the room by glass doors. It was a sunny and fragrant home for the little chickadee, and a lucky bird he was to have it just then.
For on the first day of February it began to snow and snowed three days, and when it cleared there were piles and piles of snow.
Great flocks of birds then came about the house searching for food.
“We must feed them or they will die,” said mamma. “The snow is so deep they cannot find food.”
So Kitty scattered meal and hemp seed on the snow and tied meaty bones on the lilac and rose bushes, and there wasn’t a moment of the day when some blue jay, or snow bird, or chickadee, or robin, was not picking up grain, or pecking at the bones.
“That is the way to have birds in winter!” said Kitty.
The Tramp did not seem to care a fig about his relations till one day in March when a flock of chickadees flew past,and he fluttered against the windows and begged to be let out.
THE TRAMP VISITS CHARLEY.
Mamma opened the window and off he flew! Kitty sighed and said, “That is the last of him, I suppose.” But it wasn’t.
One sunny May day Charley was sitting up in bed. Charley is Kitty’s brother. He had been sick and the window was open so he could breathe the soft spring air. Suddenly a bird dropped upon the window sill and began to whistle “Chick-a-dee-dee-dee!” so blithely and cock his head at Charley.
“It’s the Tramp!” said Charley; and sure enough it was! After that he came almost every day. If the window was shut they opened it for him. Charley used to hide hemp seed and sugar under the edge of the pillows for the Tramp to find. He always found it. Sometimes he would tie sugar up in a paper and the Tramp would peck at it until he got it out.
THE TRAMP’S HOME.
He would perch on Charley’s shoulder and eat seeds from his mouth.
He wanted to build a nest in an old letter box nailed up againsta wall. Ever so many birds, blue birds, wrens and sparrows wanted to build in that box too.
The Tramp was a brave little fellow and a good fighter; but he never would have driven the birds off, if Kitty hadn’t helped him.
“I love all the birds,” said Kitty, “but the Tramp is my very own bird.”
So he and his mate built a nest and raised a family of birds in peace, and now Kitty and Charley call the old letter-box “The Tramp’s Home.”