Part 10

“‘People,’ said the onion haughtily, ‘have family trees, and they aren’t branches, nor are they leaves. Family trees mean ancestors, noble grandfathers and aristocratic grandmothers, high-up great aunts, and snobbish great uncles. A family tree is something every one and everything can’t have. Now you, poor potato, haven’t a family tree at all.’

“But the potato didn’t seem to mind in the least. However, the onion went on talking. ‘Now my young friend, the radishes came first from China—an interesting history has the Radish family. The Horse-Chestnut family came from Asia, and the Mulberry trees from Persia. The Cucumbers came from the East Indies, and the Spinach family came first from Arabia.’

“‘How very fine,’ said the potato in a very sarcastic tone of voice.

“‘You’re right,’ said the onion, not noticing the sarcastic voice; ‘it’s very fine to have a family tree. It’s something, as I said before, that every one can’t have. You never came from afar, Mr. Potato. And neither did the oats, corn, pumpkins and other plain creatures who don’t know what aristocracy and grandeur mean.’

“‘What does it mean?’ asked the potato.

“‘You weren’t paying attention,’ said the onion. ‘It means a family tree and noble grandparents.’

“‘Pooh!’ exclaimed the potato. ‘If a vegetable isn’t good itself it makes no difference where it came from nor what its grandparents were. It’s what a vegetable is itself. Suppose I were a bad potato, which I’m not, I’m thankful to say, would it make any difference because my great-great-grandfather had come from some interesting land across the sea? Not in the least. I’m a good useful vegetable and can be cooked in many ways. That’s what counts in this world. To amount to something yourself. Be a real vegetable! Do what you can to nourish the world! Don’t boast!’

“The onion felt very badly. It had been so proud of its fine history, and often it was unhappy because it was so unkindly talked about.

“‘I try to be good,’ said the onion. ‘I season things and I make many good dishes. I do the best I can.’

“‘Of course you do, little onion,’ said the potato. ‘But next time you make a speech, tell us all to do our best and not boast about what others have done or have been.’

“And the onion always made speeches after that which were not about family trees, and when it was finally cooked every one said: ‘What a nice onion must have been put in this soup.’”

APRIL 15: A Bookworm

“I tried cork biting once,” said one bookworm to another bookworm.

“And yet,” said the other bookworm, “you are known as ‘The Bookworm’ by some people who don’t know much.”

“That is not a great complaint,” said the first bookworm, “to be called ‘The Bookworm’ by people who don’t know much. I love books, but I don’t care for reading. That might sound strange to some folks, but the bookworm families know that being a bookworm doesn’t mean reading words. Once I went through each page of each book along on the shelf in just the very same spot, so that they could have put a ribbon or a string or anything they might have had near at hand through all those many holes and hung the books up instead of standing them on the shelves. I thought they might care to change the books a little, so I did my best to help. That certainly makes me deserve my name!”

APRIL 16: The Wild Black Cherry

“The wild black cherry tree is very handsome,” said daddy.

“Its foliage is something like that of the willow, drooping and looking very dainty and lovely. Its bark is rich and soft, but best of all, is the fruit which is used for making all sorts of delicious goodies, especially wild cherry juice!

“Then medicines and tonics have been made from the fruit and bark and roots of the wild black cherry.

“Cherry-wood is considered by many people to be almost as handsome as rosewood and mahogany, and the old wild black cherry tree is the tree which is used to make beautiful cherry-wood furniture.

“Its cousin, the wild cherry, is greatly enjoyed by birds who simply love to eat the little fruits.

“Another cousin, the choke-cherry, is a tree filled with very bitter fruit but the birds like the choke-cherry trees almost as well as any other and flock about any they may find. The fashionable and rich cousin is the sweet cherry which is cultivated in this country. And these are the cherries which we all like to eat best.”

APRIL 17: Spring Blossoms

“How do you feel?” asked the first apple blossom of a pear blossom on one of the other trees in the orchard.

“Splendidly,” said the pear blossom. “How about yourself?”

“Never better,” said the apple blossom. Now when the other pear blossoms and apple blossoms heard these two talking they all wanted to see what was going on.

And before long they were all out talking and chatting while some of them were having games with the Breeze Brothers who blew them to the ground and made it look as if the snow had come again.

“Did your tree have a secret to whisper to you?” asked the first apple blossom.

“Yes,” answered the first pear blossom. “I was just about to ask you the same question.”

“It’s this way with us,” said the first apple blossom. “You see the farmhouse is very shabby. It has been needing a coat of paint for so many years. And the people who live inside are so poor they can’t afford anything they don’t actually need.

“They feel badly that they cannot afford to have their house painted for it would look so much brighter and prettier.

“Well, it has been this same way for so many, many years, as I said before. And they have had bad luck with the potatoes and the corn every year. Something always happens. Bugs eat up the potatoes and a storm is likely to come and hurt the corn just when it would be growing quite perfect.

“All these things my tree whispered and said, ‘Little blossoms, all of you must be beautiful so for one season in the year the people in the farmhouse will think they have the loveliest of homes. Make their dingy home look like a fairyland.’” And once again the blossoms gave joy to the people in the dingy farmhouse, who every year had the most beautiful place owing to the blossoms.

APRIL 18: The Button Bag

“In a work bag,” said daddy, “there lived a button bag. The button bag was made of blue and white cambric, I believe you call it, and it had a blue silk ribbon around it at the top—I suppose a sort of neck-tie, one might say.

“At any rate, in this bag were loads and loads of buttons. The button bag was a very large button bag, and the work bag was a very large work bag.

“Whenever any one wanted a button, or whenever any one said they had lost a button or that a button was off, the work bag was taken out and then a button was found—always a button for everything that needed a button.

“And when any member of the household wanted to do a little mending, for everything that lacked a button there was always found to be one.

“What did the buttons and the button bag have to say to all this? Were they pleased they were so useful? We shall hear.

“‘When is the party going to be?’ asked the big, white button, with the shining face.

“‘Pretty soon,’ said the little green button, ‘pretty soon.’

“‘I’ve been to lots of parties,’ said a button with a funny little face, a face of some old, old knight or lord or something very noble!

“He had two sisters and a brother and the four of them were all just alike. They had never been used, as nothing had ever come up that needed their time and their presence. They had been in the button bag for years. But, of course, they were kept, for there might be a time, no one knows when or how soon, when the buttons with the faces might be just the ones wanted.

“‘It’s so nice,’ said the one who had just spoken, ‘that we are always sure of a home. It’s so nice. Some would throw us away and would say they had no use for a lot of old buttons taking up room when they were about sure we’d never be used.

“‘But we don’t have to worry, for the mistress of the house who owns the work bag and the button bag and all the buttons, always says that we don’t eat or drink, meaning we don’t cost her any money, and we might be useful some time.

“‘She’s a sensible lady, yes she is. And we’re sure of a home, quite sure of one.

“‘But as I said I have been to a great many parties. Although I have lived in the button bag such a long time, once I lived on a handsome dress, oh, such a handsome dress, and then I went to great balls and parties and all.’

“‘Ah,’ said a big black button, ‘I’ve had a nice life, too. I’ve lived on fur coats. I’ve been on several, and I’ve been out on glorious bracing winter days when the snow came in my face and body all at once!

“‘I’ve been for sleigh-rides where bells jingled and where my button heart leaped for joy!’

“‘And I,’ said a little brown button, ‘have on the other hand been about in the summer. I belonged to a lovely bathing suit which belonged to a little girl, and I used to see the sand made into castles and bridges and rivers, and all sorts of marvelous things, and the lovely ocean would go over me—oh, it was so cool and refreshing!

“‘And all about me were happy, smiling people. Every one was shrieking with delight. If I had known how to shriek I would have called at the top of my voice, if I had a voice:

“‘“Oh, the button is happy, too, the button is so happy!”’

“‘Well,’ said the tan button, ‘we must get ready for the party, as we must frolic all night and then be back in our places by morning, so it won’t confuse or mix any one up who may sew in the morning.’

“‘Right,’ said all the buttons.

“So they all borrowed old pieces of ribbon from the bag and little pieces of thread, and they dressed themselves in fine array, and then they danced and sang in their little button voices, which, of course, aren’t real voices, but only make-believe ones. This was their song:

“‘The buttons are we, happy, gleeful and glad; We are of all kinds and we never are sad. We love those who use us and even those who do not; Ah, yes, indeed, we’re a merry, merry lot!’”

APRIL 19: The Patient Chimpanzee

“Charlie was the name of a chimpanzee in the Zoo,” said daddy, “and he was ill. The keeper went to Charlie with a medicine bottle, carrying a glass and a spoon, too.

“‘I am sorry, Charlie,’ said the keeper, and from the look Charlie gave him he knew he understood.

“‘Good chimpanzee,’ said the keeper. ‘You fine, patient animal. You teach us all a lesson—all of us—for none of us take medicine well, neither children nor even grown-ups.’

“The chimpanzee swallowed the medicine. He tried very hard not to make a face as he did so, but he took it all—every drop—and then he tried to lie quite still. For it was such horrid tasting medicine.

“The keeper still stood by Charlie with the empty glass and bottle in his hand. Then he put them down and took Charlie’s head and stroked it again and again.

“Charlie nudged up against the keeper.

“‘You will make me well, keeper,’ he seemed to say. ‘It is not your fault you had to give me the horrid medicine. Dear keeper, you know that by to-morrow I will be feeling like my old self again.’ For monkeys and chimpanzees are the most patient creatures when they are sick.”

APRIL 20: The Toad

“A toad,” said daddy, “was once sent all the way in a little box from one side of this continent to the other to be the pet of a little sick boy named Paul.

“He was a horned toad, and he was the kind of a toad that needs little else beside air to live on.

“Now, the toad seemed to know he must behave on the journey and he was carried in a little box with air holes punched through it. Of course he needed the air more than anything, and wasn’t he happy when at last he arrived, and could have all the air he wanted. And when Paul saw him he knew from the toad’s honest, ugly face he would be loyal and good, and a real pet.”

APRIL 21: The Pine Needles

“I must thread my needle before I begin my work,” said a little girl as she sat under a big pine tree, with another little girl.

“What’s that I hear?” asked one of the pine needles. “She speaks about threading her needle? Am I her needle, or are you her needle, or who in the world is her needle? And what is thread?”

The poor needles were very nervous. And the other little girl spoke next: “I like to knit better than I do to sew because then I can use four needles.”

“Oh, dear, oh dear,” said the pine needles. “There’s a child who needs four needles. Do you suppose she threads us too?”

They watched for a long time, trying to move away from the children so they would not be used. They whispered to the pine tree saying:

“Blow about and move us away, Sway, swing, swing and sway. For we’ve just this minute heard it said, That into needles they will put thread.”

And the pine tree whispered to the breeze:

“Blow, blow, make me sway, So I can move the needles away. Please, Mr. Wind, would you mind Doing this act so very kind?”

So the wind blew the pine tree and the pine tree’s branches swayed and blew about the little pine needles. But no sooner had all this happened than they saw that the children had other things called needles. They hadn’t wanted pine needles at all!

APRIL 22: The Cat’s Mistake

As I don’t think you will be able to guess right away and as I want to tell you what really happened, I will tell you the place Blackie the cat chose for his nap one Sunday.

It was in the church organ! Well, he had a fine sleep. And he was still asleep when the organist came in and began to play.

Then poor Blackie woke up with a start! At first he didn’t know whether he was having a nightmare or a bad dream, or what was happening.

He moved to one side and the organ gave a curious rumble and a very funny sound and the organist looked as if he didn’t know what the trouble could be, and the people stopped singing and then tried to go on singing without any music.

The organist tried to play again and this awfully queer rumble and burr and buzz was heard once more. So the people went on finishing their singing without any organ.

Of course Blackie tried to move when he felt the pedals moving and he jumped over the inside stops and pedals and made these very strange sounds as he did so.

The organist looked inside the organ and saw nothing. Then, suddenly, he saw two big green eyes staring at him.

“It’s a cat in there,” he said to himself.

Poor Blackie was very much frightened. This was altogether too much. He liked adventures and he liked to explore but this was going too far.

“Yes, that is a cat,” said the organist to himself, and Blackie’s green eyes shone back at him when he said this.

“Come, pussy; come, nice pussy,” said the organist in a whisper. Poor Blackie was so frightened he did not know what to do. Still the organist kept on coaxing and begging Blackie to come out. And after a while Blackie felt less frightened and the soft whisper of the organist sounded very kind and Blackie came out from inside of the church organ.

Oh, how happy he was when he was out and the organist got a little boy to lift him quietly and take him out of the church.

And what joy it was for Blackie to be back home again, to rest and have a nice sleep after his adventure, which had turned out to be such a mistake!

APRIL 23: The Butterfly Who Loved the Sun

“I saw a little boy to-day,” said daddy, “named Robert who has a collection of cocoons. He keeps them on little twigs in a great big box punched full of holes.

“Then he waits to see the butterflies come out. After they have come out he never kills them or tries to keep them, for he thinks that is dreadfully cruel. He knows well that they love to see the sun and be out in the fresh air among the flowers, and he wouldn’t deprive them of that pleasure for anything.

“But one day about a week ago out from a cocoon came the most beautiful pale blue butterfly Robert had ever seen.

“He at once took it out of the box, and off it flew into the warm sun’s rays and lighted upon a small bush which was covered with plum-blossoms and the butterfly acted as if it thought, ‘Well, this may be my first party, but it certainly won’t be my last.’”

APRIL 24: The Horse-Chestnut

“I’d like to know,” said Fairy Ybab, of a magnificent tree which was one mass of huge blossoms, “why you are called the Horse-Chestnut tree? You aren’t eaten by horses, are you? You don’t look like a horse.”

The Horse-Chestnut gave a funny low, whispering laugh.

“I will explain,” said the Horse-Chestnut. “You see, there are some creatures who have engagements all the time. They have to meet a friend at such and such a time or they have to be back for dinner at such a time or they must be in bed at such another time.

“Now, the trees are different. We haven’t any engagements like that. We trees don’t have to go anywhere at all. In fact, we can’t go anywhere. We’re perfectly satisfied, too.

“You’ve never heard of a tree pulling itself up by the roots and crying out in a hoarse, leafy way:

“‘Dear me, I do want to go to a birthday party.’

“In the first place of all I am called a Horse-Chestnut tree because I have marks between my leaves and twigs which look like horseshoes with nails in them.

“That is the answer to the first question. And the answer to the second question is this: No, I am not eaten by horses. My nuts are much too bitter. Children like to play with them, for they’re big and handsome, but they’re not good to eat.

“There are your two questions answered.”

APRIL 25: The Loving Mates

“A little bird had lost her mate,” said daddy, “and was very sad. A sudden storm had come up when she was out, but when the storm blew over she found her way back to the dear mate who was looking for her.

“‘T-r-i-l-l, t-r-i-l-l,’ her little mate cried, and trembled with joy.

“‘My little mate, my loving little mate,’ she said in her bird language as she gave him a kiss with her little beak.

“And then such a song! Such a song as has seldom been heard before was sung by that happy bird to his little loving mate.”

APRIL 26: The Dandelion

“Two children were walking,” said daddy. “One of them stopped to pick some dandelions.

“‘I love these yellow flowers,’ said the little girl. ‘No one scolds when you pick them. I’ve never owned a garden. But I always get these flowers every spring. And, oh, how I love them! Dear, soft, yellow posies,’ she said.

“This was many years ago but from that day the dandelion’s family have always come up in the spring.”

APRIL 27: Butterfly’s Growth

“A butterfly lays an egg on a leaf,” said daddy. “In a little while the egg becomes a caterpillar. And what do you suppose the caterpillar has for its very first meal?”

Both the children shook their heads.

“It eats some of the shell from which it came. It’s a little like moving out of a house and before leaving it entirely, eating it up!

“Then the caterpillar becomes a chrysalis and soon a butterfly. It’s a happy day for the caterpillar when it becomes a beautiful butterfly. No longer will people call it a horrid caterpillar. They will say, ‘Look at the beautiful butterfly!’

“And as the butterfly sips from the little flowers and enters right into the hearts of many of them, it whispers:

“‘I’ve been a long time coming to you, flower, but the hard crawling journey had a wonderful ending.’

“And though the flower does not altogether understand, it partly does, for it whispers: ‘Eat all of my honey and sip my sweetness, for you are my beautiful butterfly visitor!’”

APRIL 28: The Tack and the Nail

“I heard something far from pleasant about you, little Tack,” said the big Nail.

There were many other tacks in the box, but there were also many nails. They were all together in one big white box, and whichever size was wanted could be picked from the lot.

But the Nail which was the biggest of all, or about the biggest, was talking to the Tack which was about the smallest of all the tacks in this big box.

“Well, I suppose you want me to ask you what it is,” said the Tack, moving a little in the box.

“You needn’t ask me if you don’t want to,” said the Nail haughtily.

“But of course I want to; that is only natural,” said the Tack.

“I thought you would want to,” said the Nail, in a hard, metallic voice. Now a metallic voice is a voice which sounds as hard and cold as any metal could be. Of course that was the natural sort of voice for a nail to have—still it was not a very cheerful voice to hear.

“The Master said that he had kept forgetting things all day long. And then he said that he had a head like a tack.”

“Well, what of it?” asked the Tack. “Is that all?”

“That’s all, little Tack,” said the Nail. “Isn’t that enough?”

“I don’t think that was so dreadful,” said the Tack.

“Perhaps you don’t understand,” said the Nail.

“Perhaps not,” the Tack agreed.

“I’d better make sure you understand and so I will tell you. The Master meant that his head was so small and stupid that he couldn’t remember anything, and when he said that his family told him he mustn’t talk so about himself. There, little Tack, you see you have a little stupid head. No head at all, and because it’s such a poor head they’ve made that sad saying about it. There was never such a thing said of a Nail.”

“Maybe not,” said the Tack angrily, “but I can hang just as many pictures as you can. Maybe you are used for big pictures but I am used for small ones—nice little favorites, photographs and so forth. I’m just as useful in my way. Just as useful,” the Tack repeated.

“But what is more,” the Tack continued, “I have very little use for you in saying such a thing. You are supposed to be a friend of mine. A nail is a sort of relation of a tack. I don’t blame the people for saying such things. In their opinion my head is very small, and quite rightly too, and I have not the things they call brains—neither have you. So I don’t blame them in the least.

“But I blame you, Nail, for coming and telling me something to make me unhappy. It’s not doing me any good. I can’t change my head. You’re just like a creature who wants to be praised because you didn’t say the mean thing yourself; but you did worse than that—you repeated it. Bah!” The Tack moved away disgusted, and the Nail moved far to one side of the box, feeling much ashamed.

APRIL 29: Moon’s Misunderstanding

“Are you sad, Mr. Moon?” asked the Fairy Queen. “I feel that something is the matter with you. You don’t seem to be yourself to-night. Won’t you tell us the trouble?”

“I heard you say that once in a blue moon, you liked to have a banquet, and I thought perhaps you knew of another moon, and wanted him to shine for you. I’m not blue—that is I’m not really blue, though now I do feel blue, blue and very sad.”

“Oh, Mr. Moon,” said the Fairy Queen, “I am so glad you told me what the trouble was, for if you hadn’t told me we might have had a very sad misunderstanding.

“Of course we didn’t want another moon, and there is no other moon but you, dear Mr. Moon.

“When people say, ‘Once in a blue moon,’ they mean ‘Once in a great while.’ They don’t mean that they want a blue moon, and can only give such a party when there is a blue moon, or whatever they are planning to give or do.

“Now we are going to have a banquet, and I meant that I thought it was nice to have a banquet once in a great while. That was a silly saying I used, that’s all.”

“I’m so relieved,” said Mr. Moon, smiling once more. “I never heard of another moon, but of course how was I to be sure? Such wonderful things happen all the time. People fly up in the air in airships, and behave just like birds. So I wasn’t sure whether there was another moon or not, and thought perhaps this fellow was blue, being blue in color and feeling blue in spirits are different—eh?”