Part 17

“‘All right,’ said Mr. Giant. ‘Make all the homes you like. I’ll carry you to my Cave when I go, and you can have your homes there.’ The Spiders, of course, were delighted.

“And the Bearded Lady turned out to be none other than Peter Gnome himself—dressed in a fine gown of oak leaves and wearing over his face a mask made out of the roots of trees!”

JULY 9: Mrs. Hippopotamus

“Ladies,” said Mrs. Hippopotamus, “are often very vain. They care about their figures and about their looks and about their hats and about their shoes. They care about their dresses and they care about the styles, while I, the fine Mrs. Hippopotamus, am above such things.

“I do not care if my legs are short and my body enormous and all out of proportion to my legs.

“I do not care if my mouth is like a cavern—it is so large. I do not mind it that my skin is so queer, of a funny dark brown color with all sorts of little holes and marks and such all over me.

“I have horribly oily stuff over me too, but I do not mind. What is more, there is great sense to that. That keeps me from getting ill when I go about rivers in Africa where there are all kinds of fevers and much sickness.

“I have great teeth, teeth such as no lady would like, I’m sure. They like little white even teeth, silly little things.

“I’m above such things. I’m not ashamed of my teeth. I like them. They’re good sensible, strong teeth. And I’m not going to worry because they’re irregular. I’m not so vain as to long for regular teeth.

“My teeth and tusks can act like scissors for they’re shaped so as to act that way. That’s better than having white even teeth.

“I live in the water and there I go and look for my food. I don’t go into silly shops and to market as ladies do.

“But there is just one thing I feel in sympathy with ladies about—at least all ladies who are loving mothers—I can understand what it means to have a baby look at its mother out of its lovely baby eyes which are as beautiful as anything in the world. And I can see its love for its mother, and oh, my whole heart goes out with love for it.

“Yes, sometimes when you see the great old ugly hippopotamus you must not only think of the ugliness but you must say, ‘Back of that thick hide, behind that awful jaw and those hideous features, deep down in the heart of a mother hippopotamus there is love and devotion and the beautiful joy of giving of that love to one’s own baby.’

“For a baby hippopotamus is a baby to be loved by a mother hippopotamus.”

JULY 10: The Papoose

“IN a quaint old city,” said daddy, “Indians come into town every Saturday morning with bright-colored baskets and beaded moccasins. They make these things and they make beaded bags and purses and little ornaments.

“They drive oxen instead of horses and the oxen move as slowly as if they did not care in the least if they ever got anywhere at all!

“The Indian women, or squaws as they are called, carry large baskets upon their heads in which are the things they have to sell, smaller baskets, purses and moccasins.

“Sometimes, too, they bring into the town flowers in the summer and in the autumn red berries—for they have a little village of their own out in the country. They are not wild at all and they would not dream of hurting any one.

“One day a little girl named Olive was sitting in her room reading when she heard the front door bell ring. She went downstairs and there was a little Indian girl, not any older than herself.

“‘Will the beautiful lady buy pretty basket?’ asked the little Indian girl.

“Olive was so pleased! She was not nearly big enough to be called ‘lady,’ for she was still very young, and she knew quite well that she was not beautiful at all. She had freckles and a very big mouth, and she had only a little hair which was quite straight. And she was tall for her age and much too thin. But she had never been called beautiful before and though she knew the little Indian girl was quite wrong, still she was delighted.

“‘You are beautiful yourself,’ said Olive. For the Indian girl had long black hair and enormous dark eyes, wonderful dark skin with quite a good deal of color.

“‘Me beautiful?’ she asked. ‘Oh no, me not beautiful at all.’

“They each thought the other beautiful because each was so different.

“Olive bought some baskets for her mother and a little beaded purse for herself and then she said to the little Indian girl:

“‘Won’t you have some cocoa with me?’ The little Indian girl nodded her head and said: ‘Me like goodies!’

“So Olive and the little Indian girl went into Olive’s room and had a fine feast, using blue cups and saucers and eating bread and butter from little blue plates.

“‘Me tell you story?’ asked the little Indian girl. Olive was delighted.

“‘Please,’ she said. And the little Indian girl began:

“‘My brudder, he very big man. He tall and strong and plenty muscle he has.’ She bent her arms to show what she meant by muscle and she stood up with her arms above her to show how tall he was. ‘He build a boat,’ she went on, ‘a red boat—a canoe—and he take it along water so it never make a sound. He know how to paddle so! Never a sound!

“‘We have a river by our hut and he keep the boat by the bank, tied to an old tree. He take us all out in it, but what do you suppose he call that boat?’

“Olive couldn’t guess. She tried many names she thought the boat might be called, but they were all wrong. ‘Tell me,’ she begged.

“‘My brudder, he not call his boat after great strong man, or after warrior or hero; no, he call boat after our little baby brudder—what mudder call the little wee one. He call his boat the Papoose which mean an Indian baby—and he mean our baby. His boat which can go out into the big waves and not upset—which is so strong, like my brudder—it is named the Papoose after the baby!’ Her eyes were dancing with joy but it was time for her to be off.

“She put her basket on top of her head and started off. ‘Will your fadder bring you to see the big Papoose and the little Papoose?’ she asked as she left, and to Olive’s great delight her mother called out:

“‘We will take you some time.’ And both little girls left each other smiling and happy.”

JULY 11: A Feast for the Mice

“I am going to tell you about Mr. Gray Mouse’s feast,” said daddy. “There were biscuits of all sorts and soft cream cheese—such cheese as mice had never had before. Their mouths and paws were covered with it, and one of the little children mice said:

“‘Let’s not wipe off our whiskers. We can do that later on when we may be getting hungry again—perhaps after we’re in bed.’ So all the children mice had very sticky mouths and whiskers. But the big mice said:

“‘Let the children have a good time, for this is a real party.’ And Mr. Gray Mouse was very much pleased that all his guests were having such a good time.

“When the party was over and it was time to go home, Mr. LongTail Mouse said: ‘I’m getting tired of our present home. Let’s all have a change. I have been looking at new homes for a little time to be ready in case we ever wanted to move, and I know of a fine one.’

“‘Let’s go,’ said Grandpa Gray Mouse. ‘I never believe in living in one home too long. That’s why I’m such an old mouse, and have lived so much longer than most. I keep changing homes—and I fool the cats!’

“So all the mice went to a new home—for they knew in a short time after the feast they had just had that a cat would be invited to the house to live!”

JULY 12: Knowing How to Swim

“In a shallow river was a deep hole,” said daddy. “Two little girls were wading in the shallow part. Only one of them could swim, and swimming I think is not only good fun but is something every one should be able to do. Alas, the little girl who could not swim slipped on a stone and fell into the deep water. And had it not been for the one who could swim a little girl would have lost her life.”

JULY 13: Flower Dreams

“The Fairy Queen,” said daddy, “gives sweet dreams to all the flowers. It is part of her work. That is why the flowers are happy and rested and beautiful everywhere. Even out on country roads where there is dust, hard ground and rough places, lovely flowers grow up and are proud and happy as they hear people going by in their automobiles or carriages or walking, exclaiming how wonderful they are.

“Now and again, some little flower turns to one side in the wrong way and it has a bad dream, and then when it wakes up it is not lovely like its brothers or sisters. But that seldom happens. And so, you see, flowers know about sweet dreams—all owing to the Fairy Queen.”

JULY 14: The Naughty Breezes

“One day old Mr. North Wind had been very busy,” commenced daddy. “He had told the Breeze Children that they must be very good because he had so much work to do.

“‘What have you to do?’ they asked him.

“‘I have to go to the woods and knock down all the old branches so they won’t fall on people’s heads! I must attend to many things.’

“Now the Breeze Children were very apt to be naughty. ‘Let’s do some work too,’ they said.

“‘What shall we do?’ one of them asked.

“‘Well, let’s blow about a little and find something.’

“Pretty soon they passed by a window of an office. There were a great many papers lying about on the desks and as one of the little Breeze Children said:

“‘There doesn’t seem to be much to do here,’ the papers began to blow this way and that.

“‘Oh, let’s blow papers,’ they shouted as they saw what had happened. And all that day they went about from window to window blowing all the papers they could find. Such a time they had!

“That is why there are paper weights—all because of the Breeze Children who are almost too fond of fun.”

JULY 15: The Coral Families

“Why aren’t we called coral insects any more, mother?” asked the small coral polyp. Coral is a hard substance used for jewelry and ornaments, you know.

“Because, my dear,” said the mother, “you are a kind of animal, and not insect. It is incorrect to call you an insect, just as it would be wrong to call me one.”

“But somehow,” said the coral polyp, “I would rather be called an insect than a polyp. A polyp doesn’t seem to mean much.”

“It means what you are,” said his mother. “But perhaps that doesn’t mean much. We aren’t big enough to think of what we are called. We just belong to a big group and you and I have grown friendly. That is why you call me mother polyp. But maybe I am your mother polyp after all. It really is too much trouble to think about. We have beautiful homes and so have all the members of our family. Just think, we have an island named after our homes. It is called Coral Island.

“Oh, I do feel so sorry for those who live in wooden houses and in brick houses. How ugly their homes are. Think of wood and brick compared to coral. Now we live and get all our support from our coral homes. And think how wonderful they are? Some are of red coral and some of pink, but all are beautiful.

“Yes, the more I think of it, the more I’m sorry for the creatures who live in houses of wood or brick, ground holes or rough nests.

“Besides, it is so much finer to have a home on the water—a coast home is far nicer than an inland home.”

“Well, I suppose,” said the young polyp, “that it all depends on how one looks at it.”

“I look at it from the standpoint of a polyp,” said the mother polyp proudly.

“To be sure we are wonderful to have such homes,” said the young polyp. “And still finer than that is the fact that we have a shoemaker in the family.”

“What?” asked mother polyp.

“To be sure,” said the young polyp. “There is the coral shoemaker, and he is a relation.”

“That’s so, that’s so,” said the mother polyp. “But of course we don’t wear shoes, and so he isn’t of much use.”

“That’s true,” said the young polyp, “but it is always useful to have one in the family. And it sounds so businesslike to speak of Cousin Coral Shoemaker.”

For there is a little creature with just that name and he is a cousin of our friends who live in the coral reefs.

And no wonder the coral families boast and brag of the homes they live in, for very few of us could even dream of living in a jeweled home. But after all, for people and animals a coral reef would be very uncomfortable, and besides people and animals have so very much more sense!

JULY 16: The Garden Tools

“It’s great fun to be a rake,” said the rake, “and to make everything look nice and tidy. And in the autumn it is such fun raking up all the leaves and getting ready for the big bonfires.

“It is fun, too, to rake the freshly mown grass and to make everything smooth and nice.”

“Ah, but it is such fun to be a trowel,” said the trowel, “and to dig around the garden flowers and to make them grow. They like to be made all nice and comfy, to have the dirt loosened about them to give them a little breathing space.

“They don’t like too much! They want to be held in the earth firmly but with soft, nicely pressed earth about them. And our family attends to that.”

“Ah, but it is nice to be a hoe,” said the hoe, “for I can do such a great deal of work. Just take the work I do with string-beans alone.

“I don’t suppose there could be any string-beans if it weren’t for me. I do such a great deal with the string-beans. I keep them cheerful. I pay them some attention. I make them feel like growing up into nice vegetables. I hoe all about them.”

“But think of all the help I am when any one wants to transplant anything,” said the trowel. “I can dig up the root so that plenty of its dirt comes up with it. Plants don’t like to leave all their soil behind; they like to take a little of it along with them, just as people do when they’re going away for the summer—they like to take along with them some of their photographs and little odds and ends, some of the things near and dear to them.”

“It is the same way with the plants and I help to make that possible.”

“Well,” said the lawn-mower, “I like to make the lawn and the terraces look nice and I do make them look so neat. I’m the lawn’s barber, I am!”

All the other garden tools moved about and laughed in their funny tool way at the joke the lawn-mower had tried to crack.

“Pretty good, pretty good,” they said.

“And a garden fork like me,” said the garden fork, “can do a good deal of work too. I like to do my share.”

“We can do a good deal,” said several balls of string. “We keep things from falling down and we give them a little help and encouragement.”

“So do we,” said some little sticks up which some plants were climbing.

“We try to do our part,” said a little two-pronged fork and a shovel together.

A two-pronged fork is a fork with two prongs instead of three or four as a fork usually has, you will notice.

“But I feel as if I were a great deal of help these days,” said the hoe, “just when those string-beans need so much attention.”

“And I must thin out some of the flowers,” said the trowel. “Some of them are growing so closely together that they won’t live that way and so I am going to separate them and put them in other beds.”

“And you will need my help, too,” said the watering pot, “not to mention the water!”

“That is so,” said the trowel. “But I have a great deal of important weeding to do.”

“And I will have to rake up the weeds that you have dug up in the garden path,” said the rake, “or things won’t look tidy and neat.”

“And I must water all the flowers for there hasn’t been any rain in some time and it’s up to me to do a great deal of work,” said the watering pot.

“I really think,” said the rake, “that we are all useful. We all help the one who owns the garden. Yes, every one of us helps.

“We must all work, each do his part, for each one is needed for something or other.”

“You’re right,” said the hoe; “none of us should boast alone. We should all work together for the good of the garden and for the good of the flowers. Then we will each be doing more, for when creatures and things work together and don’t waste time boasting and arguing then a lot gets finished.”

JULY 17: The Jolly Dust Brothers

“All the dust in the world belongs to the Family of the Dust Brothers—just as every little Toad or Frog belongs to the Toad or Frog family,” said daddy. “One day not long ago, a group of the Dust Brothers had moved to all the window sills in a little house they thought was very nice. Some of them had chosen to hide behind pictures, and under chairs, and on the glass mirrors. The ones who hid on the glass mirrors thought they would have lots of fun because folks could not see themselves so plainly—and then they would see the new-comers to the mirrors. Not, of course, that it was the first time any of them had ever made mirrors their homes—but they hadn’t been back since the last dusting day.

“The best friend of the Dust Brothers when they are wide awake is old Mr. Sun. Then they can all be seen by the lady of the house and what fun it is for them to be scolded at and to dash off again—only to come back whenever they feel like it.

“When they have moved to a new home and are tired and sleepy the dark clouds are their friends, and Mr. Rain; for then it is so dark they can’t be seen and they have a good old sleep.

“But yesterday when the Dust Brothers were having such a frolic it was a beautiful day. Mr. Sun had just decided it was getting up time—and he had dressed slowly and with great care so he would look very fine and stylish.

“As he was ready to peep in the windows to see what was going on he saw a lot of little Gnomes perched all around talking to the Dust Brothers.

“‘Why is it,’ asked Peter Gnome, ‘that you are so anxious to live where you know you’ll be sent away again? Why don’t you choose some home where you can stay?’

“‘Oh, Peter,’ they cried in shocked whispers, ‘you don’t understand us. You truly don’t.’ And if they could have cried without drowning themselves I am sure they would have—for they sounded very sad for a minute. But then they became happy again for they explained it all to Peter Gnome.

“‘You see,’ they continued, ‘if we live somewhere and are not driven away too many of the Family come to join us—and it’s more fun to have lots and lots of homes than a few big ones for all of us. It would make us have a life like a hotel—ah no, we must have a home life—just a few of us living together at a time. Of course, we don’t take up much room, so more of us can live together than most folks.

“‘And as for wanting to have our adventures any different—dear me—we wouldn’t change for all the world. We can tease and tease and tease those big grown-ups with their brooms and dusters. Hurrah, hurrah, what merry lives we lead.

“‘And now, Mr. Sun,’ they said, ‘shine for all you’re worth—so the grown-ups will see us. Then we’ll be off for a scamper.’

“Sure enough, Mr. Sun did just as the Dust Brothers had asked him to, and as the Gnomes were rushing off to call on their old friend Mr. Giant, they heard the Dust Brothers laughing and saying,

“‘They drive us away, but we always come back, We say Hurrah, but they say Alack!’”

JULY 18: The Bad Poison Ivy

“The little white berries of Poison Ivy,” said daddy, “are clustered quite near together on the stem, that is, they are all near each other, and then from the little part of the stem which is the fattest goes up a longer, slimmer stem from which branch out three leaves, all of them pointed somewhat and very clearly and evenly marked with veins.

“Now, sometimes Poison Ivy is to be found in swamps and in ponds and along the sides of the brooks and in the woods, too.

“Keep away from it and from what you think is Poison Ivy.

“A very good way to do each summer is to go to a library and get hold of a big nature book or ask the librarian what book one shall look at in order to see a picture of Poison Ivy. And then remember what it looks like. For the Poison Ivy family is a mean one.”

JULY 19: The Sun Fairies

“Mr. Sun slowly went behind a hill—but what should remain in the sky after he had left but wonderful spots and dots of red—bright, bright red—just the color Mr. Sun had been before he went behind his hill for his night’s sleep,” said daddy.

“‘They must be the Fairies of the Sun,’ said the Fairy Queen. And that is what they were!”

JULY 20: The Meadow Fritillary Family

“I must tell you this evening,” commenced daddy, “a story about the meadow fritillary family.”

“Oh, gracious, daddy!” exclaimed Jack. “Now really!”

“Well,” said Evelyn, “at least I understand it has something to do with a meadow, but it may be a flower, fruit, animal or bird for all I know.”

“None of those,” said daddy laughing. “Guess again.”

“Well, it might be the name of a big rock,” said Jack.

“Wrong,” said daddy. Both the children laughed and started to think of some other creatures and objects which might be in a meadow.

“Of course,” said Evelyn, “there are the meadow larks, but they are birds, and daddy said these fritillaries aren’t birds.” Evelyn had a very hard time calling them by their name and Jack said admiringly: “Well, Evelyn, I wouldn’t dare try that!”

“There are meadow crickets,” said Evelyn.

“Now, we’re coming a little bit closer,” said daddy.

“Oh, do tell us,” urged Jack.

“The meadow fritillaries,” said daddy, “are butterflies!”

“Gracious,” said Evelyn, “that’s a pretty hard name for a little butterfly to carry.”

“They have cousins named the Silver-Spot Fritillary family and the Gulf Fritillary family, but it is of the meadow ones I am going to tell you, and I think it would be easier for us to speak of them as the Meadow family and leave out their long last name.

“Mother Meadow had become a butterfly in June and after four weeks had gone by she laid her little eggs, and in another week there were little caterpillars. After that Mother Meadow knew there would be butterflies; and it would take a month for them to become chrysalides and another week for them to become full-fledged butterflies. So Mother Meadow was much excited.

“And after a time there would be more butterflies and she would be a grandmother, and still more and she would be a great-grandmother. All that would happen in a summer. And there would be still others but they wouldn’t become full-grown until another spring came around. They would stop feeding and sleep throughout the winter as many butterflies will do.

“The latest children of the Meadow Fritillary family in September feed upon the leaves of violets which they think are particularly delicious.

“When it gets cold ahead of time in the autumn the little half-grown butterflies go right to sleep and don’t bother about food, but when the next spring comes they make up for it and eat twice as much.

“Mother Meadow lives in the lowland meadows and near swamps. She loves a home near the spots where blue and white and purple violets grow, for she knows her children love the sweet leaves.

“The Meadow family also takes honey from mint and other plants that grow near the swamps.

“‘Our cousins,’ said Mother Meadow to her brood one day, ‘are very much like us except for the row of silver spots which line their wings. That is why they are called the Silver-Bordered Fritillary family. But we are nice brown speckled butterflies and are as happy as our handsome cousins.’

“‘Have we any more cousins?’ asked the Meadow children butterflies.

“‘Oh, yes,’ said Mother Meadow, ‘there are the Silver-Spot Fritillaries, the Great Spangled Fritillaries and the Regal Fritillaries as well as different kinds of the silver variety. But we are just as happy and contented as any of them, even if we are rather plain and dull and brown for butterflies.

“‘And, my children, you rested on violet leaves when you were little eggs. Some of you rested on the stems of the violet plants, but most of you were right on the beautiful green leaves.

“‘So though we’re rather simple little butterflies, we mothers gave you beds fit for princesses.’