Part 3

That very day Rob came running in to show a bug which he had in a bottle. It was such a queer looking specimen that all became interested in it at once.

“I’ll keep it till papa comes back, he’ll be sure to know!” exclaimed Rob proudly.

“But this is only Tuesday, my boy. You can’t keep it in that bottle all the week without food or drink. It must not be left to starve,” Mrs. Farnum replied.

“We’ll find it something to eat,” cried the children, and off they ran.

But this was not such an easy matter. Mr. Bug would not touch any of the back-yard “vegetables,” as Rob called the variety of weeds that clung to the rotten fence boards or matted the ground of the large garden. In spite of their efforts the bug stuck to the corner of the bottle and refused to be comforted, with food, at least. At last, in despair, Rob ran to the drug store and asked what he could give the bug to “make it die a peaceful death.”

“Just put a layer of pyrethrum in the bottom of your bottle,” answered the druggist, “keep it corked tight, and you can make every bug in your yard die happy. Pyrethrum is a powder that is harmless to people (though of course you must not eat it), but the least smell of it kills insects.”

Rob went home delighted. “I’ll make a collection of bugs, as Sam Ward does of butterflies,” he declared.

“I’d help you if it wasn’t for those horrid spiders,” said Lora. “I’m afraid as death of them ever since I read about a baby dying from a spider-bite.”

“Pshaw! Only a few spiders are poisonous, that is, I think so. Let’s get a library book about them and find out; then may be we’ll have a spider collection, too,” answered the practical brother.

While Rob was getting his bottles ready in which to “electrocute” the bugs and Lora was going to the library after the books, Mrs. Farnum was rummaging in the attic. At last she came down bearing triumphantly aloft a big old-fashioned work-box.

“This you may have for a specimen case,” she said. “If you’ll fit some little drawers in it, Rob, I’ll line them with scraps of velvet and have a glass top put on.”

The children set to work at once, and in vain the neighbors’ children whistled for them on the other side of the high board fence. Lora took the hammock from the front lawn to swing beneath the old apple tree. But the tall weeds reached up to the hammock, so Rob had to go for the old scythe rusting in the fence corner and Baby Jim came dragging a hoe with which to cut them down. Soon they had a large space cleared under and around the apple trees, and when it was carefully raked and swept they ran in to beg their mother for some porch chairs for their “summer parlor.”

Then Rob made for himself a camp-stool that he could carry around and plant among the bushes where he would sit watching for certain bugs to appear and trying to catch them in his bottle. Such patience as it took at first! And how little Rob had of it! But Lora read long, interesting chapters to him out of “The Insect World,” and the specimen case grew so fast and became so fascinating that he found the patience quite worth while.

Whatever Rob did, of course, Baby Jim wanted to do.

“The ant-hill’s mine! I ’scovered it!” he announced at supper one evening. “I’ll make a fence wound it to keep the wolves out, and I’ll have the ants for my sheepses.”

Mrs. Farnum did not look as pleased as the rest.

“I don’t want the ants crawling all over you,” she said.

“No, they won’t; I’ll take my red chair out and sit on it, like Rob does,” he answered, solemnly.

The next day he set to work to build a big circular fence around his ant hill, working as perseveringly as ever any real shepherd did to get his fold ready, and accepting no help from Rob except allowing him to shave up a board to furnish the “palings.” Then, day after day, while Lora swung in the hammock reading aloud to Rob, little Jim sat perched on his red chair herding his ant-flock.

“I feed them and they eat, but they never drink a tiny bit,” he said.

“The ants find their drink away down in the ground, dear,” replied his mother. “Now tell me what you have learned about your sheep.”

“I learned a greedy lesson to-day,” said Baby Jim. “One ant had some food and he met an ant who hadn’t any, and he divided; then he went on some more and met another ant with not any, and he told him to come over to my chair-leg where the cookie was.”

The family all laughed, and still more at Rob, who asked, “Is Jim going to be an ant-hropologist, papa?”

“Perhaps,” answered Mr. Farnum. “Now, children, I have something nice to tell you. I have hired a man to come and help us improve the back-yard. He will cut the weeds and trim up the trees and bushes, and we can plan the walks and flower-beds for next spring.”

“How lovely!” cried Lora.

“I don’t know about that,” said Rob, with an ugly pucker in his forehead. “It will scare all my bugs away. They like weeds and dirty places.”

“Yes,” admitted his papa, “but next spring you will have to go to the woods for new specimens.”

“It won’t scare my specimens away,” laughed Lora. “I’ve been studying birds lately. You see when I become tired of reading I just lie back in the hammock and watch the birds in the tree-tops. They are so very smart, and they do the queerest things!”

So the plan to improve the yard suited all but Baby Jim, who wailed long and loud because his ant city would be destroyed. In vain did the family try to comfort him. He could not be persuaded to abandon his flock.

That night, to Jim’s distress, a cold rainfall set in. “My sheeps will all be dwounded,” he wailed! “I meant to make a ’bwella over them!”

“Look here,” said Lora, drawing him up to the sofa beside her. “This is the picture of the inside of an ant-hill. Here is the top door where you see the ants go in, then they go down to this large room, then sideways to this one, then down, down, down.”

Baby Jim’s eyes opened very wide. He seized the book and studied the drawing long and earnestly.

“Your sheep are all down in the rooms now, having a nice Sunday, I think,” continued Lora. “When winter comes and the snow is all over the ground they won’t come up at all. Haven’t you seen them carrying food in to pile up in one of their rooms?”

“O, and my cookies are all down there!” he cried in great delight.

When the man appeared in the morning Baby Jim marched out with an air of importance, and, after surveying the deserted ant-hill, he turned to the man and said, “My sheeps are all gone into the house to bed, so you can clean up their meadow if you want to.”

And thus it was that the Farnum children began a study which will interest them as long as they live. There is no longer any need to worry about their living at the neighbors; and at last the Farnum back-yard has become not only respectable, but actually a “thing of beauty and joy forever.”

Lee McCrae.

THE AMERICAN ELK OR WAPITI. (_Cervus canadensis._)

Centuries ago, before Columbus sailed the unknown seas which divided him from the New World of his dreams and ambitions, before the birth of De Soto, that adventurer whose discoveries and conquests were to unfold to the Old World the mysteries and fascinations of the new land, through the virgin forest and over the broad plains as yet unknown to the white race, roamed many animals which were widely distributed throughout North America.

They fearlessly sought those localities which would furnish them the most abundant supply of food and water. Unmolested except by their natural enemies, they multiplied and lived a free and untrammeled life.

In these early times the Wapiti or the American Elk, as it is commonly though erroneously called, was probably the most widely distributed quadruped in North America. Its range extended from the northern part of Mexico northward to Hudson’s Bay and from the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean. At the present time, however, but a few wild individuals are left in the United States east of the Mississippi and lower Missouri Rivers. They are occasionally met with in the wilder regions bordering Lake Superior, and it is reported that they are still living in the mountainous regions of Pennsylvania and Virginia. The advance of civilization, causing the cultivation of the lands and the destruction of the forests, has gradually driven this noble animal to the westward and into the wilds of British America. In the states bordering the Pacific Ocean and along the western tributaries of the Mississippi and the Missouri rivers it is still quite common. One writer tells us that “in the rich pasture lands of the San Joaquin and Sacramento it formerly was to be seen in immense droves and with the antelope, the black-tailed deer, the wild cattle and mustangs covered those plains with herds rivalling those of the bison east of the mountains or of the antelope in South Africa.”

The name Wapiti is of Indian origin, and in their language is used to designate a Rock Mountain goat. The name elk so commonly applied to this animal should properly be limited to the moose.

The Wapiti is closely related and belongs to the same genus as the famous stag or red deer (Cervus elaphus) of Europe. This animal, which is smaller than the Wapiti, inhabits the forests of mountainous regions.

In both the Wapiti and the stag the senses of sight, hearing and smell are well developed. They will detect a human being or other animal when some distance away. Though their acute senses protect them, they are said to have poor memories as well as weak powers of comprehension. The Wapiti when listening raises its head and throws forward its erected ears. When entering the forest it will examine the surrounding open country and sniff the wind, seeking possible danger.

The antlers of both Wapiti and stag are much alike, though those of the former are longer and heavier, corresponding to its larger size. The full growth of the horns is attained about the seventh year. The perfect horns are slightly oval in transverse section and thickly covered with warts or slight elevations, which are arranged in longitudinal lines. All the branches or prongs are situated on the front side of the main trunk. “The general color is a light chestnut red, which deepens into a brownish hue on the neck and legs and almost into a black on the throat and along the median line of the under surface of the body. The buttocks are yellowish white, bordered by a dusky band which extends down the posterior surface of the hind legs.” In winter the fur is much thicker and finer and the general color is more gray than in summer. “During the mating season the males have fierce combats, and at this time the male Wapiti emits a peculiar noise, resembling the braying of an ass, beginning with a loud shrill tone and ending in a deep guttural note.” At this time, even when kept in confinement, the male is easily irritated and may attack people. Old males will frequently wage persistent and long battles for supremacy. The antlers are used as the weapons in these duels, and cases have been recorded where these have become so firmly interlocked that they could not be separated, resulting in the death of both individuals.

When food is plentiful and the Wapiti is not constantly disturbed, it will remain in the same region, only straying away during the mating season. They assemble in herds of a greater or less number of individuals. The females and fawns usually remain together; the older females without fawns form another herd and the old males, as a rule, lead a more or less solitary life, except during the mating season.

The Wapiti is more common in low grounds in the vicinity of marshes and well wooded tracts, where it feeds on grasses and the young branches and leaves of the willows and allied trees.

The Wapiti is graceful and proud in its bearing and very light in its movements. This is especially true of the male, which may be described as an animal of “noble carriage.” When moving from place to place it walks rapidly and runs with remarkable swiftness.

A FRIENDLY FIELD MOUSE.

Many stories have been told in the past, tending to show that wild animals when in trouble will display surprising confidence in man, in fact will often seek his assistance when sore beset. The writer, when a boy upon a farm in Minnesota, had an experience with a field mouse which prettily illustrates this trait in wild creatures. It was stacking time and the men were all busy in the fields lifting the shocks of cured grain and stacking them in hive-shaped stacks in the barnyard. The writer, a barefoot boy at that time, had been following the wagons in the field all the morning in a vain endeavor to capture some field mice to take home as pets. He had seen a number of the drab little creatures with their short tails, but had failed to lay his hands upon any of them, owing to the thick stubble and the nimbleness of the mice. At last, as a particularly large shock was lifted, a broken nest was disclosed and the youthful mouser was put upon the qui vive by the slender squeaks of seven or eight hairless little beings that were so young as not to have opened their eyes as yet. The mother disappeared with a whisk, whereupon the young hunter sat down in a critical attitude beside the nest and began to examine his find. He had already put one of the young mice in his trousers pocket when the mother reappeared out of the stubble beside the nest. The boy held his breath and awaited developments. Much to his surprise, the mouse-mother, after carefully examining the ruined nest, entered his pocket, which, as he sat, opened very near to the nest. She seemed to come to the conclusion very quickly that her lost little one had found a very good home, and in about two minutes had transferred the remainder of her offspring from the nest to the pocket, carrying them one at a time in her mouth.

The writer has had many varied experiences with wild animals, but none of them impressed him so strongly as the episode of the mouse-mother in the wheat stubble.

J. Clyde Hayden.

THE OPENING OF WINTER BUDS.

In our cold temperate zone spring means chiefly the changing of the trees from their naked winter condition to the beautiful green leafy appearance of early summer. When stripped of their foliage, trees present to the observant eye a great variety of form. The tall, slender poplar can easily be distinguished from the spreading elm as far as it is seen; as, also, can the rough-barked hickory, with its clinging strips of bark, from the smooth beech.

Usually, the opening of buds seems to take place almost in a single night, but they really open very gradually. Now, these buds are all formed the summer before, but they are so small that they are scarcely noticed in the midst of the many leaves. In the winter, however, they are readily seen; and, then, when the first warm rains fall in the spring they start to swell, and gradually grow larger until, suddenly, they burst through their snug winter coats, and show the tiny, green leaves that have been concealed in the thick, dark, outer covering.

The buckeye bud is one of the largest of the winter buds. It is covered with small, pointed, brown scales, which overlap each other, thus keeping the cold from the more delicate parts within. Underneath these hard outer scales are thinner, half-transparent ones. Their color is a delicate pink, and fine veins line them. Snugly wrapped inside these dainty coats are tiny woolly objects, and when the wool is removed they are found to be miniature leaves folded together so compactly that they occupy very little room. If the bud has grown on the end of the twig a very small flower bud will be enclosed within the leaves; but if it has grown on the side there will be no flower bud. Since these leaves and flowers have all been formed the summer before, it is easy to understand that a few warm days will cause them to grow so that they soon become too large for their winter covering, and suddenly burst it open.

The trees are forced into a period of inactivity by the cold, so, if a twig is broken off, and placed in moderately warm water, in a warm, light place, the buds on it will open just as they do in the spring and their development may be easily watched.

Often a tree will have a countless number of buds; and since growing buds need much light and nourishment only the stronger ones will grow, the weaker ones remaining in a resting state. These resting buds are called dormant buds, the word dormant coming from the Latin word “dormio,” which means “to sleep.” The buds often continue in this dormant state for several years, becoming weaker and weaker all the time, until finally they die. If, however, the stronger buds are killed at any time, as by a late frost, the dormant ones suddenly become active, and grow to take the place of the ones that were destroyed. This shows us how cleverly trees provide substitutes for cases of emergency. These dormant buds then might even be compared to the understudies of the stage.

The regular places for buds to grow are in the axes of the leaves or on the end of the twigs. Buds, however, can be made to grow on unusual places. If the tops of the tree are cut off, as we often see them in the maple, buds will grow on the trunks. Then, if trees are cut down or blown over, buds will grow on the stumps or from the roots.

Thus, we can see by watching the formation and development of buds, and the growth of branches, that trees follow certain fixed laws of nature, modifying these laws only on account of some peculiar external conditions as, for example, nourishment, light, heat or moisture.

Roberta Irvine Brotherson.

THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS.

This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, Sails the unshadowed main, The venturous bark that flings On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings, And coral reefs lie bare, Where the cold sea maids rise to sun their streaming hair.

Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl! Wrecked is the ship of pearl! And every chambered cell, Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell, As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell, Before thee lies revealed,— Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed!

Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread his lustrous coil; Still, as the spiral grew, He left the past year’s dwelling for the new, Stole with soft step his shining archway through, Built up its idle door, Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more.

Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea, Cast from her lap, forlorn! From thy dead lips a clearer note is born, Than ever Triton blew from wreathéd horn! While on mine ear it rings, Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings:

Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, As the swift seasons roll! Leave thy low-vaulted past! Let each new temple, nobler than the last, Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, Till thou at length art free, Leaving thine outgrown shell by life’s unresting sea! —Oliver Wendell Holmes.

THE NAUTILUS AND OTHER CEPHALOPODS.

The highest group of mollusks belongs to the class Cephalopoda, which signifies head-footed, the name being given to them because the head is surrounded by a circle of eight or ten arms, which act both as arms and feet. Let us take as an example of this class the common squid of the Atlantic coast (Ommastrephes illecebrosa), and see how it is formed. The body is long and cylindrical and ends at the tail in a point; the dorsal side of the tail end has a pair of triangular fins. The body is practically a hollow cylinder or sac which contains the vital organs of the animal. The neck is in many genera fastened to this cylinder or mantle by an apparatus which may be likened to a button and button-hole. The head is rounded, has on either side the large, round eyes, and at the end it is split up into ten arms, two of which are longer than the others and are called the tentacular arms. On the inner side, the arms are provided with two rows of suckers, which are little, rounded cups placed on pedicels or stems and which form a vacuum when they touch an object and so cling to it. The two long arms are expanded and club-shaped at the end, each club being armed with four rows of suckers. Directly in the center of the circle of arms the mouth is placed and is provided with two sharp beaks like those of a parrot, only inverted. In addition to these organs there is a large siphon or tube on the ventral side, which is really an organ of locomotion, for it expels water from the mantle cavity with great force, thus rapidly sending the animal backward, its usual direction of propulsion. The body has no shell for protection, but in its place there is a long rod called a pen, which acts as a backbone to support the body of the animal, although of course not in the same sense as the backbone of vertebrated animals. In some cephalopods this pen is hard and stiff but in Ommastrephes it is thin and soft. Such is the general form of a cephalopod, familiar names of which are the Octopus, Squid, Nautilus, Paper-nautilus and Devil-fish. In this class, also, the majority of the shelled species are extinct, only a few living at the present time. The Ammonite is an example of the extinct cephalopods.

The most familiar member of this class to the layman is the Pearly Nautilus, the shell of which may be found on the mantel shelf or what-not of very many dwellings. The shell of the Nautilus is formed in a spiral and is made up of many chambers, all connected by a tube called a siphuncle, the outer chamber containing the animal and hence called the living chamber. The shell is called the “Pearly Nautilus,” but the pearly tints cannot be seen until the outer layer—which is yellowish-white with brown markings—is taken off, when the exquisite, rainbow-like colors may be observed.

While the shell of Nautilus is well known the animal is very rare in our museums, although the natives of the Fiji Islands, New Hebrides and New Caledonia are able to obtain it in large quantities for food and it is highly esteemed by them. During the voyage of H. M. S. Challenger around the world, a living Nautilus was captured by dredging in some three hundred and twenty fathoms near Mateeka Island, one of the Fiji group. This was placed in a tub and it swam about in a lively manner by ejecting water from its funnel. The tentacles, of which there are a larger number than in the other cephalopods, were spread out radially, like those of the sea anemone. The Nautilus lives among the coral reefs, at depths varying from three to three hundred fathoms or more.