Part 3

"Now, Tom, if you will sit down and behave yourself properly, I will give you a practical lecture on ornithology viewed as a science which relates to soup. And that we may start right, I will show you in the first place the origin of the soup."

As he spoke, Jack opened a drawer, from which he took five or six stuffed skins of small dark-colored birds, and after them three curious-looking objects, which he gravely placed on the table before me by the side of the skins. These queer things were irregularly circular, rather broader than my hand, an inch and a half or two inches thick on one side, thinning out almost to an edge on the opposite side. The thickened side was flat, as though it had been formed against some hard substance, from which it had been subsequently torn away.

The one which Jack had placed nearest my hand was dark and dirty, had feathers and filth of all kinds mixed in with its upper surface, and as, like the others, it was sufficiently hollowed out above for such a purpose. I could easily see that it might have been a nest in which a brood of young birds had been hatched and reared. The one next to it was cleaner, free from feathers, and showed no signs of having been used as a nest; but it was of a dingy brown color, and looked generally _dirty_. The third, however, was really beautiful. It was clean, clear as though its fibres were of pure gelatine, and so brilliant that it looked almost white.

"What in the world are these things?"

"Soup," said Jack, with great gravity--"undeveloped soup."

"Do, for pity's sake, talk sense, Jack. Do you mean to tell me that I have been eating such stuff as this?" pointing to the one nearest me.

"Such are not my intentions. You dined, I think, at the establishment of my friend Man Lok, and that sort of article never comes under his hand. This light one is like what you caused to become part of you, and I believe that even your prejudiced appetite can not fail to admit that it was good. But come, Tom, let's commence with the birds, and we will take up the nests afterward. Look at this little fellow, now; dull-colored beggar, is not he? Do you recognize him? Or rather did you ever know any bird which he resembles?"

"No, none that I can remember."

"Look again. Would he look natural whirling down into a chimney just at evening?"

"What! Do you mean a chimney-swallow, Jack?"

"That is precisely what I mean. Yes, Tom, these nests, which are such a peculiar delicacy to Chinese palates, are all made by swallows, and there are, as far as I can trace them, four species which build nests of this sort. They belong to a division of the swallows which are sometimes called swifts, our common chimney-swallow of the United States being included among the swifts. Those which build the edible nests are found only on the islands of this Asiatic region, and mostly on the coasts of the islands, though sometimes they go forty or fifty miles inland. They are all of one genus, _Collocalia_, and this one in my hand, which I shot myself, is the _Collocalia fuciphaga_.

"Four years ago I made a run down to the north coast of Java, and it was there I obtained these, the nests and the birds. The coast on that part of the island is very rocky, and large caves exist in some places, penetrating the rocks quite deeply. I knew that these caves were said to be specially frequented by the swallows, and I found that the report was true, for I visited five or six of them. The birds were very abundant, and I had opportunity to see their nests in every stage of their history. I brought away these three as fair representatives. You can see how they were placed, and this engraving gives you a correct idea of it. They were actually _stuck_ against the perpendicular or sloping wall of rock, precisely as a chimney-swallow sticks his nest against the side of a chimney, his, however, consisting only of a worthless mass of twigs. The Chinamen gather them from these places in boat-loads, and bring them to market. Most of those which are brought here come, I think, from Java and Borneo, though a good supply is obtained also in Ceylon, the species which is found there being the _Collocalia nidifica_. The nests, however, of the different species are sold together, the only distinction being in quality as to cleanness and color.

"Of course the value of the nests, as with all other goods, depends upon the quality. This dirty fellow here, which has evidently done its work, and furnished board and lodging to a rising family, is of small value; and yet even such as these Chinese patience and ingenuity can clean and clear so perfectly that they are fit for use, though never becoming of first class. This next one had not been used for rearing a brood, but it was soiled in some way in the building, and is of about middle grade. But this is what we call a prime article, this light one, and the whiter it is the better price it commands. The best are worth more than their weight in silver."

"But of what do the birds build them, Jack? Where do they get any such material? It is a strange-looking substance."

"No more strange than honey, Tom, and made in the same way. It used to be thought that it was something which the birds gathered from the surface of the sea, but we know now that that is all foolishness. I saw the swallows catching flies as industriously as I ever watched the barn-swallows doing it over the Green in New Haven, and I opened the stomachs of many specimens which I shot, and found them always filled with insects, and with nothing else, so that we know that their food is the same as that of other birds of their tribe.

"But they have a set of glands, corresponding to the salivary glands at the sides of the mouth, which form this peculiar gelatinous material used by them in building their nests. You know the song says, 'Little by little the bird builds its best,' and that is the way they deposit these fine fibres. When first placed they are always clear and nearly white, and of course nests gathered in that condition are highly prized; few, however, are obtained that have not been more or less soiled. I do not understand the mystery of Man Lok's art, but I know that bird's-nest soup is made very much as any other form of such material--say isinglass or gelatine--would be prepared for the table."

THE LITTLE DOLLS' DRESSMAKER.

ADAPTED FROM CHARLES DICKENS.

BY MRS. ZADEL B. GUSTAFSON.--(_Concluded._)

There stood on the door-step a rather overgrown boy, with a great many buttons on his clothes, and a very kind, pleasant face; though not at all handsome.

"Come in, sir," said the little dressmaker. "And who may you be?"

"My name's Sloppy, miss."

"Ought to be Buttons," laughed Jenny. But when Master Sloppy threw back his head and laughed, she exclaimed, "Goodness me! don't open your mouth so wide; if you do, some day it'll catch so, and never come shut again."

The big boy shut his mouth, and looked around the room for all the world as if it had been described to him, and he was trying to verify the description.

"How do you like it?" asked Jenny.

"Pretty well, miss."

"And what do you think of _me_?"

This question confused Master Sloppy. He pulled at his coat buttons, and looked at her foolishly.

"Don't be afraid," said she. "Speak out. You think I'm queer, now, don't you?" She shook her head at him, and the broken-toothed comb with which she had pushed back her hair fell out, so that the shining locks came down and made a golden bower all around the tiny little figure.

"Oh," cried Sloppy, "what a lot of it! and what a color!"

"What did you come for?" asked Jenny, in her gentle voice, after a short silence.

"I heard you dressed dolls, miss," said Sloppy, giving a very odd look at the door.

"Did you, indeed? Do _you_ want a doll dressed?"

"You don't live here all alone, do you, miss?" said Sloppy, with another look at the door.

"No; I live here with my fairy godmother."

"With--with--who did you say, miss?"

"Well, of course you don't understand," Jenny explained. "With my second father, or with my first, really." She shook her head and sighed. "If you'd known a poor child I used to have, you'd have understood me; but as it is, you don't, and you can't."

"You must have been taught a long time, miss, before you could do such nice work, and so pretty," Sloppy said, looking at the gay doll and the quick fingers.

"Never was taught a stitch. Just cobbled and cobbled until I found out how. Did badly at first, but better now."

"And here have I been ever so long a-learning of my trade--cabinet-making," said the boy. "I'll tell you what, miss; I should like to make you something."

"Much obliged," said the little creature, with her sharp look, and her head on one side. "You're a new sort of customer. What would you like to make for me, now?"

Sloppy looked all around the room. "I could make you a handy set of nests to lay the dolls in, or I could make you a handy little set of drawers to keep your silks and threads in, miss, or I could turn you a pretty handle for that crutch. It belongs to him you call your godmother?"

"It belongs to _me_," said Jenny, blushing over her face and neck; "I'm lame."

Sloppy blushed too, for he was a kind boy in spite of his big mouth and his lots of buttons.

"I'm glad it's yours, miss," said he, very quickly, "because I'd rather make it pretty for you than for any one else. Please may I look at it?"

"You'd better see me use it," said Jenny, getting up. "See, this is the way--hoppety-kickety-peg-peg-peg! Not graceful, is it?"

"Why, it seems to me that you hardly want it at all," said Sloppy, very kindly.

The little dressmaker sat down again and gave the crutch to him, thanking him with that soft voice and that better look that gave her a kind of beauty all her own. He measured the handle on his sleeve, and then gently laid the crutch down.

"It would be a real pleasure to me, miss, to fix it. I've heard that you can sing beautiful, and a song would pay me any time a deal better'n money."

"You're a very kind young man, and I accept your offer," said the little creature, with a smile. "I suppose _he_ won't mind," she added, thoughtfully; and then, tossing her head, "if _he_ does mind, why, _he_ may, that's all."

"Meaning him you call your godmother, miss?" Sloppy asked.

"No, no--_him, him, him_," said Jenny, with an odd, amused look at Sloppy's wonder.

"_Him, him, him,_" repeated Sloppy, staring.

"Yes, _him_ who is coming to court and marry me."

"Oh, _him_," said Sloppy. "When is he coming, miss?"

"What a question! How should I know?" cried the little dressmaker.

"Where is he coming from, miss?"

"Why, goodness gracious, boy, how can I tell that either? He's coming from somewhere, I suppose, and he's coming some day. That's all I know about him."

At this Master Sloppy threw back his head and laughed so heartily, and seemed so merry, that the dressmaker began to laugh too, and even Mr. Riah joined in.

"Now," said Jenny, when she had got her breath again, "you haven't told me yet what you've come to see me for.--Oh, godmother! what's that?"

"It's a bride, miss, a bride. And a wagon, a coach, a chariot, miss!" roared Sloppy, who sprang up and threw the door wide open.

There was a most unusual sound of wheels and voices, and in the same moment the little dressmaker, golden bower of hair and all, was caught up in the arms of Lizzie--Lizzie, in a wonderful silk dress, with shining pearls around her neck, and lace to drive a little dolls' dressmaker wild. Behind Lizzie stood a handsome gentleman, thin and pale yet, but with the happiest look Jenny had ever seen in a man's face in all her little watchful life.

"Come," said this gentleman to Lizzie--"come, Mrs. Wrayburn, let me take Miss Golden Hair, and you bring on the godmother."

Sloppy was already out and on the driver's seat. And almost as quickly as I have told it, the pretty coach and the span of dark gray horses--which behaved as if they had been told all about it--were flying away toward London.

In the coach were Mr. Riah, who hardly knew how he came to be there, and the little dressmaker, who sat between the handsome gentleman and Lizzie--her own dear, kind Lizzie; but, oh, how different and how much more beautiful! Jenny thought.

When they had been riding into the city for a little while, the horses stopped in front of a beautiful house, and Lizzie's "him" carried Jenny up the wide stairs, by tall stands of lovely flowers, to a little room. And oh, what a little room it was! The paper on the walls was a tea-rose color; there was a pretty moss-rose carpet, and a little inlaid working bench with little scissors, and a dainty basket with silks and ribbons and velvets pouring out of it, all fit for a dressmaker to the fairies; and a low chair, cushioned to be as soft as a bunch of clover; and a beautiful book of pretty patterns, in which was written: "For my darling Jenny Wren, from her Lizzie-Mizzie-Wizzie."

Such a change--so great and so delightful that any real fairy godmother might have been proud to have made it with her fairy wand--almost took away the little dolls' dressmaker's breath.

But while she sat in the soft low chair, and Lizzie told her how Mr. Wrayburn had been very ill, and how when he got better he had asked to keep his nurse always, and how she had said yes, if she might have her Jenny Wren, and how he had said he couldn't do without Jenny Wren either, the little dressmaker's eyes filled with tears, almost the first happy tears that had ever come into them.

She took Mr. Wrayburn's hand and kissed it, and wound some of her beautiful hair around it, and then twisted some of Lizzie's dark hair around that, and said, "It's a bargain."

Then Lizzie told her that Mr. Riah was going to live in the little house in Church Street, because he liked it best, and he was going to do some nice work for Mr. Wrayburn, and be well paid for it. "And we are going to take tea with him sometimes," said Lizzie, "and he is going to take tea with us very often, my dear, and Sloppy is going to make you the prettiest things, and go on your errands, Jenny love, and you are going to live with us, and be as happy as the day is long, till 'he' comes."

"Oh, he! He can stay away now," said Jenny, with the merriest little laugh. "If he couldn't come when a person was alone, and had trouble, and lots of work to do, he can stay away now as long as he likes."

"And serve him right, miss," said Sloppy, who stood in the doorway, and laughed as merrily as Jenny.

"And, Jenny dear," said Lizzie, after the little dolls' dressmaker had gone to bed under the pretty lace curtains, and both were looking through the window into the pleasant evening sky, "now you can see your long bright slanting rows of children?"

Jenny waited a moment. "Yes, but not here," said she, softly. "By-and-by, when I've gone up to be dead."

THE END.

A LOVING KISS.

A big jar of sweetmeats Stood high on the shelf; All eager to reach it, Climbed up a sweet elf.

A thumb and a finger Were daintily dipped, When all of a sudden A little foot slipped.

Then oh, what a tumble! And oh, what a cry! But you see a big brother Was standing close by.

He saw in a moment Just what was amiss-- A bruised little forehead Was cured by a kiss.

IN THE CORNER.

On the chair an open lesson, open wide at A B C, In the corner little Lettice, just a little girl of three. Little Lettice is not stupid; she can learn if she will try; And she knows her A B C just as well as you or I.

But to-day she really will not think of anything at all But the shining china dishes and the flowers on the wall; When to big A mother pointed, saying, "Letty, this you know," Letty twirled her little fingers and sedately answered, "O!"

This is why our little Lettice in the corner there you see, There to stand until it pleases her to say her A B C; For she knows the printed letters just as well as you or I, And the little miss could say them if she only chose to try.

MONOGRAM PUZZLE.

There is a novelty and ingenuity about this puzzle that can not fail to delight our puzzle-loving readers. Here, under a fanciful disguise, are four lines of poetry. Our artist has taken each word of a simple stanza, and worked the letters into a graceful monogram. Among the monograms may be found four well-known names. Take the four diagonals, beginning with the one in the left-hand corner. The first two and the last give the names of three popular authors, and the third that of a famous play.

There is not a bit of use in being discouraged about it, children; but we are not ashamed to tell you that sometimes we feel just a very little blue when we have to lay aside so many of your dear letters simply because we have not room enough to print them. And then we think of the sweet faces that will be clouded with disappointment, and the provoked faces that will frown, when the Post-office Box comes week after week without the letters John and Jenny are watching for so patiently. But, as we said, it isn't worth while to fret and cry, and so we, for ourselves, make up our minds to enjoy hearing about the goats that draw the little wagons, and the kittens that have such fearful fits, and the birds which are so cunning, and the babies who are so cute. We like to be told, even though we can not print the letters which so inform us, that Molly's little sister Bess is learning to walk, and that Arthur's brother Freddie claps his hands when he looks at the pictures in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE. And if you'll keep the secret, and never whisper it to anybody, we'll tell you that we love just as dearly, and perhaps a wee, tiny morsel more dearly, the boys and girls whose words we do not print, than those whose letters are published in Our Post-office Box.

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CEDAR HILL, PULASKI COUNTY, KENTUCKY.

We have been taking YOUNG PEOPLE since last June; I like it very much. I am ten years old. We live in the country, and our home is called Cedar Hill because it has a great many cedar-trees in the yard, and is on a hill. We have six canaries; they sing very sweetly, and are very nice pets. We have a little black shepherd dog; we call him Jipsy; he is very playful.

SOPHIE M.

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This dear little fellow who feeds the sparrows forgot to print his address at the top of his letter. It is a very nice letter notwithstanding:

I can not write good, so I will have to print my letter. I like HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE better than any of my story-books. I have about two hundred pets. You could never guess what they are, so I will tell you; they are sparrows, and they are so tame that they will come and perch on the window-sill and look for me to feed them. I give them bread every day. Sometimes, if I do not see them, they go around to the dining-room windows, and peep for me to come. They have a nest inside our garret window.

I wish Jimmy Brown would write and tell what he got for his Christmas. I hope his stocking was full. I got lots of nice things from Santa Claus. Good-by.

THEODORE G. H.

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YONCALLA, OREGON.

We have a dog and five cats. Our dog's name is Telephone. He is a good dog to catch rats and mice. We had a merry Christmas. My brother and I milk the cows and chop the wood. I am eleven years old, and my twin brother and I are going to grub all the ground we can this winter, and pa is going to plough it, and give us the proceeds. We have got about an acre and a half grubbed out. We grubbed up a snake four feet long.

GEORGE L.

Grubbing must be hard work, George, and we have no doubt it develops your muscles wonderfully. What are your brother and you going to do with your money when you receive it?

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DANVERS, MASSACHUSETTS.

I am a little girl in the third class in the grammar school, and my age is nine years. I have never seen a letter from Eastern Massachusetts in YOUNG PEOPLE, and so I thought that perhaps you would put mine in print.

Danvers is noted as the birth-place of the celebrated London banker George Peabody; also of General Putnam, who was so famous in the Revolution.

I am very fond of your paper, and wish it came every day.

MAY P. G.

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SALUBRIA, IDAHO.

I have taken HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE for almost a year. I like it very much. I look every week to see what new trouble has befallen poor Jimmy Brown, and if I were his sister I would make him a jacket and stuff it with feathers. I can hardly wait for the papers to come, so as to hear what has become of Rita and Ni-ha-be. I have lived almost all my life in the valleys of Idaho. There are many beautiful sights here, such pretty flowers grow in valley and mountain. One kind grows right near the edge of the snow, away up the mountain-side. One can step right from the blossoms to the snow.

I wish I could have a good school to go to, like so many little girls of my age. I have attended school but nine months in my life. My mother teaches me at home. I have two horses all my own and a saddle, and can ride splendidly, mamma says. I am twelve years old.

ALMA C.

Though deprived of the opportunity of going to school, you have learned to use your eyes, and see the beautiful things which God has made; and if you study and read and profit by your mother's instruction, you will lay a good foundation for the class-room when you are older. It is quite an advantage, too, to ride so well, and the health you gain as you canter over the hills is something to be thankful for.

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PROSPECT, ONEIDA COUNTY, NEW YORK.

I live up here near the North Woods, and it is hard work to get books to read, and the winters are long. My father is a guide, and will send any one who will mail me a good book, a map of the Canada lake region, showing the route from Utica, _via_ Trenton Falls, through the wilderness to the lakes.

My father was in the war, and when the powder-magazine blew up at Yorktown, Virginia, in December, 1863, he found between the walls of an old brick house a curious pipe, made of mahogany, bone, and brass, and he says I may offer it in exchange for a printing-press and type, or a very fine scroll-saw and the attachments.

I am eleven years old, and my pa says your paper is full of the best reading for boys.

ALFRED B. WORDEN.

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ARIVACA, ARIZONA.

My brother takes YOUNG PEOPLE, and we both enjoy reading it very much. We wish to tell you of our pony, which we all love dearly. When we have ridden him, he always wants a piece of bread or some sugar, and if we do not give it to him as soon as he is unsaddled, he opens the side door by turning the knob with his lips. Should we drive him away and shut the door, he immediately opens it again, and stands by it until he gets his piece, when he will go off to eat grass. He is very gentle and knowing. Our mamma writes this for us, as we were afraid you would have too much trouble to study it out if we wrote it.

LENA and CHARLIE B.

What a wise pony! He deserves a large piece of bread with sugar on it; and we hope he never has to wait long for his reward after taking his little master and mistress to ride.

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DETROIT, MICHIGAN.