Chapter 2

They wanted to get some lilies to take home. They tried to reach them from the bank, but lilies have a provoking way of growing just out of reach. Then they tried to hook them in with sticks, but got only three or four, without stems. Then they looked for a board to use as a raft.

At last Frank said they must wade for them. He and Fred took off their shoes and stockings, pulled up their trousers, and went in. Fred used a long stick to feel the way before him, so as not to get into water too deep.

This time they were successful, and got just as many lilies as their hands would hold.

Grandma was delighted with them; she said she had not had any lilies from that old pond since grandpa used to bring them to her years and years before.

MRS. F. T. MERRILL.

A LETTER TO MOTHER NATURE.

"You dear old Mother Nature, I am writing you a letter, To let you know you ought to fix up things a little better. The best of us will make mistakes--I thought perhaps if I Should tell you how you might improve, you would be glad to try.

"I think you have forgotten, ma'am, that little girls and boys Are fond of dolls, and tops, and sleds, and balls, and other toys; Why didn't you--I wonder, now!--just take it in your head To have such things all growing in a lovely garden bed?

"And then I should have planted (if it only had been me) Some vines with little pickles, and a great big cooky tree; And trees, besides, with gum-drops and caramels and things; And lemonade should bubble up in all the little springs.

"I'd like to have the coasting and the skating in July, When old Jack Frost would never get a single chance to try To nip our cheeks and noses; and the Christmas trees should stand By dozens, loaded!--in the woods!--now, wouldn't that be grand?

"Ah! what a world it would have been! How could you, madam, make Such lots of bread and butter to so very little cake? I'd have it just the other way, and every one would see How very, very, very, very nice my way would be.

"But, as I cannot do it, will you think of what I say? And please, ma'am, _do_ begin and alter things this very day. And one thing more--on Saturdays don't send us any rain. Good-by. If I should think of something else, I'll write again."

SYDNEY DAYRE.

OUR MAY-DAY AT THE SOUTH.

Out in the woods we went to-day: Mamma and Nannie, Freddie and May, Charlie and I, and good old Tray, Out in the greenwood to romp and play.

To-day, you know, is the first of May; And we meant to be so jolly and gay: And celebrate in so merry a way That we could never forget this holiday.

So first we chose the loveliest queen, The dearest and sweetest that ever was seen; For mamma herself was Her Highness Serene, And we crowned her with rosebuds and evergreen.

Then we kneeled around and vowed to obey All the laws she made, not only to-day, But all the year through. Then she waved a spray Of lilac bloom, and bade us all be gay.

Oh the games we played, and the races we run! The bars we leaped, and the prizes we won! Oh the shouting, the singing, the laughter and fun,-- It were hard to tell who was the happiest one!

Then, rosy and tired, we gathered around Our beautiful queen on the mossy ground; The hungriest group in the land, I'll be bound. As the sandwiches, cookies, and tarts went round.

When the sun was low and shadows were gray, Down from her throne stepped our fair Queen of May, And through the green fields led homeward our way, While we gave her sweet thanks for this beautiful day.

L. A. B. C.

BERTIE'S STORY AND MINE.

"Tell me a story about a bear, A great big bear who lived in a wood And ate little children." "O, my dear, The bears I know of were playful and good, And lived in houses or parks or a pen, And never ate children, or boys, or men.

"There was one snow white, a mother bear,-- With two little babies cunning and queer; Who rolled and climbed and stood on their heads, And fell over, as boys often do, I fear. They hugged their mother, and talked in their way, And kept still when they'd nothing to do or say."

"No, I mean a real bear out in the woods, Who growls and chases you, makes you run, Half scared to death,--and a little boy lost Out in the woods and the night coming on; And the terrible bear with his great fierce eyes, And no one to hear the little child's cries!

"He runs and runs,"--and then Bertie smiles, His climax reached,--"I was only in fun; The bear didn't kill him, because, you see, There was just behind a man with a gun, And he shot! Bang! Down came the old bear; 'Twas his own little boy and he saved him--there!"

"O, I am so glad!" and I give him a kiss; Then silent we sit for a moment or two. "That's a boy's story; yours, you know, For nice little girls very well will do. But boys, you remember, grow up to be men, And can fight the bears to their very den."

AMANDA M. DOUGLAS.

THE PORCUPINE'S QUILLS.

Every animal has an instrument of defence. Some have claws, some hoofs, some spurs and beaks, some powerful teeth and stings.

The porcupine has something queerer than all these. Its body is covered all over with two sets of quills. One set is long, slender, and curved; the other, short and straight, very stout, and with sharp points.

Whenever the porcupine is chased by any animal, and finds he cannot get out of the way, he just stops and bristles up all his quills. Then he backs quickly upon the animal, so that the short, sharp quills may stick into the body. If any happen to be a little loose, they stick so fast in the flesh, like an arrow, that they often make a very bad wound. Remember this whenever you come in the way of the porcupine.

MRS. G. HALL.

LOVE YOUR ENEMIES.

I was watching Willie and Grouse at play on the lawn a few days since. I saw in the poor dumb brute a spirit that is too seldom found in man.

Grouse is an old bird-dog,--a setter. He was bought before Willie came to be his little master. He has soft, brown hair, and is a very clever, good-natured dog. Willie can do anything with him, and he never gets angry; but when Willie hurts him he only looks up and pleads with his large, misty eyes.

They had been playing a long while. Grouse got tired and lay down on the grass. Pretty soon I saw Willie get some water in a basin. I wondered what he was going to do with it. Then he walked close up to Grouse, who lay on the lawn, and threw the water all over him.

It was very unkind for Willie to do so, don't you think it was? I called Willie to me, and told him it was too bad for him to plague such a good old dog. I told him he was a very naughty boy to do so.

Willie said he supposed it was wrong to plague Grouse, but he didn't mean to hurt him much.

So Willie went back to where Grouse lay in the sun drying himself. He patted the poor dog on the head, and asked him if he would forgive him for his unkindness.

Then Grouse, as if he knew what was said, licked Willie's hand. He looked up forgivingly into his face with his dewy eyes, as much as to say, "I am one who can love his enemies."

FRANK. H. SELDEN.

THE MERCIFUL PRINCE.

More than two thousand years ago, in a far-off country, a prince was born. While he was yet a child every care was taken that he should be made happy, and sights of sorrow were carefully kept from him. He was of a very kind, loving, and tender disposition.

But the care even of a king for a prince could not keep away all sorrowful sights. His watchful eyes sometimes saw suffering that filled his heart with pity.

As he was playing with his cousin in the palace ground, a flock of wild swans flew over their heads. His cousin drew his bow and wounded one. It fell at his feet. The prince with pity drew the arrow from the wounded bird, nursed it, and saved its life.

While his child life was one of tenderness and mercy, the years passed by and he became a man. His heart was still filled with pity for every suffering creature. He went from the palace, from home and dear friends, to become poor and a wanderer, that he might help the suffering. It is beautifully told that in his wanderings he came upon a flock of sheep driven along the dusty highway. There was one poor wounded, bleeding lamb, which he took tenderly in his arms and carried. And so through life his pity and his help were given to the weak, whether men or beasts. From his tender and beautiful life, men came to worship him after his death.

The prince was Prince Gautama, of India, who is worshipped as Buddha. Is not his loving and merciful life, from a little child to an old man, a beautiful example to us?

CHARLES T. JEROME

THE OPOSSUM IN THE HEN-HOUSE.

"O George, the circus is coming! the handbills are all up, and such pictures of horses and lions and tigers, and everything!"

Ned jumped about for joy, until George said,--

"But how are you going, Ned? We have no money, and papa said he could not give us any more this month, if he gave us a gun."

"The new gun,--so he did," said Ned, sadly. "But the circus takes so little; they would let us in at half price."

"I will tell you," exclaimed George; "let us sell our white Leghorns to mamma. She wants them, I know, and the money we get for them will take us both to the circus."

This was settled, and at dinner mamma was told of the plan.

"Put them up in the hen-house to-night," she said, "and to-morrow I will look at them and we will fix the price."

The boys went to bed early that night, but had hardly settled themselves to sleep when Melissa, the little servant-girl, rushed in with a light in her hand.

"O, git up, boys, git up! Sompen's in de hen-house, killin' all de fowls."

They jumped up and huddled on their clothes as fast as they could, then ran after Melissa, who held the light while they armed themselves with sticks.

There was a great stir, sure enough, in the hen-house,--fowls were cackling and screaming with fright, and a curious snapping sound came from one corner. When the light fell here they saw a rough, hairy little animal, with small bright eyes like a pig, and a long smooth tail. But, worst of all, one of the beautiful white Leghorns lay before it, all mangled and bleeding. The horrid creature was tearing its soft body, and would hardly stop eating when the children attacked him.

At last Melissa caught up a stick, and killed the little beast with a quick blow. She held it up in triumph by its long tail. It looked very much like a little pig, and had five fingers, like toes, on each foot.

"'Tis a 'possum," said Melissa, "and very good to eat. I's right glad _I_ kill it, cos now 'tis mine."

"You are welcome to it," said Ned, half crying. "What shall we do now our pretty Leghorn rooster is dead? We can't go to the circus."

Next morning they told their tale at the breakfast-table.

"Never mind," said their father; "I think you may go, after all, as I owe you something for killing the opossum. He would have destroyed the rest of the fowls."

"Yes; but, papa, Melissa killed it; we only struck at it."

"Well, I think I must treat the whole party, as all did their best. We will set a trap to-day for the next opossum that may come to see us."

The boys and Melissa went to the circus, and enjoyed all they saw, and Melissa had a fine opossum stew into the bargain.

PINK HUNTER. VIRGINIA.

HOW ROY WENT A FISHING.

Roy had fished in the ditch by the side of the road a great many times; but he had only a bent pin for a fish-hook, and a piece of twine for a line. He never caught any fish there.

When he was six years old his uncle James gave him a real fish-hook and a line, and after a good deal of coaxing his mother said that he might go down the cow-path to the brook and fish for trout.

Uncle James caught a great many trout in the brook.

Alice wanted to go with Roy; and Roy, who is very kind to his sister, asked his mother to let her go.

Alice carried the basket,--a pretty large one. Mary, the cook, told them to be sure and get it full of fish, so that she could fry them for dinner.

How proud and happy they were! Their mother could see them from the window all the time.

When they reached the brook Alice sat down on a rock. Roy put a worm on the hook, and dropped the end of the line into the stream. But it was a long time before he got a bite. At last he thought he felt a nibble.

"I've got one, Ally!" he shouted. "O, such a big fellow! You will have to come and help me pull him out!"

They tugged away on the line, and then they both fell over backwards.

"There he is!" cried Roy. But when they got up and looked, it was not a trout at all. It was only a piece of a black root that broke off and gave them a tumble.

Roy tried again, and after a good while he felt another nibble. He jerked the line out so quickly that the hook caught in the back of Alice's dress. It pricked her shoulder so that she had half a mind to cry.

Roy could not get the hook out of her dress, and they went home for their mother to help them.

Mary laughed at Roy a good deal. She told his uncle James, at dinner-time, that Roy caught the biggest trout she ever saw, and he had to come home for his mother to get it off the hook.

L. A. B. C.

A BEAR-STORY.

"I know a new bear-story," I said to the little folks, Who surely as the twilight falls, Begin to tease and coax.

"And did they live in the forest, In a den all deep and dark? And were there three?"--"Yes, three," I said, "But they lived in the park.

"Let's see! Old Jack, the grizzly, With great white claws, was there; And a mother bear with thick brown coat, And Betty, the little bear!

"And Silver-Locks went strolling One day, in that pretty wood, With Ninny, the nurse, and all at once They came where the bears' house stood.

"And without so much as knocking To see who was at home, She cried out in a happy voice, 'Old Grizzly, here I come!'

"And thereupon old Grizzly Began to gaze about; And the mother bear sniffed at the bars, And the baby bear peeped out.

"And they thought she must be a fairy, Though, instead of a golden wand, She carried a five-cent paper bag Of peanuts in her hand.

"Old Grizzly his red mouth opened As though they tasted good; And the brown bear opened her red mouth To catch one when she could;

"And Betty, the greedy baby, Followed the big bears' style, And held her little fire-red mouth, Wide open all the while.

"And Silver-Locks laughed delighted, And thought it wondrous fun, And fed them peanuts from the bag Till she hadn't another one.

"And is that all?" sighed Gold-Locks. "Pshaw, is that all?" cried Ted. "No--one thing more! 'Tis quite, quite time That little folks were in bed!"

CLARA DOTY BATES.

HEAR US SING SEE US SWING UP IN THE OLD OAK TREE.

O--oh! O--oh! Here we go, Now so high, Now so low; Soon, soon, We'll reach the moon; Hear us sing, See us swing, Up in the old oak-tree.

O--oh! O--oh! To and fro, Like the birds, High and low; See us fly To the sky; Hear us sing, On the wing, Up in the old oak-tree.

L. A. B. C.

SAILOR BABIES.

Birds, and birds, and birds! Have you any idea how many kinds of birds there are? I am very sorry you could not count them all. And such queer fellows many of them are! There are butcher-birds and tailor-birds, soldier-birds--the penguins, you know, who stand on the sea-shore like companies of soldiers, "heads up, eyes front, arms (meaning wings) at the sides"--and sailor-birds. It is about one of the sailor-birds and his babies that I am going to tell you now. She is called the Little Grebe, or sometimes, by her intimate friends, the Dabchick. She is a pretty little bird, about nine inches long, with brown head and back, and grayish-white breast. She and her husband are both extremely fond of the water. "We are first cousins to the Divers!" they sometimes say proudly. "The Divers are never happy away from the water, and neither are we. It is very vulgar to live on land all the time. One might almost as well have four legs, and be a creature at once!" (The Divers are a very proud family, and speak of all quadrupeds as "creatures.") Mr. and Mrs. Grebe have very curiously webbed feet, looking more like a horse-chestnut leaf with three lobes than anything else. They are excellent swimmers and divers; indeed, in diving, the Great Northern Diver himself is not so quick and alert. If anything frightens them, pop! they are under the water in the shaking of a feather; and you may sometimes see them in a pond, popping up and down like little absurd Jacks-in-the-box. As they think the land so very vulgar, of course they do not want to bring up their children on it.

Oh, dear, no! They find a pleasant, quiet stream, or pond, where there are plenty of reeds and rushes growing in the water, and where there is no danger of their being disturbed by "creatures." Then they go to work and make a raft, a regular raft, of strong stems of water-plants, reeds, and arrow-heads, plaited and woven together with great care and skill. It is light enough to float, and yet strong enough to bear the weight of the mother-bird.

While she is building it she sits, or stands, on another and more roughly built raft, which is not meant to hold together long. Mr. Grebe helps her, pulling up the water-plants and cutting off the stems the right length; and so this little couple work away till the raft-nest is quite ready. Then Mrs. Grebe takes her place on it, and proceeds to lay and hatch her eggs. There are five or six eggs, and they are white when she lays them; but they do not keep their whiteness long, for the water-weeds and the leaves that cover the raft soon decay, and stain the pretty white eggs, so that they are muddy brown by the time they are hatched. Well, there little Madame Grebe sits, brooding contentedly over her eggs, and thinking how carefully she will bring up her children, so that they will be a credit to the family of the Divers. Mr. Grebe paddles, and dives and pops up and down about the nest, and brings her all sorts of good things to eat,--worms for dinner, minnows for supper, and for breakfast the most delicate and appetizing of flies and beetles. One day, when he brings his wife's dinner (a fine stickle-back), he finds her in a state of great excitement.

"My dear," she says, "I am going to move. I cannot endure this place another hour. I only waited to tell you about it."

"Why, what is the matter, my love?" asks Mr. Grebe, in amazement.

"Some creatures have been here," answers little madam, indignantly,--"huge, ugly monsters, with horns; cows, I believe they are called. They have torn up the reeds, and muddied the water; and, if you will believe it, Dabchick, one of them nearly walked right over me; then I flew in his face, and gave him a good fright, I can tell you. But the whole thing has upset me very much, and I am determined to leave the place."

"Very well, my love," says the dutiful Dabchick. "Whatever you say is always right!"

Accordingly, when she has finished her dinner, Mrs. Grebe puts one foot into the water, and paddles her raft away as skilfully as if she were an Indian in a birch canoe. She steers it round the corners, and paddles on and on, till she finds another quiet nook, where there is no sign of any "creatures." Then she draws in her paddle-foot, and broods quietly again, while Mr. Grebe, who has followed her, goes to explore the new surroundings, and see what he can pick up for supper.

After a time the muddy brown eggs crack open one by one, and out come the young Dabchicks, pretty, little, fuzzy brown balls. They shake themselves, and look at each other, and say how-d'-ye-do to their mother and father; and then, without any more delay, pop! they go into the water. "Hurrah!" says one. "I can swim!"

PRETTY POLLY PRIMROSE.

Out here papa finds her, Lifts her tenderly, Carries her safe home again,-- Never once wakes she.

When the breakfast all is o'er Polly opes her eyes. "Surely, mamma, I did dream," Says she in surprise, "That I went out to the Park, Where the birdies sing." Mamma smiles; how can she chide The winsome little thing!

AMANDA M. DOUGLAS.

LOOK AT THE BABY.

This way and that way, one, two, three. Come if you want a dance to see; With his chubby hands on his dress so blue, See what a baby boy can do.

One foot up and one foot down; See him try to smile and frown; He would look better, I do declare, With some more teeth and a little more hair.

One, two, three, chick-a-dee-dee! This I take the fact to be, That there never was, on sea nor shore, Such a queer little dance as this before!

AN UNLUCKY SAIL.

When little Sam was six years old, he began to go to school. His teacher gave him a merit card whenever he was good all day. But sometimes he whispered, or made a noise in school, and then he did not get one.

"I will give you a penny whenever you bring home a card," said Sam's father.

After that Sam was very good, and brought home a card almost every day. He saved up his pennies, and when he was seven years old, he bought a pretty toy boat.

Sam's sister Hattie went with him to the duck-pond to see him sail the boat. But soon she grew tired, and went back to the house.

"I wish I had something to put into my boat," thought Sam.

He looked around and saw Hattie's doll under a tree. Hattie had forgotten it when she went to the house. It was a pretty wax doll, with long flaxen hair, and blue eyes that would open and shut. It was dressed in pink silk, and had a little straw hat with a pink feather.

"I will give Miss Dolly a sail," thought Sam.

He put the doll in the boat, and pushed it out on the water.

"Hattie, Hattie!" he cried, "come and see your doll taking a sail."

Just as he spoke an old duck swam against the boat, and gave it such a push that Miss Dolly fell off into the water. Before Sam could reach her with a long stick she sank to the bottom of the pond.

Hattie cried until she had no tears left to shed, and Sam felt like crying, too. He knew he ought not to have taken his sister's doll.

He went on saving his pennies just as he had done before he bought the boat. And when he opened his tin bank on his next birthday he found that he had nearly three dollars. What do you think he bought? I am afraid you would never guess, so I will tell you. He bought a new doll for Hattie, and it was even prettier than the one he had drowned in the duck-pond.