Part 5

Throwing the snake upon the ground, in an agony of disgust, she felt for the sparrow's egg; but, alas! the empty shell was alone there,--the snake had sucked the egg. "How I wish I had not stolen away the sparrow's egg! The snake has eaten what would have been a pretty bird. I would give the sparrow one of my fairy eggs, if I thought he would like it, but perhaps he would not. Vile snake!" she cried, stepping back as she saw the snake writhing on the ground close by her feet. Her words seemed to give him a death-stroke; he lay still, as though lifeless; she touched him with her foot, but he did not move. There was a little frog-pond near by, and to make sure that he should not come to life again, Lizzy took the snake on a stick, and threw it into the pond and then put another egg into her bosom. As she stood by the pond, lashing the water with the stick, she began to fear she was not quite so delightful a child as she had imagined herself to be, and to wonder what she should do to make the egg hatch a pretty creature. "Let me think," said she, "what have I to do before dinner? I have some sewing to do, and two lessons to study. Now, if I go directly home, and do these things well, instead of staying here to play, perhaps I shall find, after I have finished my tasks, some bright bird, or shining insect, in my bosom. To be sure, that ought not to be my only reason for doing well, and it is not my only reason." This was quite true; for Lizzy began to feel so penitent for the unpleasant things she had done, that she felt a desire to make amends of some sort. "I believe I will," said she, "go directly home, and see how much I can do before dinner. Oh! see the tadpoles! how they run and wag their tails, queer creatures! but I must not stay." A frog then leaped into the water, from amongst the grass at the other side of the pond. "Ah! father long-legs! what a water-nymph you are! I must just go round and see if there are not some more frogs there; I do love so to see them leap into the water with such a plash." And she walked round the water, frightening the frogs from the grass; and when they had all leaped into the water, she thought she must sit down quite still for a few moments, just to see if one would not jump out again. She waited a few moments,--and then a few more,--and then a few more. "Oh, dear!" she cried, "I will wait till one--just one--comes, if I wait till night, I am determined." But it seemed as if the frogs were determined to be revenged upon Lizzy for frightening them in, for not one lifted his head above the water, for more than a quarter of an hour; and Lizzy began to feel a little frightened, and to wish she had made no promise. At length one, more courageous or less obstinate than the rest, leaped upon the bank. "Oh; and there is another!" Now Lizzy must just go and drive them in again, because it is still better to see them leap in: for you then have the pleasure of seeing them swim. As she stood watching them swim, she thought the egg in her bosom felt cold; this reminded her of her good resolution, and she walked straight homewards.

It was dinner time when she reached home.--Ah! where were the lessons and the sewing? and why had not the egg hatched? It was a great while since she put it into her bosom. She did not believe it was going to hatch at all, for it still felt cold, and she thought she would break the shell, and see if there was anything in it. Yes, there was something, and something very pretty, too. A small, shining, green bee; but it was dead. Oh! those amusing frogs!

"Well, this one," said Lizzy, as she put the last egg into her bosom, "shall hatch a beautiful bee; for, as soon as dinner is over, I will sit down and be as industrious as a bee on a summer's morning."

"Lizzy," said her mother, while they were sitting at table, "what was that you put into your bosom, just now?"

"What, mother? when?" asked Lizzy; for she did not feel as if the story she had to tell about the eggs would be one much to her credit, and she was too proud to be willing to tell it.

"As you were sitting down, I observed you put something into your bosom; what was it?"

"Oh, I--just happened to put my hand into my bosom."

"Lizzy, you had something in your hand; I saw it."

"Why, mother, you are mistaken. I--I--"

"Tell me what it was, my child."

"Why, mother, it was only my--my thimble."

As the falsehood came out of Lizzy's mouth, a black bat crept out of her bosom, and, spreading out his filmy wings, fluttered about her head.--Every one started up from the table; Lizzy screamed, and tried to brush the impish-looking creature away, but he persisted in fluttering around her head. She ran from the room; but before she could shut the door behind her, the bat was out also, and sailed round and round her head. Her mother followed her out, and tried to drive the bat away, while she reproved Lizzy for putting such ugly things in her bosom, and expressed very great grief that her daughter should have told a falsehood; and she told her that the falsehood would haunt and trouble her mind till she confessed the truth, and begged forgiveness, just as the black bat now troubled her by flying around her head.

"I will confess all," said Lizzy; and she burst into tears, and throwing herself into her mother's arms, told her morning's adventures, without sparing herself at all.

The bat dropped down dead upon the floor.

"Ah!" said Lizzy's mother, "now, how good it is to confess and beg forgiveness, and how pleasant it is to forgive. See! he is dead, and I trust you will never more put any such 'thimbles' into your bosom."

"Oh, mother," said Lizzy, smiling, as she dried her tears, "I have no doubt it was beginning to be a pretty little bee when I put it in; but I will be one myself now;" and she took her sewing work, and sat down; and happening to look up from her work to the spot where the bat had fallen, she was delighted to see, instead of the bat, a bee creeping along on the floor. Presently he flew up, and crawled on her arm, while she worked.

"Well," said Lizzy, the next morning, "I really did not know I was so bad a girl. Only think of my causing the existence of such disagreeable creatures, when I thought I should bring out such delightful ones. But I will do better, certainly.--I wish I had some more of these eggs." And she resolved to go again into the wood, and seek out the fairy. She had been strolling about for some time, looking for the tree on which she had seen the woodpecker, when she saw, on the ground before her, a brown beetle, or May-bug, lying upon his back. She took him up, and turned him over.

"That is a kind girl, Lizzy," said a small voice.

"Ah! the fairy!"

"How are you, this morning? I have not seen you since last evening, when I was bobbing about in your room, striking my head against the ceiling, and then falling bounce upon the floor. I was lying here on my back, just to see if you would have the kindness to pick me up. And now, tell me, what was the fate of the eggs? Have you got some pretty bird, bright butterflies, and shining beetles, to show me?"

"Ah! I am ashamed of myself," said Lizzy; "all your pretty eggs were wasted, but one."

"No wasted," said the fairy; "you know yourself better than you did yesterday--do you not?"

"Indeed, I do; and therefore I think I shall succeed better to-day, if you will give me some more eggs."

"Oh, yes," said the fairy; and taking the form of a squirrel, she ran up the tree in which the eggs were concealed, and which was not far distant, and presently returned with five of them in her cheeks, which she gave to Lizzy, and then ran up the tree again, and sat chattering on a high bough. As Lizzy walked on her way homewards, she passed by a low meadow, where she saw a little girl gathering cowslips, or May-blobs for greens. She had a peck-basket beside her, and Lizzy asked her if she meant to fill that great basket with greens. The girl told her she should have to fill it twice, and carry them into town to sell. A glad thought leaped into Lizzy's heart. "I mean to try and help her to gather them," said she to herself. When she offered to do it, the little girl seemed quite pleased, and so Lizzy went to work very industriously, and broke off the leaves and buds of the May-blobs, and the little girl's basket began to fill very fast; and they talked together while they picked, and the little girls soon became very well acquainted with each other. The little girl told Lizzy how many brothers and sisters she had, and how many hens and chickens, and what all their names were; and Lizzy told the little girl how many brothers and sisters she had, and how many rabbits and Canary birds, and what all their names were; and the little girl told Lizzy how many funny things her hens and chickens did; and Lizzy told the little girl many knowing things that her canaries did; and Lizzy felt as happy while she picked the May-blobs, as the bright yellow blossoms themselves looked. And now the basket is full, and the little girl is glad her morning's task is done, before the sun is up so high as to be too warm; she is not going to pick another basket till towards night;--and now Lizzy feels the egg-shell crack in her bosom, and she and the little girl laugh to see a full-grown yellow-bird fly out, and, alighting upon Lizzy's shoulder, pour out his pleasant song.

"How he sings!" said the little girl.

"He is thanking me for his existence," said Lizzy; for she had told the little girl all about the fairy eggs. "Come now, let me take your basket, if you are going the same way that I am; for I know you are tired, and I am not."

"That is where I live," said the little girl, pointing to a house about an eighth of a mile distant.

"Ah!" said Lizzy, "that is not much out of my way; I think I shall be home in good time." And she put another egg into her bosom, and taking the basket, accompanied the little girl home, telling her she would perhaps come and help her again at night; and just as the children were saying good-bye, a hen yellow-bird flew out of Lizzy's bosom, and the other one which had followed on, went gladly to meet her. "Ah! there is a little yellow mate for him," cried Lizzy; and she held out her arm, and the hen yellow-bird alighted upon it, and sat there while her mate stood by her side and gave her his prettiest song. The little girl went into the house, and Lizzy, first putting another egg into her bosom, walked on, the two birds flying around her as she went, and the male now and then stopping to trill his notes upon a shrub or tree. When Lizzy reached home, she was met by Hero, her brother's dog, and not in the most pleasant manner imaginable. He had just come out of a muddy ditch, and with his wet, black paws, up he leaped upon her nice, clean apron. "Be still, Hero; down, down, sir," said Lizzy; but Hero's expressions of joy were not so easily quieted. Lizzy took up a stick and was going to beat him, for she felt very angry; but she controlled herself, and throwing down the stick, took hold of Hero's collar and held him down till he became more quiet. When she went into the house the two yellow-birds flew up and alighted upon a cherry tree, which was close by her chamber window, and when she went into her chamber, how pleasant was the song that met her ear! But why did not the other egg hatch! Lizzy waited and waited, and towards night her patience became exhausted, and she broke the shell. Oh, how glad she was it did not hatch! how glad she was that she did not beat poor Hero, because he welcomed her rather too rudely. A dead hornet was in the egg shell.

Lizzy's heart was full of gratitude and love when she laid herself down to rest at night. She loved the little girl she had helped, and she felt penitent and humble when she thought how angry she had been with Hero, and grateful when she thought of the escape she had made; and she felt very grateful and happy when she thought of the two yellow-birds she should have to sing at her window. She took the two remaining eggs in her hands and held them up against her bosom, and while she was going to sleep, sweet thoughts of love and beauty floated about in her mind; and when the song of her yellow-birds awoke her in the morning--Oh, what was she pressing to her bosom? A pair of white doves! and they nestled and cooed in her bosom, and when she arose she let them play around the chamber. Unlike the dark, filmy wings of the bat, their white pinions whistled as they flew, and Lizzy thought, "Oh, how sweet it will be to have these to nestle in my bosom every night, and the yellow-birds to awaken me in the morning!"

ELLEN.

A TRUE STORY.

She looked into my eyes, Her own were filled with tears;-- A loving and a thoughtful child, Disturbed by dreamy fears.

She said--"Oh! mother dear! I dread that I shall die Too soon, and go to heaven alone, And leave _you_ here to cry!"

"My darling! if you do, You will be always blest; The angels there will play with you, And lull you, love, to rest!"

"Oh, no! it may be bright, A pleasant place and fair; But how can I be glad, and play? _I'll have no mother there!_"

"My Ellen! if you stay In this sad world of ours, You'll often weep woe's bitter tears Above its fairest flowers!"

"Dear mother! _yet_ I'd stay; For oh! so much I love you, I'd rather grieve with _you_, on earth, Than joy, in heaven, above you!"

PHILOSOPHY IN COMMON THINGS.

CORKING THE KETTLE SPOUT UP.

MR. W. Tom, have you brought the small cork I told you to bring?

TOM. Yes, father; here it is.

MR. W. Put it in the kettle spout.

TOM. Why, it blows it out again, as soon as it is in.

MR. W. You did not half press it in. Hold it fast--press with all your strength.

TOM. See there--the lid is blown off!

MR. W. Blown off! How is this?--nobody has put gunpowder into the kettle!

ELLA. I am sure there is nothing but clean water; I saw it put in.

MR. W. But, is it not very extraordinary that simple, clean water, should blow the kettle lid off?

TOM. Not at all, father. When you told us about the expansion of cold water below forty degrees, we wondered, because we could not think ice was more bulky than water; but there seems no reason to doubt, that the hotter water becomes, the more room it takes up.

MR. W. How does the heat of the fire do this?

TOM. By expanding it.

MR. W. We know that; but how?

TOM. By driving the particles of steam farther and farther asunder.

MR. W. Precisely. The moment the particles of a drop of water become steam, they occupy eighteen hundred times as much room as they did before.

TOM. And press the lid eighteen hundred times more forcibly than water?

MR. W. Its force is altogether irresistible. If this kettle were composed of iron, an inch thick or more, if steam could not escape, it would burst it with ease.

TOM. Is that the reason why steam boilers burst?

MR. W. It is one reason, but not the principal one. If the water in the kettle were all boiled out, and it was full of steam, and we corked it tightly up, and soldered the lid down, and still kept the fire blazing fiercely about it, it would burst at the weakest part: perhaps the lid would fly off, or the side burst: the steam would rush out, and, if we were near, we might be scalded.

TOM. Then, when a boiler grows old and thin, if the pressure is very great, it bursts in the weakest part?

MR. W. Just so; and ingenious men have made some portion of the boiler of a weaker metal--so that, if it burst from the pressure of the steam, it should hurt no one.

AMELIA. I cannot understand what you mean.

MR. W. You see this kettle on the fire:--if we cork up the spout, and fasten the lid down, and let it boil, it will, probably, blow the cork out, and hit some of you; but if, at the back part of the kettle that touches the chimney, we have a part of it made of lead, or tin, it will explode there.

AMELIA. Oh! I see now.

TOM. But, father, this cannot account for the tremendous explosions, by which the boiler itself is thrown a great distance, and even factories are blown down.

MR. W. I think not. I will try to make you understand this, to-morrow.

THE LOST CHILDREN.

A TRUE STORY.

Philip and Jessie went to school every day through a pretty lane that led to a small school-house in the country. It was not far from their mother's house, and it did not take them many minutes to get there, when they did not stop to play by the way. There were a great many flowers growing in the field, on each side of the path, and they often started a little earlier in the morning, to gather some of the freshest to carry to their kind teacher.

Philip was only eight years old, but he felt like a man, when he thought he was two whole years older than Jessie; and they had a little brother, Willy, who was just three. Jessie was very fond of taking care of "the baby" as Willy was still called. How fast the little fellow used to run when he saw Philip and Jessie coming up the hill from school; and Philo, Philip's dog, would bark, and run quite out of sight in a minute, and then back again, and Jessie would put her basket in his mouth, and he would walk along by her side, while she led Willy to the house.

Willy often asked to go to school with his brother and sister; but Mrs. Morton, their mother, was not willing to let him go in, though his nurse often took him to the door, and then brought him back, for fear he should make a noise and disturb the children at their lessons.

One fine afternoon, it was Philip's birth-day, his mother said they might take Willy with them to see "Aunt Ellen," as they used to call their teacher. He promised to sit still by Jessie, and not speak one loud word; and he kept his promise, too, though he whispered and laughed so much, and looked so pretty, that the little girls did not do much work that afternoon. However, Aunt Ellen dismissed the school half an hour earlier than usual; and as they ran out, shouting and jumping, she stooped and kissed Willy, and told Jessie to say, to his mother, that he had been a very good boy in school, and that she hoped soon to have him for a scholar.

Mrs. Morton had charged Philip to come straight from school, and not stop by the way for anything, and he had promised her to do so;--but the sun was so high, and shone so pleasantly, that they did not walk very fast at first, for Willy would stop to pluck every flower he saw, to carry home, he said, to mamma.

So they went along, and did not attend to the time, but began to gather blackberries, and were delighted to see Willy eat them, and put them into their basket. They were all so busily engaged, that they entirely forgot what their mother had told them when they left home, and had wandered a good way from the path, when Philip looked up, for it was becoming quite dark. The sun had gone under a cloud, and it began to rain; so Philip tied on Jessie's hat, and they both took Willy by the hand, and ran, as they thought, towards home, but it was quite another way. The rain came down, now, very fast, and it thundered at a distance, which frightened them a little. Poor Jessie pulled Willy along, who began to cry, for his shoe was coming off. She could not stop to tie it on; and then they both fell over the stump of a tree, and Jessie spilt all her blackberries over her dress and Willy's apron, which were already wet with the rain. Then Jessie could not help crying too; but Philip helped him up, and told him they would soon get home now.

As they were near the woods, that were very thick, Philip said they had better stop a little while till the rain ceased, and then go on; but it grew so dark, and kept on raining so fast, they could not see which way to go. They sat down on a great stone under a thick grape-vine that kept off the wet, and Jessie took "the baby" in her arms, and tied her handkerchief around his neck.

"I want to go to mamma," he cried. "Take me home,--I want to go to mamma!"

So did Jessie too, but she tried hard not to cry to keep Willy still.

"Do you think we are lost, Philip?" she said.

"I am afraid so," replied Philip. "But, Jessie, I have often read about lost children, and that some good person came to take care of them."

"But if Willy should die like one of those babes in the wood, that nurse Annie sings about, all stained with blackberries--Oh, Philip! we were so naughty to pick blackberries!" and the tears came so fast she could not speak.

The rain was now over, and the stars shone brightly, and Philip thought perhaps they could hear him at home if he called; so he went out of the wood a little way, and called out as loud as he could, "Father! Mother! we are here!" He repeated it till he was quite hoarse, but he could not make them hear. He saw an old shed not far off, and he told Jessie that he thought they had better go there, and stay till some one found them.

They took their brother in their arms between them, and reached the shed, where they found some hay, and Philip made a bed for Jessie and Willy as well as he could, and put his coat over it. Jessie took off Willy's apron and hung it up inside the shed to dry, and took off his wet stockings and one shoe, for he had lost the other, and held his feet in her lap, to keep them warm. As she sat down beside him on the ground, she began singing him to sleep--

"Hush my dear, lie still and slumber, Holy angels guard thy bed, Heavenly blessings without number Gently fall upon thy head!"

She could not sing any more, for she thought of her mother, who sung this hymn to them every night, and of the quiet little room where she slept with Willy so warm and comfortable, and father and mother and Philip near; and now they were all in the dark, and lost in the wood!

Philip was as sad as Jessie, but he did not cry, and he said,--

"Jessie, may be, if we pray to God, he will send some one to find us, and take us home. Don't you remember how often aunt Ellen has told us that God sees little children, and everybody, in the night as well as in the day, and that good angels are around us, though we cannot see them? I was a very naughty boy to stop when mother told me to bring Willy straight home from school, and I will pray to God to forgive me, and find you and me and the baby!"

So they both kneeled down, and took hold of each other's hands, and said their prayers.

Willy was fast asleep now, and Jessie laid down beside him, and put her arm around his neck--but she could not sleep, and hearing a noise close by, she got up and went to Philip, and asked him what he thought it could be.

"I will go and see," said Philip.

He went out, and soon coming back, told her it was only a horse quietly feeding on the short grass that grew in the wood, and that he was tied to the shed by a long rope, to keep him from running away.

"Philip," said Jessie, "don't you think some one may come in the morning to get the horse, and find _us_?"

"Yes! to be sure they will," said Philip; "and I will tell them my name is Philip Morton, and may be they may know my father, and then they can show us the way home."

And so these little children found comfort in thinking they would not be deserted, even though away from their parents, and lost in the thick wood; for their Father in heaven was watching over them, and allowing the good angels to put this thought into their head, to cheer them, so that they were not afraid.