CHAPTER XII.

A VISIT TO THE ZOO.

The days were growing longer and pleasanter. The trees were all dressed in green now, and the maples in front of the Burton home bent their green boughs and shook their leaves at the invitation of every little zephyr.

The evening star shone over the western hills, followed closely by the slender new moon. The sun sank to rest behind those same hills, some nights gorgeously attended by crimson and gold and purple clouds; on other evenings, dropping out of sight suddenly, as if in a hurry to get to China, as Winnie was fond of telling Ralph.

Winnie often sat with Ralph on the front steps these days, and showed him the bright star and tried to explain to him that it was a big world, perhaps full of people; or she would put on her roller skates and skate up and down the flagged pavement, while he rode his velocipede.

Winnie thought she had never known a spring so beautiful as this one. She felt as if she could stay out of doors forever, and found it even harder to keep her resolution of conquering self-indulgence and sticking to her duties now than when she liked so much to sit by a bright fire and read.

She had her pretty card and her motto in the looking-glass in her room, but she found it so hard to remember--or to want to remember, perhaps, which every one knows is quite a different thing--that she pinned a little piece of stiff paper with the word "Now" written on it, inside her dress. On the whole, however, she kept pretty well to her resolution of having a time for everything and doing everything in its time.

But she had never before felt such a desire to be out of doors, and she imagined she heard fairies beckoning to her from the woods and hills. So one day, when Aunt Kitty came over and invited Ralph and herself and the other four girls of her little band to go to the Zoological Garden the next Saturday, the girl's delight was unbounded, and she was in a fever lest something should happen to prevent their going.

She delivered her message to the other girls. Miriam and Fannie at once said they thought they could go, but Ernestine did not feel sure she could arrange her Saturday duties so that no extra burden would fall on her mother, while Gretta told them she would have to ask her father to excuse her from the extra practice on Saturday, as they were to take their lunches and stay all day.

Fortunately Gretta found her father in very good humor. She had been making excellent progress with her music, and he was very willing she should have a holiday. Ernestine, also, had arranged with one of the neighbors in the building to take care of her little children on the succeeding Saturday, in return for her help in doing some extra household work.

Saturday turned out to be a warm, pleasant day, and in their eagerness the girls arrived at the Burtons' a little ahead of time, and had to wait till Miss Benton came, which she did soon, looking very happy. As for Ralph, his eyes were as bright as stars, and he was the very picture of joy and good humor.

They walked up to Elm Street, and from there took the car to the Mt. Bellevue inclined railway. When they entered the car of the latter, all stood at the front end of it and looked out of the window, and had the strange sensation, which no familiarity therewith seems quite to deaden, of being lifted suddenly into another region, and of seeing the great city sinking down, down, until one wonders where it is going. Then, all at once, the car stopped with its usual jerk, and there they were, at the top of the hill.

There were very few people about the Bellevue House. They took a walk around the grounds and through the building, and stood looking at the city, covered with its workaday smoke from the many manufactories, till it almost seemed as if it were seen through a cloud.

"How strange it is," said Miriam, as they entered the street-car at the top of the hill, "to see the houses just as close together here, and to have it seem like a city of itself, and yet so different from the business part of Cincinnati below that it is hard to imagine the two are any part of each other!"

"There is something strange about such things," said Miss Benton. "It is just like people's lives. Their daily business, which brings them bread and butter, and which is really the largest and most important part of existence, seems to sink into insignificance or to be forgotten altogether when social relations are taken up. But, after all, I like to live in the city itself, where there is something of the past lingering about. Everything seems so new here."

"I don't know," said Ernestine. "I think I would like to live up here; the air seems so much purer. But I would want a bigger yard than these, where I might have a garden."

"It's cleaner, too, up here," said practical Gretta, who was neatness itself. "I visit my aunt on Vine Street Hill, and things always looks so much nicer and newer at her house than the same ones at ours. And it isn't because we don't try, for we do twice the amount of work; my mother and sister are always going about with a duster." And Gretta, who had made a long speech for her, finished with a sigh, at which they all laughed.

"Gretta would like a house where everything had a glass cover," said Miriam. "As for me, I like things jolly and comfortable, and if they get grimy and sooty, and nobody's to blame, what's the use of making one's self unhappy about it? I'm afraid I'm a good deal like Josie Thompson, for I do like to enjoy myself."

"Well, no two of us are alike, and I don't think it was intended that we should be," said Miss Benton. "That is what makes the charm of people's houses--that they should all partake of the individuality of their owners. When I enter even a little girl's room, I like to see some signs of her ownership there, and not have it all as her mother or older sister or the maid arranged it. I like to see something that looks as if she had an object in life, if it is nothing more than a charm string of buttons, (which, by the way, has gone out of fashion, I believe,) or a scrapbook."

"Well, then, Aunt Kitty," said Winnifred, smiling at her own thought, "it must be a treat for you to go into Uncle Fred's room; for, if I were to see such a room at the North Pole, I would think of him."

"Well," said Miss Benton, with a smile, "I might enjoy it better if it were in some other house. I think, in this case, it must be that familiarity breeds contempt. The fact is, girls, my brother's room is more of an old curiosity shop than a modern sleeping-room. He has always had a sort of magpie-habit of storing things away, and is continually having some new hobby; and as his hobbies are often changed, and each hobby is apt to take the form of making some sort of collection, he has queer things lying about. But from the time he was quite a little boy, mother always said, 'Oh, let him have that,' or 'do the other, and he'll be satisfied at home.'"

"How many canes and walking-sticks has he, Aunt Kitty?"

"Eight, I think, and each one has a history; and two or three of them a mystery, which he refuses to divulge. But here we are at the end of our journey, and Fannie hasn't had an opportunity to open her mouth."

"It's probably very good for my tongue to get a rest; it works quite steadily as a usual thing--at least so my father says. But if Ralph hadn't been all eyes, this would have been dull for him."

"I isn't all eyes!" said Ralph, indignantly.

They now approached the entrance to the Zoological Garden, and the girls once more took out their pocket books; but Miss Benton was ahead of them again, and had settled for the party before there was time to demur.

The first thing they spied were the mounds of the prairie dogs, and they stood watching these a long time. It was such fun to see the little animals running in and out of their holes and to hear their funny bark, which Miriam said was "the best part of them, and probably very much better than their bite."

Our little party was fortunate enough to be at the cages of the carnivora just at feeding time. The great lions lay basking in the sun and looking so innocent and amiable that it was almost impossible to imagine they could be at all dangerous, when suddenly the man who fed them appeared with the raw meat. Then their roars were fairly appalling, and made the whole crowd jump, while Ralph clung tight to the hand of Aunt Kitty, who said:

"I was just thinking how nice it would be to pat that quiet, majestic fellow on the head, as I would my Angora cat; but I think I'll wait till he's had his dinner."

"Oh, Aunt Kitty," said Ralph, "I 'ouldn't let you; he'd eat you up!"

It was an exciting but rather terrible pleasure to see the wild creatures quarreling and growling and fighting over their dinners, and was also a most effective object lesson on greediness.

Like other visitors, although Miss Kitty laughed at them for it, our little party followed the keeper around from one cage to another as he fed the various animals.

"I like the bears best," said Fannie. "They look like Eskimos when they stand on their hind legs, and they stare up at us and the other people as if we were here just for them to look at."

"There is a something within me that, in spite of bears and all their attractions, tells me it must be dinner time," said Miss Benton, taking out her watch. "Yes, it is one o'clock; suppose we get our baskets."

Ralph, in particular, manifested great approval of this part of the programme, and, having selected a nice grassy spot, they disposed of themselves as comfortably as possible, each with her basket at her side.

As they opened the baskets, passing the thin sandwiches and pickles, Winnie made a suggestion.

"Aunt Kitty, let's play 'I have a thought.'"

"Very well," replied the lady; and, after a short explanation of the game, and a little time to think, she announced the fact that she had a thought.

"Why is it like the sky?" asked Winnie.

"Because it is round."

"Why is it like a bear?" asked Miriam, her thoughts still on the bear pit.

"Because--oh, Miriam, that is a hard one!--because it is sometimes white."

"Why is it like me?" said Ralph.

"Because everybody likes it when it is good." And Ralph wondered why they all laughed.

"Why is it like the grass?" asked Ernestine.

"Because it is greenest in the spring."

Then the questions poured upon Miss Benton rapidly, as the girls began to see how the game was played.

"Why is it like music?" asked Gretta.

"Because it suggests pleasant thoughts."

"Why is it like a novel?"

"It is often highly flavored."

"Why is it like an egg?"

"Because it is an article of food."

"Why is it like a cream-puff?"

"Because the best part is inside."

"Why is it like cheese?" said Fannie, putting a piece in her mouth.

"Because it comes on with the dessert."

"Why is it like a book?"

"Because the best part is usually between the covers."

"Why is it like a ring?"

"Because people like to have a finger in it."

At which there was a general shout, and they all said: "A pie, of course!"

"But what kind of a pie, Miss Benton?" asked Miriam.

"That you must find out, too," was the laughing answer; and the questions went on.

"It can't be lemon or custard or pumpkin," said Fannie, "because we know it has two covers."

"Why is it like a flower?"

"Because it has various colors."

"And is greenest in the spring," said Winnie, musingly. "Oh, it is an apple pie! And Miss Benton acknowledged that she had guessed correctly.

Then Ernestine and Gretta consulted, and took a thought together. Their thought was a geography lesson, and of course the resemblances were most absurd, and it required all the ingenuity the two girls possessed to answer the questions.

They were all so occupied with the game and their dinner that no one noticed Miss Benton had not yet opened her basket, and great was their surprise and delight when she passed around to each of them a grocer's thin platter filled with strawberries, for they were still very scarce, as it was early in the season.

After dinner, Miss Benton took out a book and said she was going to read for a while, so the girls walked around, taking Ralph with them, and greatly enjoying the admiration he excited by his pretty dress, his beauty and his cunning speeches. They too, however, soon found themselves somewhat tired, so they went back to Miss Benton, and, sitting down for a rest, amused themselves by hunting for four-leaved clovers. In this Winnie and Miriam proved themselves the lucky ones. Fannie had not the slightest success, till finally she gave a little cry and held up a clover.

But Miss Benton's quick eyes noticed a twinkle in Fannie's, and saying, "Oh, Fannie, I'm afraid you're a little cheat!" she reached over and adroitly separated one of the leaves from another, leaving only a common clover leaf.

"Well," said Fannie, laughing at being discovered so soon, "if I don't have good luck, I'm not going to let everyone know it. My father tells me to make up my mind that lots of things will happen to me in this world which I'll best conquer by grinning and bearing them. And that's what I'm going to do."

"A very good plan, my dear," said Miss Benton, "for even if the grin is a sickly one, it's better than a frown or a whine."

"I guess I don't do that way," said Gretta, whose tongue and conscience both seemed to be awaking. "I'm afraid I go away and pout."

"The worst of habits," said Miss Benton, with intentional decision. "That is the habit which is most disagreeable to everyone around, most full of unhappiness to the one who indulges in it, and the most difficult to break. I am afraid that ill-temper is as powerful a giant as procrastination, because it, too, assumes so many forms; there are pouting and whining, storming and scolding, and the various other manifestations which we all, more or less, indulge in. I do not think many people cling to the powerful Giant Hate, but it is 'the little foxes that spoil the vines,' and little fits of temper, long indulged in, might at last lead even to that. But, girls, I didn't inveigle you out here this lovely day to lecture you. So come, let's be moving on."

They next went to the aviary. Here, although they enjoyed looking at the birds, they became more interested in a party of children, boys and girls, each one looking like the others, so far as clothes were concerned. Of course they must be from some charitable institution, but the girls did not know which one. Afterward, when our little company had gone to the monkey house and found a number of the same uniformed children, Miss Benton said to one of them, "What school is this, my dear?"

The child looked at her a moment in surprise, and then replied: "Why, this is the monkey school, I think."

"Where is the teacher?" asked Ralph, who mistook both question and answer, as the child herself had done.

Miriam and Fannie were delighted at this, and, going up pretty close to one of the cages, Fannie, who had yellow bangs, said, pointing to a great monkey which was watching them in a very observant manner:

"I think this must be the teacher."

Just as she made the remark, the monkey stretched out his long arms, grabbed her bangs, and pulled out several hairs, which he smelled, and then threw down with an air of disgust.

Fannie was somewhat startled at first, but, recovering herself, she said the monkey must have thought her hair was wisps of hay.

Miss Benton did not seem very fond of the "monkey school," as they dubbed it for the remainder of the afternoon, and she proposed going to the pony track. This gave general satisfaction. Here, too, they found the uniformed children, all of them having a lovely time. Miss Benton found out, by conversing with one of the attendants, that they were from one of the city orphan asylums, and that the whole lovely day was a gift to them from one of its patrons--admission into the garden and a ride for each child on one of the ponies.

They stood watching the orphan children for awhile, as they rode around the track, and Miss Benton asked if her guests would not like a ride, too. Fannie, Winnie and Miriam said that they would, and each selected a pony; Fannie, who had attended a riding-school, riding very gracefully. Ralph thought he would like a ride, too, so the riding-master brought his smallest pony, and two of the little orphan boys came up and begged permission to lead it around the track.

Miss Benton consented, and, Ralph having been lifted into the saddle, they started off, a boy on each side of him. But the little pony started to run, and one of the boys was soon left behind; the other, who had hold of the bridle, kept up manfully for a time, but before the pony had gone round the track, he, too, was left behind. Ralph, however, held on to the bridle himself, and, not in the least frightened, kept his seat in the saddle as if it had been his velocipede. And the by-standers seemed to think it as cunning as did his partial aunt and the rest of her party. However, in spite of the courage he had shown, Ralph was quite willing to get off.

They remained at the track a little longer, watching the other children riding, and feeling glad that, if children were left alone in the world, there were people noble and good and with means enough to gather the little waifs together, and that they, too, had happy holidays.