Chapter 1

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WOODSIDE

Thomas Nelson and Sons,

_LONDON, EDINBURGH, AND NEW YORK._

WOODSIDE

OR,

_Look, Listen, and Learn._

BY

Caroline Hadley,

AUTHOR OF "CHILDREN'S SAYINGS," "STORIES OF OLD," "STORIES OF THE APOSTLES," ETC. ETC.

London:

T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW. EDINBURGH; AND NEW YORK. 1902

"And Nature, the old nurse, took The child upon her knee, Saying: 'Here is a story-book Thy Father has written for thee.

"'Come wander with me,' she said, 'Into regions yet untrod, And read what is still unread Of the manuscripts of God.'

"And he wandered away and away With Nature, the dear old nurse, Who sang to him night and day The rhymes of the universe."

H. W. LONGFELLOW.

Contents.

I. GRANDPAPA'S HOUSE, 9

II. LISTENING IN THE WOODS, 17

III. TOM'S BIRDS' EGGS, 27

IV. JACK AND THE GARDENER, 36

V. HIVING THE BEES, 47

VI. WASPS AND THEIR WAYS, 58

VII. CHARLEY FOSTER'S PETS, 66

VIII. A TALK WITH AUNT LIZZIE, 80

IX. AFTER THE RAIN, 95

X. THE SIX CLOSED DOORS, 105

List of Illustrations.

THE ARRIVAL AT GRANDPAPA'S, _Frontispiece_

THE VISIT TO THE WATCH-DOG, _Vignette_

THE VISIT TO THE PONY, 13

TOM SHOWING THE REDBREAST'S EGGS, 29

JACK AND THE THRUSH'S NEST, 36

REYNARD HARD PUSHED, 45

CHARLEY FOSTER'S COLLECTION, 68

THE TEA ON THE LAWN, 82

WOODSIDE.

I.

_GRANDPAPA'S HOUSE._

"Now for the dear, dear country, Its trees and meadows fair, Its roses, cowslips, violets, Whose sweetness fills the air.

"'Tis there we hear the music Of lark's and blackbird's song, And merry little finches, Singing the whole day long."--C. H.

One bright spring day, not so very long ago, three little children arrived at their grandfather's house. They had come to pay a long visit, as their parents were travelling abroad for two or three months.

Now grandpapa lived less than twenty miles from London, yet his house was quite in the country,--indeed you might have thought that it was a hundred miles away from any town,--and it was called Woodside.

You may be sure that Jack, Mary, and Annie--for those were the names of the children--thought the change from London most delightful.

Jack was the eldest--that is why I have put his name before those of his sisters--and he was ten years old. Mary was the next in age, and she was nearly nine; while Annie, the youngest, was seven.

On the day they arrived they felt very quiet, all was so strange after London; besides, they were busy unpacking their toys and picture-books, and in finding places for all their treasures in the rooms grandmamma had set apart for them.

They went to bed early too, and never once woke till their nurse called them in the morning. At first they felt sorry it was time to get up, but when Jane drew up the blinds, and they saw the bright sunshine and the clear blue sky, they made haste to dress, so that after breakfast was over they might go out of doors.

Each of them had visited at Woodside several times before, but they had not been all together there at the same time. They knew very well how many interesting things there were to see out of doors, and they hoped that there would be something new. There was sure to be a difference among the animals and flowers.

The old house looked the same as they drove up to it, with its twenty oak trees in a semi-circle and the gates in the middle. There was the same watch-dog, Lion; and on the parlour hearth-rug, lying curled up in the sunshine, lay Smut, grandmamma's large black cat.

A very respectable old gentleman was Smut, with his sleek, glossy coat; but he stood too much on his dignity ever to play. The children coaxed him and patted him; yet he took no notice, he just curled himself round and went to sleep again.

A proud old cat was Smut; he would never touch food or milk in the kitchen. His food was put on a plate for him out of doors, and he had his milk in a saucer in the parlour. When he was out of doors, he always came in again by the front door, never at the back.

The children soon spied something new in the shape of a long-haired kitten, whose fur was gray and soft. She was bright and lively, and was very pleased to play with the children; for Smut would never take any notice of her, or play with her one bit: so she and the children became very good friends, and had many a game together.

After breakfast was over, grandmamma told the children they might put on their hats and go out of doors. They did not need to be spoken to twice.

First of all they had a run round the garden, peeped into the greenhouse, and said "How do you do?" to the gardener. But they did not stop long among the lovely spring flowers, for they were in such haste to see the animals.

Jack said, "We must pay our first visit to the pony;" so away they went to the stable.

The pony was very sober and steady, and, I am sorry to add, rather lazy; so the children did not get much fun out of him. He lifted up his head and gave a little neigh to Jack, for he seemed to remember him; and then he went on eating his hay in the most unconcerned manner.

They then went to see the large dog in the yard. Lion was very glad to see them. He harked with delight, wagged his tail, rattled his chain; in fact he seemed as if he would break away from it, in his eagerness to meet the children.

"Lion is ever so much nicer than the pony," they said.

The fact was, the pony had not much work to do, and his chief thoughts were about his hay and his corn and his nice warm stable. Now Lion, although he was generally chained to his kennel, had to watch for others. He was always listening to hear if any one came upon the premises who had no business there; and he barked so loudly that tramps and idle people thought it best to go away. He always welcomed the gardener and the servants, and especially his master, whenever they came to see him; so that every one about the place would give a pat or a word to the friendly dog whenever they passed that way.

"Now let us go and see the fowls," said Mary.

On the right hand side of the drive up to the house was a wide strip of grass planted with shrubs. Here, standing back, were some wire enclosures inside of which were some choice broods of chickens.

The girls could have stopped here "for hours," they said, watching the little chickens, that looked like balls of white or yellow or gray down running about or hiding under their mothers' wings.

However, most of the fowls were in the orchard, close by which was the hen-house. Fancy what a pretty sight that orchard was this sunshiny spring morning! How alive with different sorts of fowls running hither and thither--black, and gray, and speckled; old motherly hens, and pert, lively young ones; while the cocks strutted about and crowed one against another. Then a hen would come out of the hen-house, where the nests were, telling all the world, by her loud, proud cackling, that she had laid an egg. What noise there was then, for cocks and hens would all join in chorus. Some of the hens seemed to get together to have a quiet chat, as if they were talking over their family affairs; about which they did not always seem to agree, if you might judge by their noise.

By this time grandpapa had finished reading his newspaper and came to the children. He took them to the cow-house to see the new calf, and he lifted Annie up to let her stroke it; but the mother looked so fierce that they did not care to stay long there. Then they went into the yard to see the pigs. The little pigs looked so funny running about the large, clean sty, as if they loved the bright sunshine and liked to play about in it. But when they fed they would put their feet in the trough, and this was not very mannerly of them.

By the time the children had paid a visit to all the old places they were getting rather tired, and then they went back to the house.

II.

_LISTENING IN THE WOODS._

"I hear the blackbird telling His love-tale to his mate; And the merry skylark swelling The choir at 'heaven's gate.' The cuckoo away in the thicket Is giving his two old notes; And the pet doves hung by the wicket Are talking with ruffled throats. The honey-bee hums as he lingers Where shadows on clover heads fall; And the wind with leaf-tipped fingers, Is playing in concert with all."

ELIZA COOK.

Now grandpapa's house, Woodside, stood on the side of a wood; in fact there was only a grassy road between the gates and the wood itself.

Such a wood! with large old elms and oaks and other trees. In the more open spaces were trees and bushes of hawthorn, now completely covered with white blossom, the pretty May-bloom. There too grew primroses, violets, wild hyacinths, besides a long list of other wild flowers, ferns, and feathery green moss.

One fine day grandmamma took the children herself across the road into the wood. She sat down in one of the open spaces upon the trunk of a fallen tree, while the children played at hide-and-seek among the bushes or picked the wild flowers.

By-and-by they came back to grandmamma, who was reading while they were playing about, and said, "Grandmamma, will you tell us about papa when he was a little boy?"

Grandmamma took off her spectacles, shut her book, and the children sat down quite close to her, on the grass at her feet.

Then she began:--"When your father and your uncle and aunts, were about as old as you are now, they came with me into this very place one summer day.

"After they had played awhile they came to me, and I said to them, 'Children, what do you hear?'

"'Hear, mother?' they said; 'why, nothing in particular. What _is_ there to hear?'

"'Well,' I said, 'now all of you shut your eyes and listen, and don't speak till I tell you.'

"After a short time I told them to open their eyes; and I asked John, who was the eldest, what he had heard.

"'First of all I heard the birds singing, then I noticed that there were different sorts of birds singing: I heard the blackbird, the thrush, the little finches, and the warblers--I could not tell you how many; some of them singing as if they could not make sound enough, and others sung a low song, with twitterings and chatterings all to themselves. Some seemed calling to birds a long way off; then I heard those other birds answer, but the sound was so faint that I should not have heard it at all if we had not been so still. I was trying to catch a faint sound of a bird some distance down the wood, which sounded like the coo of the wood-pigeon, when you said, "Open your eyes."'

"Then I turned to Harry--your father, children--and he said, 'Of course I heard the birds, but I thought, I can hear them any day; I shall listen for all sorts of odd sounds. I heard the distant rumble of a farmer's waggon, and the cows lowing at Brown's farm; every now and again I heard the sound of the village blacksmith's hammer, the faint puffing of a train, a man's footsteps coming through the wood, and the voices of boys--after birds' nests, I suppose.'

"'Well, Lizzie, what did you hear?' I asked, turning to one of the girls.

"'I heard the wind moving very gently among the trees, making a soft rustling noise. I could scarcely believe in the difference there is between this quiet sound and the roaring of the wind in a storm. Then I heard the wild bee's hum, and the little tiny noises made by the small creatures that live in the wood. I heard our gardener sharpening his scythe, and the trickling of the brook in the hollow.'

"'Now, little Fanny, tell us what you heard.'

"'I heard the hens cackling and calling to their chickens. I thought I heard our dog bark; but all was so warm, and still, and sleepy, that I felt as if I should go to sleep too if I kept my eyes shut much longer. I heard the birds though, and a great bumble-bee that flew by when our eyes were shut.'

"'Now, children,' I said, 'you have all heard something, and yet a little while ago you told me there was nothing particular to hear; nor is there, if you hear without listening.'"

Here grandmamma stopped awhile, then, looking at the grandchildren at her feet, said there was a poet once who wrote about a little girl called Lucy. She lived among all the beautiful things that are to be seen in the country, and she loved them dearly. The poet thought how, as she grew up, she would be yet more and more charmed by them, and that loving all grand and beautiful natural objects would make her charming. Among other things he said,--

"She shall lean her ear In many a secret place, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face."

"How can sound show itself in a face, grandmamma?" asked Jack.

"Supposing you heard a loud, sudden scream, you would be startled and frightened by the cry; if you heard a tremendous clap of thunder, you might look a little frightened too, but you would also look solemn and still as you heard the grand sound; but you would have quite another look if you were lying on your back under a shady tree some calm summer evening, listening to the low song of the birds, and to the many sounds that are almost silence."

"Cuckoo! cuckoo!"

"O grandmamma, there's the cuckoo!" cried all the children at once.

"Yes; there are a great many cuckoos about here. They say it is only the male bird that calls 'Cuckoo,' that the female simply makes a chattering sound."

"Did you ever see a cuckoo, grandma?"

"No, never a live bird, only one stuffed. I will tell you a story of how I heard one once. It was about five-and-twenty years ago. I wanted some primroses for a nosegay. I used to pick the long feathery moss that grows in these woods and put the primroses among it. I ran across the road outside of our gates--for I could run in those days--and soon filled my basket with as many primroses as I wanted. As I was standing under a large tree, I heard all at once, exactly over my head, a loud, gruff cry of 'Cuckoo.' I was so startled, the cry was so near, that I thought it must be a rude man, and I dropped all my primroses and ran back to the gates.

"Then I thought, 'How foolish of me to be frightened; it is the 18th of April, the right time for the cuckoo to come back to England from the warm country where he has been all the winter,--of course it is a real cuckoo.' So I went back and picked up my primroses, but I heard no more of that cuckoo.

"I told my children when I came indoors about my adventure; and how they did laugh at their mother for being frightened at a bird.

"I shall always think, though, that that particular cuckoo must have caught a bad cold on his long journey to England, or soon after his arrival, for his voice sounded as if he had a sore throat."

"Now children," said grandmamma, rising from her seat, "it is time we walked homewards."

As they came near to the house they saw Smut sitting on the door-step, waiting patiently to be let in at the front door.

Within a short distance of the house was a brook, almost hidden in places by overhanging bushes and long reedy grass. Then it flowed into more open ground; but it was very quiet in its flow, for the bed was soft and not stony.

Of course the next day the children set off for this brook, to listen to its "murmuring sound." Jack lay down upon the ground and leaned his head over the brook, thinking he could hear better in that fashion. Mary said she should sit down by a bend in the stream and be comfortable, for she was sure she could not listen well if she were afraid of rolling into the water; while little Annie sat by her sister's side, holding her hand and shutting her eyes.

If you had seen those children then, you would have wondered what they were doing, they were so serious and intent; but by the quiet look upon their faces they seemed to enjoy the music of the softly-flowing stream. So low was the sound, that you would hardly have noticed it if you had not been thinking about it.

Often during this visit they would have games at "harking," as they called it; for they said, "We may as well hear as much as we can, as our father and uncle and aunts did when they were children." They would shut their eyes for some minutes, and then they would tell each other what they had heard. I can tell you their ears grew very sharp with all this practice; for, like other children, they had their quiet moods, when under the lofty forest trees or in the garden nooks they would listen, not for fun but for enjoyment.

III.

_TOM'S BIRDS' EGGS._

"The goldfinch, and blackbird, and thrush, Are brimful of music and glee; They have each got a nest in some bush, And the rook has built his on a tree."

BERNARD BARTON.

About a mile off, at the other end of the wood, was a village, which joined an old town so closely that they seemed to be only one place.

The old town was quiet now; but it had been a very busy place many years ago, in the old coach days. I cannot tell you how many coaches daily ran through it, or changed horses at the different inns, on their way from London to towns in distant parts of England.

Now the railway had stopped every coach, and in the valley, through these very woods, the trains rushed along, panting and puffing as if they were running a race with Time.

Fortunately, the trains ran through a tunnel at this spot, so the beauty of the woods was not disturbed.

There was a large green belonging to the village, on the edge of which lived the children's aunt Lizzie, who had married a doctor. She had two children--Tom, who was eleven years old, and Katey, who was nine. They went to school daily in the adjoining town, so they were unable to see much of their cousins, excepting upon half-holidays, as it was now school time.

But you must not suppose that Jack and his sisters did nothing but play during this long visit. As soon as they had settled down, grandmamma engaged a young lady to come to teach them for about two hours every morning. Woodside was too far from the town for the children to go to school with their cousins. When they were at home they went to a kindergarten school, where they learned in the wisest and pleasantest fashion.

The children always looked forward to the half-holidays, when they either went up to their cousins' home, or Tom and Katey came down to them.

One Saturday afternoon, when they went to the green, Tom showed them his collection of birds' eggs. He kept them in shallow boxes full of bran, so that they should not get broken, for he was very careful over them.

Tom's mother told him never to take more than one egg from each nest, unless there were a great many, as there are in wrens' nests, so that the mother bird might not grieve.

"Please show us a robin redbreast's egg," said little Annie.

Tom took two or three from under the bran, and showed her the eggs, which were yellowish-gray mottled with red-brown.

"Mrs. Redbreast has not nearly so red a breast as Robin," he said.

"I suppose you have plenty of sparrows' eggs," said Mary, "they are such common birds."

"Yes; here they are. They are rather large for the size of the bird; they are spotted and streaked all over with gray and brown."

"What a lovely pale greenish-blue egg that is!" exclaimed Mary.

"Yes, that it is," said Tom; "and it belongs to a dear little brown bird--the hedge-sparrow. It is not at all the same kind of bird as the house-sparrow, for it is one of the warblers. It is a prettier bird, and has prettier eggs than the common sparrow. He builds his nest very early, before the hedges are covered with leaves; so his nest often gets stolen. He is one of the birds that stay in England all through the winter.--These speckled eggs of a bluish-gray belong to the linnet, which has a very sweet song, although not very powerful.--These belong to the chaffinch; they, you see, are greenish-purple spotted with brown. See here! I have a nest made by this bird."

"It is perfectly lovely," said Mary.

"It is, indeed; it is one of the most beautiful of all the birds' nests--such a nice round shape, and so firm that it does not easily fall to pieces. Inside it is lined with hair and feathers, and downy things, which make it ever so soft. Just put your finger inside, Annie, and feel it. Outside it is made of moss, fine dry grass, and wool, all matted together, and covered all over with the lichen which grows on the trunks and branches of trees. It is often very difficult to find this bird's nest, it looks so exactly like the part of a tree."

"Have you a blackbird's egg?" asked Jack. "I know his note, for it is clear and louder than that of most of the other birds."

"Yes, here are some. You see they are of a bluish-green colour, with dark blotches; and very pretty they are too.--Those blue eggs with a few black spots on them belong to the thrush. You must have heard the thrushes singing about grandpa's garden; there are plenty of them there."

"I'm afraid you haven't a cuckoo's egg, Tom," said Annie.

"I am so lucky as to have one, Annie. It is very small for the size of the bird, and not particularly pretty. You see it is a dull-looking egg, whitish, with pale-brown markings. This particular egg was taken from the nest of a hedge-sparrow; but cuckoos' eggs have been found in the nests of many other birds--robin's, and skylark's, and chaffinch's, linnet's, blackbird's, and wren's, and many more besides."

"Why does not the cuckoo build a nest for herself?" asked Annie.