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Among the Farmyard People
BY
Clara Dillingham Pierson
Author of "Among the Meadow People," and "Forest People".
Illustrated by F. C. GORDON
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
Copyright by
E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY
31 WEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET
1899
TO THE CHILDREN
_Dear Little Friends:_
I want to introduce the farmyard people to you, and to have you call
upon them and become better acquainted as soon as you can. Some of them
are working for us, and we surely should know them. Perhaps, too, some
of us are working for them, since that is the way in this delightful
world of ours, and one of the happiest parts of life is helping and
being helped.
It is so in the farmyard, and although there is not much work that the
people there can do for each other, there are many kind things to be
said, and even the Lame Duckling found that he could make the Blind
Horse happy when he tried. It is there as it is everywhere else, and I
sometimes think that although the farmyard people do not look like us or
talk like us, they are not so very different after all. If you had seen
the little Chicken who wouldn't eat gravel when his mother was reproving
him, you could not have helped knowing his thoughts even if you did not
understand a word of the Chicken language. He was thinking, "I don't
care! I don't care a bit! So now!" That was long since, for he was a
Chicken when I was a little girl, and both of us grew up some time ago.
I think I have always been more sorry for him because when he was
learning to eat gravel I was learning to eat some things which I did not
like; and so, you see, I knew exactly how he felt. But it was not until
afterwards that I found out how his mother felt.
That is one of the stories which I have been keeping a long time for
you, and the Chicken was a particular friend of mine. I knew him better
than I did some of his neighbors; yet they were all pleasant
acquaintances, and if I did not see some of these things happen with my
own eyes, it is just because I was not in the farmyard at the right
time. There are many other tales I should like to tell you about them,
but one mustn't make the book too fat and heavy for your hands to hold,
so I will send you these and keep the rest.
Many stories might be told about our neighbors who live out-of-doors,
and they are stories that ought to be told, too, for there are still
boys and girls who do not know that animals think and talk and work, and
love their babies, and help each other when in trouble. I knew one boy
who really thought it was not wrong to steal newly built birds'-nests,
and I have seen girls--quite large ones, too--who were afraid of Mice!
It was only last winter that a Quail came to my front door, during the
very cold weather, and snuggled down into the warmest corner he could
find. I fed him, and he stayed there for several days, and I know, and
you know, perfectly well that although he did not say it in so many
words, he came to remind me that I had not yet told you a Quail story.
And two of my little neighbors brought ten Polliwogs to spend the day
with me, so I promised then and there that the next book should be about
pond people and have a Polliwog story in it.
And now, good-bye! Perhaps some of you will write me about your visits
to the farmyard. I hope you will enjoy them very much, but be sure you
don't wear red dresses or caps when you call on the Turkey Gobbler.
Your friend,
CLARA DILLINGHAM PIERSON.
Stanton, Michigan,
March 28, 1899.
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE STORY THAT THE SWALLOW DIDN'T TELL 1
THE LAMB WITH THE LONGEST TAIL 12
THE WONDERFUL SHINY EGG 20
THE DUCKLING WHO DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO 33
THE FUSSY QUEEN BEE 47
THE BAY COLT LEARNS TO MIND 64
THE TWIN LAMBS 82
THE VERY SHORT STORY OF THE FOOLISH LITTLE MOUSE 96
THE LONELY LITTLE PIG 106
THE KITTEN WHO LOST HERSELF 116
THE CHICKEN WHO WOULDN'T EAT GRAVEL 136
THE GOOSE WHO WANTED HER OWN WAY 149
WHY THE SHEEP RAN AWAY 160
THE FINE YOUNG RAT AND THE TRAP 172
THE QUICK-TEMPERED TURKEY GOBBLER 186
THE BRAGGING PEACOCK 199
THE DISCONTENTED GUINEA HEN 213
THE OXEN TALK WITH THE CALVES 232
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
THE SWALLOWS ARE COMING 2
THE LAMB WITH THE LONGEST TAIL 16
THEY HAD A GOOD SWIM 40
HAD A SORE MOUTH FROM JERKING ON THE LINES 77
FEEDING THE LAMBS 84
EVERY BROWN PIG RAN OFF 110
"I AM THE WHITE KITTEN" 130
THE GRAY GOOSE TRIED TO GO THROUGH 156
COLLIE AND THE BELL-WETHER 170
THE BIG GOBBLER CAME PUFFING TOWARD
HER. _Frontispiece_ 194
THE PEACOCK WAS STANDING ON THE FENCE, 208
THE RED CALF AND THE WHITE CALF 243
THE STORY THAT THE SWALLOW DIDN'T TELL
"Listen!" said the Nigh Ox, "don't you hear some friends coming?"
The Off Ox raised his head from the grass and stopped to brush away a
Fly, for you never could hurry either of the brothers. "I don't hear any
footfalls," said he.
"You should listen for wings, not feet," said the Nigh Ox, "and for
voices, too."
Even as he spoke there floated down from the clear air overhead a soft
"tittle-ittle-ittle-ee," as though some bird were laughing for
happiness. There was not a cloud in the sky, and the meadow was covered
with thousands and thousands of green grass blades, each so small and
tender, and yet together making a most beautiful carpet for the feet of
the farmyard people, and offering them sweet and juicy food after their
winter fare of hay and grain. Truly it was a day to make one laugh aloud
for joy. The alder tassels fluttered and danced in the spring breeze,
while the smallest and shyest of the willow pussies crept from their
little brown houses on the branches to grow in the sunshine.
[Illustration: THE SWALLOWS ARE COMING.]
"Tittle-ittle-ittle-ee! Tittle-ittle-ittle-ee!" And this time it was
louder and clearer than before.
"The Swallows!" cried the Oxen to each other. Then they straightened
their strong necks and bellowed to the Horses, who were drawing the plow
in the field beyond, "The Swallows are coming!"
As soon as the Horses reached the end of the furrow and could rest a
minute, they tossed their heads and whinnied with delight. Then they
looked around at the farmer, and wished that he knew enough of the
farmyard language to understand what they wanted to tell him. They knew
he would be glad to hear of their friends' return, for had they not seen
him pick up a young Swallow one day and put him in a safer place?
"Tittle-ittle-ittle-ee!" and there was a sudden darkening of the sky
above their heads, a whirr of many wings, a chattering and laughing of
soft voices, and the Swallows had come. Perched on the ridge-pole of the
big barn, they rested and visited and heard all the news.
The Doves were there, walking up and down the sloping sides of the roof
and cooing to each other about the simple things of every-day life. You
know the Doves stay at home all winter, and so it makes a great change
when their neighbors, the Swallows, return. They are firm friends in
spite of their very different ways of living. There was never a Dove
who would be a Swallow if he could, yet the plump, quiet, gray and white
Doves dearly love the dashing Swallows, and happy is the Squab who can
get a Swallow to tell him stories of the great world.
"Isn't it good to be home, home, home!" sang one Swallow. "I never set
my claws on another ridge-pole as comfortable as this."
"I'm going to look at my old nest," said a young Swallow, as she
suddenly flew down to the eaves.
"I think I'll go, too," said another young Swallow, springing away from
his perch. He was a handsome fellow, with a glistening dark blue head
and back, a long forked tail which showed a white stripe on the under
side, a rich buff vest, and a deep blue collar, all of the finest
feathers. He loved the young Swallow whom he was following, and he
wanted to tell her so.
"There is the nest where I was hatched," she said. "Would you think I
was ever crowded in there with five brothers and sisters? It was a
comfortable nest, too, before the winter winds and snow wore it away. I
wonder how it would seem to be a fledgling again?" She snuggled down in
the old nest until he could see only her forked tail and her dainty head
over the edge. Her vest was quite hidden, and the only light feathers
that showed were the reddish-buff ones on throat and face; these were
not so bright as his, but still she was beautiful to him. He loved every
feather on her body.
"I don't want you to be a fledgling again," he cried. "I want you to
help me make a home under the eaves, a lovely little nest of mud and
straw, where you can rest as you are now doing, while I bring food to
you. Will you?"
"Yes," she cried. "Tittle-ittle-ittle-ee! Oh, tittle-ittle-ittle-ee!"
And she flew far up into the blue sky, while he followed her,
twittering and singing.
"Where are those young people going?" said an older Swallow. "I should
think they had flown far enough for to-day without circling around for
the fun of it."
"Don't you remember the days when you were young?" said the Swallow next
to him.
"When I was young?" he answered. "My dear, I am young now. I shall
always be young in the springtime. I shall never be old except when I am
moulting."
Just then a family of Doves came pattering over the roof, swaying their
heads at every step. "We are so glad to see you back," said the father.
"We had a long, cold winter, and we thought often of you."
"A very cold winter," cooed his plump little wife.
"Tell me a story," said a young Dove, their son.
"Hush, hush," said the Father Dove. "This is our son," he added, "and
this is his sister. We think them quite a pair. Our last brood, you
know."
"Tell us a story," said the young Dove again.
"Hush, dear. You mustn't tease the Swallow," said his mother. "They are
so fond of stories," she cooed, "and they have heard that your family
are great travellers."
"But I want him to tell us a story," said the young Dove. "I think he
might."
This made the Swallow feel very uncomfortable, for he could see that the
children had been badly brought up, and he did not want to tell a story
just then.
"Perhaps you would like to hear about our journey south," said he. "Last
fall, when the maples began to show red and yellow leaves among the
green, we felt like flying away. It was quite warm weather, and the
forest birds were still here, but when we feel like flying south we
always begin to get ready."
"I never feel like flying south," said the young Dove. "I don't see why
you should."
"That is because I am a Swallow and you are a farmyard Dove. We talked
about it to each other, and one day we were ready to start. We all had
on our new feathers and felt strong and well. We started out together,
but the young birds and their mothers could not keep up with the rest,
so we went on ahead."
"Ahead of whom?" said the young Dove, who had been preening his feathers
when he should have been listening.
"Ahead of the mothers and their fledglings. We flew over farms where
there were Doves like you; over rivers where the Wild Ducks were feeding
by the shore; and over towns where crowds of boys and girls were going
into large buildings, while on top of these buildings were large bells
singing, 'Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong.'"
"I don't think that was a very pretty song," said the young Dove.
"Hush," said his mother, "you mustn't interrupt the Swallow."
"And at last we came to a great lake," said the Swallow. "It was so
great that when we had flown over it for a little while we could not see
land at all, and our eyes would not tell us which way to go. We just
went on as birds must in such places, flying as we felt we ought, and
not stopping to ask why or to wonder if we were right. Of course we
Swallows never stop to eat, for we catch our food as we fly, but we did
sometimes stop to rest. Just after we had crossed this great lake we
alighted. It was then that a very queer thing happened, and this is
really the story that I started to tell."
"Oh!" said the young Dove and his sister. "How very exciting. But wait
just a minute while we peep over the edge of the roof and see what the
farmer is doing." And before anybody could say a word they had pattered
away to look.
The birds who were there say that the Swallow seemed quite disgusted,
and surely nobody could blame him if he did.
"You must excuse them," cooed their mother. "They are really hardly more
than Squabs yet, and I can't bear to speak severely to them. I'm sure
they didn't mean to be rude."
"Certainly, certainly," said the Swallow. "I will excuse them and you
must excuse me. I wish to see a few of my old friends before the sun
goes down. Good afternoon!" And he darted away.
The young Doves came pattering back, swaying their heads as they walked.
"Why, where is the Swallow?" they cried. "What made him go away? Right
at the best part of the story, too. We don't see why folks are so
disagreeable. People never are as nice to us as they are to the other
young Doves."
"Hush," said their mother. "You mustn't talk in that way. Fly off for
something to eat, and never mind about the rest of the story."
When they were gone, she said to her husband, "I wonder if they did hurt
the Swallow's feelings? But then, they are so young, hardly more than
Squabs."
She forgot that even Squabs should be thoughtful of others, and that no
Dove ever amounts to anything unless he begins in the right way as a
Squab.
THE LAMB WITH THE LONGEST TAIL
The Sheep are a simple and kind-hearted family, and of all the people on
the farm there are none who are more loved than they. All summer they
wander in the fields, nibbling the fresh, sweet grass, and resting at
noon in the shadow of the trees, but when the cold weather comes they
are brought up to the farmyard and make their home in the long low
Sheep-shed.
That is always a happy time. The Horses breathe deeply and toss their
heads for joy, the Cows say to each other, "Glad to have the Sheep come
up," and even the Oxen shift their cuds and look long over their
shoulders at the woolly newcomers. And this is not because the Sheep
can do anything for their neighbors to make them warm or to feed them.
It is only because they are a gentle folk and pleasant in all they say;
and you know when people are always kind, it makes others happy just to
see them and have them near.
Then, when the cold March winds are blowing, the good farmer brings more
yellow straw into the Sheep-shed, and sees that it is warm and snug. If
there are any boards broken and letting the wind in, he mends them and
shuts out the cold. At this time, too, the Horses and Cattle stop often
in their eating to listen. Even the Pigs, who do not think much about
their neighbors, root in the corners nearest the Sheep-shed and prick up
their ears.
Some bleak morning they hear a faint bleating and know that the first
Lamb is there. And then from day to day they hear more of the soft
voices as the new Lambs come to live with the flock. Such queer little
creatures as the Lambs are when they first come--so weak and awkward!
They can hardly stand alone, and stagger and wobble around the little
rooms or pens where they are with their mothers. You can just imagine
how hard it must be to learn to manage four legs all at once!
There is one thing which they do learn very quickly, and that is, to
eat. They are hungry little people, and well they may be, for they have
much growing to do, and all of the food that is to be made into good
stout bodies and fine long wool has to go into their mouths and down
their throats to their stomachs. It is very wonderful to think that a
Cow eats grass and it is turned into hair to keep her warm, a Goose eats
grass and grows feathers, and a Sheep eats grass and grows wool. Still,
it is so, and nobody in the world can tell why. It is just one of the
things that are, and if you should ask "Why?" nobody could tell you the
reason. There are many such things which we cannot understand, but there
are many more which we can, so it would be very foolish for us to mind
when there is no answer to our "Why?"
Yes, Sheep eat grass, and because they have such tiny mouths they have
to take small mouthfuls. The Lambs have different food for a
while,--warm milk from their mothers' bodies. When a mother has a Lamb
to feed, she eats a great deal, hay, grass, and chopped turnips, and
then part of the food that goes into her stomach is turned into milk and
stored in two warm bags for the Lamb to take when he is hungry. And how
the Lambs do like this milk! It tastes so good that they can hardly
stand still while they drink it down, and they give funny little jerks
and wave their woolly tails in the air.
[Illustration: THE LAMB WITH THE LONGEST TAIL.]
There was one Lamb who had a longer tail than any of the rest, and, sad
to say, it made him rather vain. When he first came, he was too busy
drinking milk and learning to walk, to think about tails, but as he grew
older and stronger he began to know that he had the longest one. Because
he was a very young Lamb he was so foolish as to tease the others and
call out, "Baa! your tails are snippy ones!"
Then the others would call back, "Baa! Don't care if they are!"
After a while, his mother, who was a sensible Sheep and had seen much of
life, said to him: "You must not brag about your tail. It is very rude
of you, and very silly too, for you have exactly such a tail as was
given to you, and the other Lambs have exactly such tails as were given
to them, and when you are older you will know that it did not matter in
the least what kind of tail you wore when you were little." She might
have told him something else, but she didn't.
The Lamb didn't dare to boast of his tail after this, but when he passed
the others, he would look at his mother, and if he thought she wouldn't
see, he would wiggle it at them. Of course that was just as bad as
talking about it, and the other Lambs knew perfectly well what he meant;
still, they pretended not to understand.
One morning, when his mother's back was turned, he was surprised to see
that she had only a short and stumpy tail. He had been thinking so much
of his own that he had not noticed hers. "Mother," he cried, "why didn't
you have a long tail too?"
"I did have once," she answered with a sheepish smile.
"Did it get broken?" he asked in a faint little voice. He was thinking
how dreadful it would be if he should break his.
"Not exactly," said his mother. "I will tell you all about it. All
little Lambs have long tails----"
"Not so long as mine, though," said he, interrupting.
"No, not so long as yours," she replied, "but so long that if they were
left that way always they would make a great deal of trouble. As the
wool grows on them, they would catch burrs and sharp, prickly things,
which would pull the wool and sting the skin. The farmer knows this, so
when the little Lambs are about as old as you are now, he and his men
make their tails shorter."
"Oh!" cried the Lamb, curling his tail in as far between his legs as he
could, "do you mean that they will shorten my tail, my beautiful long
tail?"
"That is just what I mean," said his mother, "and you should be very
glad of it. When that is done, you will be ready to go out into the
field with me. A lot of trouble we should have if the men did not look
after such things for us; but that is what men are for, they say,--to
look after us Sheep."
"But won't they laugh at me when my tail is shorter?" asked her son.
"They would laugh at you if you wore it long. No Lamb who pretends to be
anybody would be seen in the pasture with a dangling tail. Only wild
Sheep wear them long, poor things!"
Now the little Lamb wished that he had not boasted so much. Now, when
the others passed him, he did not put on airs. Now he wondered why they
couldn't have short tails in the beginning. He asked his uncle, an old
Wether Sheep, why this was and his uncle laughed. "Why, what would you
have done all these days if things happened in that way? What would you
have had to think about? What could you have talked about?" The little
Lamb hung his head and asked no more questions.
"What do you think?" he called to a group of Lambs near by. "I'm going
to have one of the men shorten my tail. It is such a bother unless one
does have it done, and mine is so very long!"
THE WONDERFUL SHINY EGG
"CUT-CUT-CA-DAH-CUT! Cut-cut-cut-ca-dah-cut!" called the Dorking Hen, as
she strutted around the poultry-yard. She held her head very high, and
paused every few minutes to look around in her jerky way and see whether
the other fowls were listening. Once she even stood on her left foot
right in the pathway of the Shanghai Cock, and cackled into his very
ears.
Everybody pretended not to hear her. The people in the poultry-yard did
not like the Dorking Hen very well. They said that she put on airs.
Perhaps she did. She certainly talked a great deal of the place from
which she and the Dorking Cock came. They had come in a small cage from
a large poultry farm, and the Dorking Hen never tired of telling about
the wonderful, noisy ride that they took in a dark car drawn by a great,
black, snorting creature. She said that this creature's feet grew on to
his sides and whirled around as he ran, and that he breathed out of the
top of his head. When the fowls first heard of this, they were much
interested, but after a while they used to walk away from her, or make
believe that they saw Grasshoppers whom they wanted to chase.
When she found that people were not listening to her, she cackled louder
than ever, "Cut-cut-ca-dah-cut! Look at the egg--the egg--the egg--the
egg that I have laid."
"Is there any particular reason why we should look at the egg--the
egg--the egg--the egg that you have laid?" asked the Shanghai Cock, who
was the grumpiest fowl in the yard.
Now, usually if the Dorking Hen had been spoken to in this way, she
would have ruffled up her head feathers and walked away, but this time
she had news to tell and so she kept her temper. "Reason?" she cackled.
"Yes indeed! It is the finest egg that was ever laid in this
poultry-yard."
"Hear her talk!" said a Bantam Hen. "I think it is in very poor taste to
lay such large eggs as most of the Hens do here. Small ones are much
more genteel."
"She must forget an egg that I laid a while ago with two yolks," said a
Shanghai Hen. "That was the largest egg ever laid here, and I have
always wished that I had hatched it. A pair of twin chickens would have
been so interesting."
"Well," said the Dorking Hen, who could not keep still any longer,
"small eggs may be genteel and large ones may be interesting, but my
last one is bee-autiful."
"Perhaps you'd just as soon tell us about it as to brag without
telling?" grumbled the Shanghai Cock. "I suppose it is grass color, or
sky color, or hay color, or speckled, like a sparrow's egg."
"No," answered the Dorking Hen, "it is white, but it is shiny."
"Shiny!" they exclaimed. "Who ever heard of a shiny egg?"
"Nobody," she replied, "and that is why it is so wonderful."
"Don't believe it," said the Shanghai Cock, as he turned away and began
scratching the ground.
Now the Dorking Hen did get angry. "Come to see it, if you don't believe
me," she said, as she led the others into the Hen-house.
She flew up to the row of boxes where the Hens had their nests, and
picked her way along daintily until she reached the farthest one. "Now
look," said she.
One by one the fowls peeped into the box, and sure enough, there it
lay, a fine, shiny, white egg. The little Bantam, who was really a
jolly, kind-hearted creature, said, "Well, it is a beauty. I should be
proud of it myself."
"It is whiter than I fancy," said the Shanghai Cock, "but it certainly
does shine."
"I shall hatch it," said the Dorking Hen, very decidedly. "I shall hatch
it and have a beautiful Chicken with shining feathers. I shall not hatch
all the eggs in the nest, but roll this one away and sit on it."
"Perhaps," said one of her friends, "somebody else may have laid it
after all, and not noticed. You know it is not the only one in the
nest."
"Pooh!" said the Dorking Hen. "I guess I know! I am sure it was not
there when I went to the nest and it was there when I left. I must have
laid it."
The fowls went away, and she tried to roll the shiny one away from the
other eggs, but it was slippery and very light and would not stay where
she put it. Then she got out of patience and rolled all the others out
of the nest. Two of them fell to the floor and broke, but she did not
care. "They are nothing but common ones, anyway," she said.
When the farmer's wife came to gather the eggs she pecked at her and was
very cross. Every day she did this, and at last the woman let her alone.
Every-day she told the other fowls what a wonderful Chicken she expected
to have. "Of course he will be of my color," said she, "but his feathers
will shine brightly. He will be a great flyer, too. I am sure that is
what it means when the egg is light." She came off the nest each day
just long enough to stroll around and chat with her friends, telling
them what wonderful things she expected, and never letting them forget
that it was she who had laid the shiny egg. She pecked airily at the
food, and seemed to think that a Hen who was hatching such a wonderful
Chicken should have the best of everything. Each day she told some new
beauty that was to belong to her child, until the Shanghai Cock fairly
flapped his wings with impatience.
Day after day passed, and the garden beyond the barn showed rows of
sturdy green plants, where before there had been only straight ridges of
fine brown earth. The Swallows who were building under the eaves of the
great barn, twittered and chattered of the wild flowers in the forest,
and four other Hens came off their nests with fine broods of downy
Chickens. And still the Dorking Hen sat on her shiny egg and told what a
wonderful Chicken she expected to hatch. This was not the only egg in
the nest now, but it was the only one of which she spoke.
At last a downy Chicken peeped out of one of the common eggs, and
wriggled and twisted to free himself from the shell. His mother did not
hurry him or help him. She knew that he must not slip out of it until
all the blood from the shell-lining had run into his tender little body.
If she had pushed the shell off before he had all of this fine red
blood, he would not have been a strong Chicken, and she wanted her
children to be strong.
The Dorking Cock walked into the Hen-house and stood around on one foot.
He came to see if the shiny egg had hatched, but he wouldn't ask. He
thought himself too dignified to show any interest in newly hatched
Chickens before a Hen. Still, he saw no harm in standing around on one
foot and letting the Dorking Hen talk to him if she wanted to. When she
told him it was one of the common eggs that had hatched, he was quite
disgusted, and stalked out of doors without a word.
The truth was that he had been rather bragging to the other Cocks, and
only a few minutes later he spoke with pride of the time when "our"
shiny egg should hatch. "For," he said, "Mrs. Dorking and I have been
quite alone here as far as our own people are concerned. It is not
strange that we should feel a great pride in the wonderful egg and the
Chicken to be hatched from it. A Dorking is a Dorking after all, my
friends." And he flapped his wings, stretched his neck, and crowed as
loudly as he could.
"Yes," said the Black Spanish Cock afterward, "a Dorking certainly is a
Dorking, although I never could see the sense of making such a fuss
about it. They are fat and they have an extra toe on each foot. Why
should a fowl want extra toes? I have four on each foot, and I can
scratch up all the food I want with them."
"Well," said the grumpy old Shanghai Cock, "I am sick and tired of this
fuss. Common eggs are good enough for Shanghais and Black Spanish and
Bantams, and I should think----"
Just at this minute they heard a loud fluttering and squawking in the
Hen-house and the Dorking Hen crying, "Weasel! Weasel!" The Cocks ran to
drive the Weasel away, and the Hens followed to see it done. All was
noise and hurry, and they saw nothing of the Weasel except the tip of
his bushy tail as he drew his slender body through an opening in the
fence.
The Dorking Hen was on one of the long perches where the fowls roost at
night, the newly hatched Chicken lay shivering in the nest, and on the
floor were the pieces of the wonderful shiny egg. The Dorking Hen had
knocked it from the nest in her flight.
The Dorking Cock looked very cross. He was not afraid of a Weasel, and
he did not see why she should be. "Just like a Hen!" he said.
The Black Spanish Hen turned to him before he could say another word.
"Just like a Cock!" she exclaimed. "I never raise Chickens myself. It is
not the custom among the Black Spanish Hens. We lay the eggs and
somebody else hatches them. But if I had been on the nest as long as
Mrs. Dorking has, do you suppose I'd let any fowl speak to me as you
spoke to her? I'd--I'd--" and she was so angry that she couldn't say
another word, but just strutted up and down and cackled.
A motherly old Shanghai Hen flew up beside Mrs. Dorking. "We are very
sorry for you," she said. "I know how I should have felt if I had broken
my two-yolked egg just as it was ready to hatch."
The Bantam Hen picked her way to the nest. "What a dear little Chicken!"
she cried, in her most comforting tone. "He is so plump and so bright
for his age. But, my dear, he is chilly, and I think you should cuddle
him under your wings until his down is dry."
The Dorking Hen flew down. "He is a dear," she said, "and yet when he
was hatched I didn't care much for him, because I had thought so long
about the shiny egg. It serves me right to lose that one, because I have
been so foolish. Still, I do not know how I could stand it if it were
not for my good neighbors."
While Mrs. Dorking was talking with the Bantam by her nest, the Black
Spanish Hen scratched a hole in the earth under the perches, poked the
pieces of the shiny egg into it, and covered them up. "I never raise
Chickens myself," she said, "but if I did----"
The Shanghai Cock walked away with the Dorking Cock. "I'm sorry for
you," he said, "and I am more sorry for Mrs. Dorking. She is too fine a
Hen to be spoken to as you spoke to her this morning, and I don't want
to hear any more of your fault-finding. Do you understand?" And he
ruffled his neck feathers and stuck his face close to that of the
Dorking Cock. They stared into each other's eyes for a minute; then the
Dorking Cock, who was not so big and strong as the Shanghai, shook his
head and answered sweetly, "It was rude of me. I won't do it again."
From that day to this, nobody in the poultry yard has ever spoken of the
shiny egg, and the Dorkings are much liked by the other fowls. Yet if it
had not been for her trouble, Mrs. Dorking and her neighbors would never
have become such good friends. The little Dorkings are fine,
fat-breasted Chicks, with the extra toe on each foot of which all that
family are so proud.
THE DUCKLING WHO DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO
"Quack! Quack!" called the Duck who had been sitting on her nest so
long. "My first egg is cracked, and I can see the broad yellow bill of
my eldest child. Ah! Now I can see his downy white head." The Drake
heard her and quacked the news to every one around, and flapped his
wings, and preened his feathers, for was not this the first Duckling
ever hatched on the farm?
The Drake had not been there long himself. It was only a few days before
the Duck began sitting that she and her five sisters had come with him
to this place. It had not taken them long to become acquainted with the
other farmyard people, and all had been kind to them. The Geese had
rather put on airs, at first, because they were bigger and had longer
legs, but the Ducks and Drake were too wise to notice this in any way,
and before long the Geese were as friendly as possible. They would have
shown the Ducks the way to the water if it had been necessary, but it
was not, for Ducks always know without being told just where to find it.
They know, and they do not know why they know. It is one of the things
that are.
Now that the first Duckling had chipped the shell, everybody wanted to
see him, and there was soon a crowd of fowls around the nest watching
him free himself from it. The Drake stood by, as proud as a Peacock. "I
think he looks much like his mother," said he.
"Yes, yes," cackled all the Hens. "The same broad yellow bill, the same
short yellow legs, and the same webbed feet."
The mother Duck smiled. "He looks more like me now than he will by and
by," she said, "for when his feathers grow and cover the down, he will
have a stiff little one curled up on his back like the Drake's. And
really, except for the curled feather, his father and I look very much
alike."
"That is so," said the Black Spanish Cock. "You do look alike; the same
white feathers, the same broad breast, the same strong wings, the same
pointed tail, the same long neck, the same sweet expression around the
bill!" That was just like the Black Spanish Cock. He always said
something pleasant about people when he could, and it was much better
than saying unpleasant things. Indeed, he was the most polite fowl in
the poultry-yard, and the Black Spanish Hen thought his manners quite
perfect.
Then the Duckling's five aunts pushed their way through the crowd to the
nest under the edge of the strawstack. "Have you noticed what fine
large feet he has?" said one of them. "That is like his mother's people.
See what a strong web is between the three long toes on each foot! He
will be a good swimmer. The one toe that points backward is small, to be
sure, but he does not need that in swimming. That is only to make
waddling easier."
"Yes, yes," "A fine web," and "Very large feet," cried the fowls around
the nest, but most of them didn't care so much about the size of his
feet as the Ducks did. Large feet are always useful, you know, yet
nobody needs them so badly as Geese and Ducks. The Geese were off
swimming, and so could not see the Duckling when first he came out of
the shell.
"Tap-tap, tap-tap," sounded inside another shell, and they knew that
there would soon be a second damp little Duckling beside the first. The
visitors could not stay to see this one come out, and they went away
for a time. The eldest Duckling had supposed that this was life, to have
people around saying, "How bright he is!" "What fine legs!" or "He has a
beautiful bill!" And now that they all walked away and his mother was
looking after the Duckling who was just breaking her shell, he didn't
like it--he didn't like it at all.
Still, it was much better so. If he had had no brothers and sisters, he
would have been a lonely little fellow; besides, he would have had his
own way nearly all the time, and that is likely to make any Duckling
selfish. Then, too, if all the other fowls had petted him and given him
the best of everything, he would have become vain. Truly, it was a good
thing for him not to be the only child, and he soon learned to think so.
After there were two Ducklings, a third one came, and a fourth, and a
fifth, and so on until, when the broken shells were cleared away and
the mother had counted bills, she could call to the Drake and her
sisters, "Nine Ducklings hatched, and there were only nine eggs in the
nest."
"Then come to the brook," said the Drake, "and let the children have a
bath. I have been swimming a great many times to-day, and they have not
even set foot in water yet. Why, our eldest son was out of his shell
before the Horses were harnessed this morning, and here it is nearly
time for their supper."
"I couldn't help it," said the mother Duck. "I couldn't leave the nest
to take him swimming until the rest were ready to go. I am doing the
best I can."
"I didn't mean to find fault," said the Drake, "and I suppose you
couldn't get away, but we know that Ducklings should be taught to bathe
often, and there is nothing like beginning in time."
"I might have taken some of them to the brook," said one of the aunts.
The mother straightened her neck and held her head very high, while she
answered, "You? You are very kind, but what do you know about bringing
up Ducklings?"
Now the aunt might have said, "I know just as much as you do," for it
was the young mother's first brood, yet she kept still. She thought, "I
may hatch Ducklings of my own some day, and then I suppose I shall want
to care for them myself."
"Wait," said the Drake, as they reached the brook. "Let us wait and see
what the children will do." The words were hardly out of his bill
when--flutter--splash--splash!--there were nine yellow-white Ducklings
floating on the brook and murmuring happily to each other as though they
had never done anything else.
The Dorking Cock stood on the bank. "Who taught them to swim?" said he.
"Nobody," answered their mother proudly. "They knew without being told.
That is the way a Duck takes to water." And she gave a dainty lurch and
was among her brood.
[Illustration: THEY HAD A GOOD SWIM.]
"Well!" exclaimed the Dorking Cock. "I thought the little Dorkings were
as bright as children could be, but they didn't know as much as that. I
must tell them." He stalked off, talking under his breath.
"They know more than that," said the Drake. "Did you see how they ran
ahead of us when we stopped to talk? They knew where to find water as
soon as they were out of the shell. Still, the Cock might not have
believed that if I had told him."
They had a good swim, and then all stood on the bank and dried
themselves. This they did by squeezing the water out of their down with
their bills. The Drake, the mother Duck, the five aunts, and the nine
Ducklings all stood as tall and straight as they could, and turned and
twisted their long necks, and flapped their wings, and squeezed their
down, and murmured to each other. And their father didn't tell the
little ones how, and their mother didn't tell them how, and their five
aunts didn't tell them how, but they knew without being told.
The Ducklings grew fast, and made friends of all the farmyard people.
Early every morning they went to the brook. They learned to follow the
brook to the river, and here were wonderful things to be seen. There was
plenty to eat, too, in the soft mud under the water, and it was easy
enough to dive to it, or to reach down their long necks while only their
pointed tails and part of their body could be seen above the water. Not
that they ate the mud. They kept only the food that they found in it,
and then let the mud slip out between the rough edges of their bills.
They swam and ate all day, and slept all night, and were dutiful
Ducklings who minded their mother, so it was not strange that they were
plump and happy.
At last there came a morning when the eldest Duckling could not go to
the brook with the others. A Weasel had bitten him in the night, and if
it had not been for his mother and the Drake, would have carried him
away. The rest had to go in swimming, and his lame leg would not let him
waddle as far as the brook, or swim after he got there.
"I don't know what to do," he said to his mother. "I can't swim and I
can't waddle far, and I've eaten so much already that I can't eat
anything more for a long, long time."
"You might play with the little Shanghais," said his mother.
"They run around too much," he replied. "I can't keep up with them."
"Then why not lie near the corn crib and visit with the Mice?"
"Oh, they don't like the things that I like, and it isn't any fun."
"How would it suit you to watch the Peacock for a while?"
"I'm tired of watching the Peacock."
"Then," said the mother, "you must help somebody else. You are old
enough to think of such things now, and you must remember this wise
saying: 'When you don't know what to do, help somebody.'"
"Whom can I help?" said the lame Duckling. "People can all do things for
themselves."
"There is the Blind Horse," answered his mother. "He is alone to-day,
and I'm sure he would like somebody to visit him."
"Quack!" said the Duckling. "I will go to see him." He waddled slowly
away, stopping now and then to rest, and shaking his little pointed tail
from side to side as Ducks do. The Blind Horse was grazing in the
pasture alone.
"I've come to see you, sir," said the Duckling. "Shall I be in your
way?"
The Blind Horse looked much pleased. "I think from your voice that you
must be one of the young Ducks," said he. "I shall be very glad to have
you visit me, only you must be careful to keep away from my feet, for I
can't see, and I might step on you."
"I'll be careful," said the Duckling. "I can't waddle much anyway this
morning, because my leg hurts me so."
"Why, I'm sorry you are lame," said the Horse. "What is the matter?"
"A Weasel bit me in the night, sir. But it doesn't hurt so much as it
did before I came to see you. Perhaps the pasture is a better place for
lame legs than the farmyard." He didn't know that it was because he was
trying to make somebody else happy that he felt so much better, yet that
was the reason.
The Blind Horse and the Duckling became very fond of each other and had
a fine time. The Horse told stories of his Colthood, and of the things
he had seen in his travels before he became blind. And the Duckling told
him what the other farmyard people were doing, and about the soft,
fleecy clouds that drifted across the blue sky. When the mother Duck
came to look for him, the little fellow was much surprised. "Didn't you
go to the brook?" he asked.
"Yes," said his mother, with a smile. "We have been there all the
morning. Don't you see how high the sun is?"
"Why-ee!" said the Duckling. "I didn't think I had been here long at
all. We've been having the nicest time. And I'm coming again, am I not?"
He asked this question of the Blind Horse.
"I wish you would come often," answered the Blind Horse. "You have given
me a very pleasant morning. Good-bye!"
The mother Duck and her son waddled off together. "How is your leg?"
said she.
"I forgot all about it until I began to walk," answered the Duckling.
"Isn't that queer?"
"Not at all," said his mother. "It was because you were making somebody
else happy. 'When you don't know what to do, help somebody.'"
THE FUSSY QUEEN BEE
In a sheltered corner of the farmyard, where the hedge kept off the cold
winds and the trees shaded from hot summer sunshine, there were many
hives of Bees. One could not say much for the Drones, but the others
were the busiest of all the farmyard people, and they had so much to do
that they did not often stop to visit with their neighbors.
In each hive, or home, there were many thousand Bees, and each had his
own work. First of all, there was the Queen. You might think that being
a Queen meant playing all the time, but that is not so, for to be a
really good Queen, even in a Beehive, one must know a great deal and
keep at work all the time. The Queen Bee is the mother of all the Bee
Babies, and she spends her days in laying eggs. She is so very precious
and important a person that the first duty of the rest is to take care
of her.
The Drones are the stoutest and finest-looking of all the Bees, but they
are lazy, very, very lazy. There are never many of them in a hive, and
like most lazy people, they spend much of their time in telling the
others how to work. They do not make wax or store honey, and as the
Worker Bees do not wish them to eat what has been put away for winter,
they do not live very long.
Most of the Bees are Workers. They are smaller than either the Queen
Mother or the Drones, and they gather all the honey, make all the wax,
build the comb, and feed the babies. They keep the hive clean, and when
the weather is very warm, some of them fan the air with their wings to
cool it. They guard the doorway of the hive, too, and turn away the
robbers who sometimes come to steal their honey.
In these busy homes, nobody can live long just for himself. Everybody
helps somebody else, and that makes life pleasant. The Queen Mother
often lays as many as two thousand eggs in a day. Most of these are
Worker eggs, and are laid in the small cells of the brood comb, which is
the nursery of the hive. A few are Drone eggs and are laid in large
cells. She never lays any Queen eggs, for she does not want more Queens
growing up. It is a law among the Bees that there can be only one grown
Queen living in each home.
The Workers, however, know that something might happen to their old
Queen Mother, so, after she has gone away, they sometimes go into a cell
where she has laid a Worker egg, and take down the waxen walls between
it and the ones on either side to make a very large royal cell. They
bite away the wax with their strong jaws and press the rough edges into
shape with their feet. When this egg hatches, they do not feed the baby,
or Larva, with tasteless bread made of flower-dust, honey, and water, as
they would if they intended it to grow up a Worker or a Drone. Instead,
they make what is called royal jelly, which is quite sour, and tuck this
all around the Larva, who now looks like a little white worm.
The royal jelly makes her grow fast, and in five days she is so large as
to nearly fill the cell. Then she stops eating, spins a cocoon, and lies
in it for about two and a half days more. When she comes out of this,
she is called a Pupa. Sixteen days after the laying of the egg, the
young Queen is ready to come out of her cell. It takes twenty-one days
for a Worker to become fully grown and twenty-five for a Drone.
In the hive by the cedar tree, the Queen Mother was growing restless
and fussy. She knew that the Workers were raising some young Queens, and
she tried to get to the royal cells. She knew that if she could only do
that, the young Queens would never live to come out. The Workers knew
this, too, and whenever she came near there, they made her go away.
The Queen Larvæ and Pupæ were of different ages, and one of them was now
ready to leave her cell. They could hear her crying to be let out, but
they knew that if she and the Queen Mother should meet now, one of them
would die. So instead of letting her out, they built a thick wall of wax
over the door and left only an opening through which they could feed
her. When she was hungry she ran her tongue out and they put honey on
it.
She wondered why the Workers did not let her out, when she wanted so
much to be free. She did not yet know that Queen Mothers do not get
along well with young Queens.
The Workers talked it over by themselves. One of them was very
tender-hearted. "It does seem too bad," said she, "to keep the poor
young Queen shut up in her cell. I don't see how you can stand it to
hear her piping so pitifully all the time. I am sure she must be
beautiful. I never saw a finer tongue than the one she runs out for
honey."
"Humph!" said a sensible old Worker, who had seen many Queens hatched
and many swarms fly away, "you'd be a good deal more sorry if we did let
her out now. It would not do at all."
The tender-hearted Worker did not answer this, but she talked it over
with the Drones. "I declare," said she, wiping her eyes with her
forefeet, "I can hardly gather a mouthful of honey for thinking of her."
"Suppose you hang yourself up and make wax then," said one Drone. "It
is a rather sunshiny day, but you ought to be doing something, and if
you cannot gather honey you might do that." This was just like a Drone.
He never gathered honey or made wax, yet he could not bear to see a
Worker lose any time.
The Worker did not hang herself up and make wax, however. She never did
that except on cloudy days, and she was one of those Bees who seem to
think that nothing will come out right unless they stop working to see
about it. There was plenty waiting to be done, but she was too sad and
anxious to do it. She might have known that since her friends were only
minding the law, it was right to keep the new Queen in her cell.
The Queen Mother was restless and fussy. She could not think of her
work, and half the time she did not know whether she was laying a Drone
egg or a Worker egg. In spite of that, she did not make any mistake, or
put one into the wrong kind of cell. "I cannot stay here with a young
Queen," said she. "I will not stay here. I will take my friends with me
and fly away."
Whenever she met a Worker, she struck her feelers on those of her
friend, and then this friend knew exactly how she felt about it. In this
way the news was passed around, and soon many of the Workers were as
restless as their Queen Mother. They were so excited over it at times
that the air of the hive grew very hot. After a while they would become
quiet and gather honey once more. They whispered often to each other.
"Do you know where we are going?" one said.
"Sh!" was the answer. "The guides are looking for a good place now."
"I wish the Queen Mother knew where we are going," said the first.
"How could she?" replied the second. "You know very well that she has
not left the hive since she began to lay eggs. Here she comes now."
"Oh dear!" exclaimed the Queen Mother. "I can never stand this. I
certainly cannot. To think I am not allowed to rule in my own hive! The
Workers who are guarding the royal cells drive me away whenever I go
near them. I will not stay any longer."
"Then," said a Drone, as though he had thought of it for the first time,
"why don't you go away?"
"I shall," said she. "Will you go with me?"
"No," said the Drone. "I hate moving and furnishing a new house.
Besides, somebody must stay here to take care of the Workers and the
young Queen."