acted queerly sometimes, but she was so loving and unselfish herself
that she did not dream of his selfishness. Instead of putting the idea
out of his woolly little head, as he could have done by thinking more of
other things, the brother let himself think of it more and more. That
made him impatient with even his mother, and he often answered her quite
crossly. Sometimes, when she spoke to him, he did not answer at all, and
that was just as bad.
His mother would sigh and say to herself, "My child is not a comfort to
me after all, yet when I looked for the first time into his dear little
face, I thought that as long as I had him beside me I should always be
happy."
One night, when the weather was fair and warm, the farmer drove all the
Sheep and Lambs into the Sheep-shed. They had been lying out under the
beautiful blue sky at night, and they did not like this nearly so well.
They did not understand it either, so they were frightened and
bewildered, and bleated often to each other, "What is this for? What is
this for?"
The Lambs did not mind it so much, for they were not warmly dressed, but
the Sheep, whose wool had been growing for a year and was long and
heavy, found it very close and uncomfortable. They did not know that the
farmer had a reason for keeping them dry that night while the heavy dew
was falling outside. The same thing was done every year, but they could
not remember so long as that, and having a poor memory is always hard.
"Stay close to me, children," said the mother of the twins. "I may
forget how you look if you are away long."
"It seems to me," said the brother, "that we always have to stay close
to you. I never have a bit of fun!"
When they had cuddled down for the night, the twin Lambs slept soundly.
Their mother lay awake for a long, long time in the dark, and she was
not happy. A few careless words from a selfish little Lamb had made her
heart ache. They were not true words either, for during the daytime her
children ran with their playmates and had fine frolics. Still, we know
that when people are out of patience they often say things that are not
really so.
In the morning, men came into the barn, which opened off the
Sheep-shed. They had on coarse, old clothing, and carried queer-looking
shears in their hands. The Sheep could see them now and then when the
door was open. Once the farmer stood in the doorway and seemed to be
counting them. This made them huddle together more closely than ever.
They could see the men carrying clean yellow straw into the barn and
spreading it on the floor. On top of this was stretched a great sheet of
clean cloth.
Then the men began to come into the shed and catch the Sheep and carry
them into the barn. They were frightened and bleated a good deal, but
when one was caught and carried away, although he might struggle hard to
free himself, he did not open his mouth. The old Wether Sheep was the
first to be taken, and then the young ones who had been Lambs the year
before. For a long time not one of the mothers was chosen. Still, nobody
knew what would happen next, and so, the fewer Sheep there were left,
the more closely they huddled together.
At last, when the young Sheep had all been taken, one of the men caught
the mother of the twins and carried her away. She turned her face toward
her children, but the door swung shut after her, and they were left with
the other Lambs and their mothers. From the barn came the sound of
snip-snip-snipping and the murmur of men's voices. Once the twins
thought they saw their mother lying on the floor and a man kneeling
beside her, holding her head and forelegs under his arm, yet they were
not sure of this.
The brother ran to the corner of the shed and put his head against the
boards. He suddenly felt very young and helpless. "My dear woolly
mother!" he said to himself, over and over, and he wondered if he would
ever see her again. He remembered what he had said to her the night
before. It seemed to him that he could even now hear his own voice
saying crossly, "Seems to me we always have to stay close to you. I
never have a bit of fun!" He wished he had not said it. He knew she was
a dear mother, and he would have given anything in the world for a
chance to stay close to her again.
His sister felt as lonely and frightened as he, but she did not act in
the same way. She stood close to a younger Lamb whose mother had just
been taken away, and tried to comfort her. One by one the mothers were
taken until only the Lambs remained. They were very hungry now, and
bleated pitifully. Still the twin brother stood with his head in the
corner. He had closed his eyes, but now he opened them, and through a
crack in the wall of the shed, he saw some very slender and
white-looking Sheep turned into the meadow. At first they acted dizzy,
and staggered instead of walking straight; then they stopped staggering
and began to frisk. "Can it be?" said he. "It surely is!" For, although
he had never in his short life seen a newly shorn Sheep, he began to
understand what had happened.
He knew that the men had only been clipping the long wool from the
Sheep, and that they were now ready for warm weather. No wonder they
frisked when their heavy burdens of wool were carefully taken off.
Now the farmer opened the door into the barn again, and let the Lambs
walk through it to the gate of the meadow. They had never before been
inside this barn, and the twin brother looked quickly around as he
scampered across the floor. He saw some great ragged bundles of wool,
and a man was just rolling up the last fleece. He wondered if that had
been taken from his mother and was the very one against which he had
cuddled when he was cold or frightened.
When they first reached the pasture, the Lambs could not tell which
were their mothers. Shearing off their long and dingy fleeces had made
such a difference in their looks! The twin brother knew his mother by
her way of walking and by her voice, but he could see that his sister
did not know her at all. He saw his mother wandering around as though
she did not know where to find her children, and a naughty plan came
into his head. If he could keep his sister from finding their mother for
even a short time, he knew that the farmer would take her up to the pen.
He thought he knew just how to do it, and he started to run to her. Then
he stopped and remembered how sad and lonely he had been without his
mother only a little while before, and he began to pity the Lambs in the
pen.
Now his selfishness and his goodness were fighting hard in him. One
said, "Send your sister away," and the other, "Take her to your mother."
At last he ran as fast as he could toward his sister. "I am good now,"
he said to himself, "but it may not last long. I will tell her before I
am naughty again."
"Oh sister!" cried he. "Come with me to our mother. She doesn't know
where to find us."
He saw a happy look on his sister's sad little face, and he was glad
that he had done the right thing. They skipped away together, kicking up
their heels as they went, and it seemed to the brother that he had never
been so happy in his life. He was soon to be happier, though, for when
they reached his "new, white mother," as he called her, and his sister
told her how he had shown her the way, his mother said, "Now you are a
comfort to me. You will be a happier Lamb, too, for you know that a
mother's heart is large enough for all her children, and that the more
one loves, the better he loves."
"Why, of course," said the twin sister. "What do you mean?"
But the mother never told her, and the brother never told her, and it is
hoped that you will keep the secret.
THE VERY SHORT STORY OF THE FOOLISH LITTLE MOUSE
The Mice who lived in the barn and around the granaries had many cousins
living on the farm who were pleasant people to know. Any one could tell
by looking at them that they were related, yet there were differences in
size, in the coloring of their fur, in their voices, and most of all in
their ways of living. Some of these cousins would come to visit at the
barn in winter, when there was little to eat in the fields. The Meadow
Mice never did this. They were friendly with the people who came from
the farmyard to graze in the meadow, yet when they were asked to return
the call, they said, "No, thank you. We are an out-of-door family, and
we never enter houses. We do not often go to the farmyard, but we are
always glad to see you here. Come again."
When the Cows are in the meadow, they watch for these tiny people, and
stop short if they hear their voices from the grass near by. Of course
the Horses are careful, for Horses will never step on any person, large
or small, if they can help it. They are very particular about this.
All through the meadow you can see, if you look sharply, shallow winding
paths among the grasses, and these paths are worn by the running to and
fro of the Meadow Mice. Their homes are in stumps of trees or in the
higher ground near the ditches. In these homes the baby Meadow Mice stay
until they are large enough to go out into the great world and eat
roots, grasses, and seeds with their fathers and mothers. Sometimes they
do go out a little way with their mother before this, and they go in a
very funny fashion. Of course, when they are babies, they drink warm
milk from her body as the children of most four-legged people do.
Sometimes a young Meadow Mouse does not want to stop drinking his milk
when it is time for his mother to leave the nest, so he just hangs on to
her with his tiny, toothless mouth, and when she goes she drags him
along on the ground beside her. The ground is rather rough for such soft
little babies, and they do not go far in this way, but are glad enough
to snuggle down again with their brothers and sisters.
There is no danger of their being lonely, even when their mother is
away, for the Meadow Mice have large families, and where there are ten
babies of the same age, or even only six, which is thought a small
family among their people, it is not possible for one to feel alone.
There were two fine Meadow Mice who built their nest in the bank of a
ditch and were much liked by all their relatives. They had raised many
children to full-grown Mousehood, and were kind and wise parents. When
their children were married and had homes of their own, they still liked
to come back to visit. The father and mother were gentle and kindly, as
all Mice are, and were almost as handsome as when they first began to
gnaw. Nobody could say that he ever saw a bit of dust on either of them.
The brown fur of the upper part of their bodies and the grayish-white
fur underneath always lay sleek and tidy, and from their long whiskers
to the tips of their hairless tails, they were as dainty as possible.
That was one reason why they were so fine-looking, for you know it makes
no difference how beautiful one may be in the first place, if he does
not try to keep clean he is not pleasant to look at, while many quite
plain people are charming because they look well and happy and clean.
Now this pair of Mice had eight Mouse babies in their nest. The babies
were no larger than Bumble Bees at first and very pink. This was not
because their fur was pink, but only because it was so very short that
through it and their thin skin one saw the glow of the red blood in
their veins.
"Did you ever see such beautiful babies?" said their mother proudly to
her neighbors. "They are certainly the finest I ever had." Her friends
smiled, for she always said the same thing whenever she had little ones.
Yet they understood, for they had children of their own, and knew that
although mothers love all alike, there is always a time when the
youngest seems the most promising. That is before they are old enough to
be naughty.
The days passed, and the eight baby Meadow Mice ate and slept and pushed
each other around, and talked in their sweet, squeaky little voices.
They were less pink every day and more the color of their father and
mother. They grew, too, so fast that the nest was hardly large enough
for them, and the teeth were showing in their tiny pink mouths. Their
mother saw that they would soon be ready to go out into the world, and
she began to teach them the things they needed to know. She took them
outside the nest each pleasant day and gave them lessons in running and
gnawing, and showed them how to crouch down on the brown earth and lie
still until danger was past. After she had told them many things, she
would ask them short questions to make sure that they remembered.
"How many great dangers are there?" she said.
"Five," answered the little Mice.
"What are they?"
"Hawks, Owls, Weasels, Cats, and men."
"Tell me about Hawks."
"Hawks are big birds who seem to float in the air. They have very sharp
eyes, and when they see a Mouse they drop suddenly down and catch him.
They fly in the daytime."
"Tell me about Owls."
"They are big birds who fly by night without making any noise. They can
see from far away, and they catch Mice."
"Tell me about Weasels."
"They are slender little animals, nearly twice as long as a Mouse. They
have small heads, four short legs, and sharp claws; have brown fur on
their backs and white underneath, and sometimes, when the weather is
very cold, they turn white all over."
"Tell me about Cats."
"Cats are very much bigger than Weasels, and are of many colors. They
have long tails and whiskers, and dreadful great eyes. They walk on four
legs, but make no noise because they have cushions on their feet."
"Tell me about men."
"Men are very big, two-legged people, and when they are fully grown are
taller than Cows. They make noise in walking, and they can neither smell
nor see us from afar."
"And what are you to do when you see these dangers coming?"
"We are to run away as fast as we can from Hawks, Weasels, Owls, and
Cats. If a man comes near us, we are to lie perfectly still and watch
him, and are not to move unless we are sure that he sees us or is likely
to step on us. Men do not know so much about Mice as the other dangers
do."
"And what if you are not sure that some creature is a Hawk, an Owl, a
Weasel, or a Cat?"
"If we even think it may be, we are to run."
"When are you to run?"
"At once."
"Say that again."
"We are to run at once."
"Very good. That is all for to-day."
You can see how well the Meadow Mouse mother brought up her children,
and how carefully she taught them about life. If they had been wise and
always minded her, they would have saved themselves much trouble.
Seven of them were dutiful and obedient, but the largest of the eight,
and the finest-looking, liked to decide things for himself, and often
laughed at his brothers and sisters for being afraid. Because he was so
big and handsome, and spoke in such a dashing way, they sometimes
wondered if he didn't know as much as their mother.
One sunshiny day, when all the eight children were playing and feeding
together in the short grass, one of them saw a great black bird in the
air. "Oh, look!" she cried. "That may be a Hawk. We'd better run."
"Pooh!" said the biggest little Meadow Mouse. "Who's afraid?"
"Mother said to run," they squeaked, and seven long bare tails whisked
out of sight under a stump.
"Ho-ho!" said the biggest little Meadow Mouse. "Before I'd be so scared!
I dare you to come back! I dare you to----"
Just then the Hawk swooped down. And that is the end of the story, for
after that, there was no foolish little Meadow Mouse to tell about.
THE LONELY LITTLE PIG
One day the Brown Hog called to her twelve young Pigs and their ten
older brothers and sisters, "Look! look! What is in that cage?"
The twenty-two stubby snouts that were thrust through the opening of the
rail-fence were quivering with eagerness and impatience. Their owners
wished to know all that was happening, and the old mother's eyes were
not so sharp as they had once been, so if the Pigs wanted to know the
news, they must stop their rooting to find it out. Bits of the soft
brown earth clung to their snouts and trembled as they breathed.
"It looks like a Pig," they said, "only it is white."
"It is a Pig then," grunted their mother, as she lay in the shade of an
oak tree. "There are white Pigs, although I never fancied the color. It
looks too cold and clean. Brown is more to my taste, brown or black.
Your poor father was brown and black, and a finer looking Hog I never
saw. Ugh! Ugh!" And she buried her eyes in the loose earth. The Pigs
looked at her and then at each other. They did not often speak of their
father. Indeed the younger ones did not remember him at all. One of the
Cows said he had such a bad temper that the farmer sent him away, and it
is certain that none of them had seen him since the day he was driven
down the lane.
While they were thinking of this and feeling rather sad, the wagon
turned into their lane and they could plainly see the Pig inside. She
was white and quite beautiful in her piggish way. Her ears stood up
stiffly, her snout was as stubby as though it had been broken off, her
eyes were very small, and her tail had the right curl. When she squealed
they could see her sharp teeth, and when she put her feet up on the
wooden bars of her rough cage, they noticed the fine hoofs on the two
big toes of each foot and the two little toes high on the back of her
legs, each with its tiny hoof. She was riding in great style, and it is
no wonder that the twenty-two Brown Pigs with black spots and black feet
opened their eyes very wide. They did not know that the farmer brought
her in this way because he was in a hurry, and Pigs will not make haste
when farmers want them to. The Hogs are a queer family, and the Off Ox
spoke truly when he said that the only way to make one hurry ahead is to
tie a rope to his leg and pull back, they are so sure to be contrary.
"She's coming here!" the Brown Pigs cried. "Oh, Mother, she's coming
here! We're going to see the men take her out of her cage."
The old Hog grunted and staggered to her feet to go with them, but she
was fat and slow of motion, so that by the time she was fairly standing,
they were far down the field and running helter-skelter by the side of
the fence. As she stared dully after them she could see the twenty-two
curly tails bobbing along, and she heard the soft patter of eighty-eight
sharp little double hoofs on the earth.
"Ugh!" she grunted. "Ugh! Ugh! I am too late to go. Never mind! They
will tell me all about it, and I can take a nap. I haven't slept half
the time to-day, and I need rest."
Just as the Mother Hog lay down again, the men lifted the White Pig from
the wagon, cage and all, so she began to squeal, and she squealed and
squealed and squealed and squealed until she was set free in the field
with the Brown Pigs. Nobody had touched her and nobody had hurt her,
but it was all so strange and new that she thought it would make her
feel better to squeal. When she was out of her cage and in the field,
she planted her hoofs firmly in the ground, looked squarely at the Brown
Pigs, and grunted a pleasant, good-natured grunt. The Brown Pigs planted
their hoofs in the ground and grunted and stared. They didn't ask her to
go rooting with them, and not one of the ten big Pigs or the twelve
little Pigs said, "We are glad to see you."
There is no telling how long they would have stood there if the Horses
had not turned the wagon just then. The minute the wheels began to grate
on the side of the box, every Brown Pig whirled around and ran off.
The poor little White Pig did not know what to make of it. She knew that
she had not done anything wrong. She wondered if they didn't mean to
speak to her.
[Illustration: EVERY BROWN PIG RAN OFF.]
At first she thought she would run after them and ask to root with them,
but then she remembered something her mother had told her when she was
so young that she was pink. It was this: "When you don't know what to
do, go to sleep." So she lay down and took a nap.
The Brown Pigs did not awaken their mother, and when they stopped in the
fence-corner one of them said to their big sister, "What made you run?"
"Oh, nothing," said she.
"And why did you run?" the little Pigs asked their big brother.
"Because," he answered.
After a while somebody said, "Let's go back to where the White Pig is."
"Oh, no," said somebody else, "don't let's! She can come over here if
she wants to, and it isn't nearly so nice there."
You see, they were very rude Pigs and not at all well brought up. Their
mother should have taught them to think of others and be kind, which is
really all there is to politeness. But then, she had very little time
left from sleeping, and it took her all of that for eating, so her
children had no manners at all.
At last the White Pig opened her round eyes and saw all the Brown Pigs
at the farther end of the field. "Ugh!" said she to herself, "Ugh! I
must decide what to do before they see that I am awake." She lay there
and tried to think what her mother, who came of a very fine family, had
told her before she left. "If you have nobody to play with," her mother
had said, "don't stop to think about it, and don't act as though you
cared. Have a good time by yourself and you will soon have company. If
you cannot enjoy yourself, you must not expect others to enjoy you."
"That is what I will do," exclaimed the White Pig. "My mother always
gives her children good advice when they go out into the world, and she
is right when she says that Pigs of fine family should have fine
manners. I will never forget that I am a Yorkshire. I'm glad I didn't
say anything mean."
So the White Pig rooted in the sunshine and wallowed in the warm brown
earth that she had stirred up with her pink snout. Once in a while she
would run to the fence to watch somebody in the lane, and before she
knew it she was grunting contentedly to herself. "Really," she said, "I
am almost having a good time. I will keep on making believe that I would
rather do this than anything else."
* * * * *
The big sister of the Brown Pigs looked over to the White Pig and said,
"She's having lots of fun all by herself, it seems to me."
Big brother raised his head. "Let's call her over here," he answered.
"Oh, do!" cried the twelve little Pigs, wriggling their tails. "She
looks so full of fun."
"Call her yourself," said the big sister to the big brother.
"Ugh!" called he. "Ugh! Ugh! Don't you want to come over with us, White
Pig?"
You can imagine how the White Pig felt when she heard this; how her
small eyes twinkled and the corners of her mouth turned up more than
ever. She was just about to scamper over and root with them, when she
remembered something else that her mother had told her: "Never run after
other Pigs. Let them run after you. Then they will think more of you."
She called back, "I'm having too good a time here to leave my
rooting-ground. Won't you come over here?"
"Come on," cried all the little Pigs to each other. "Beat you there!"
They ate and talked and slept together all afternoon, and when the Brown
Hog called her children home, they and the White Pig were the best of
friends. "Just think," they said to their mother, "the White Pig let us
visit her, and she is just as nice as she can be."
The White Pig in her corner of the pen heard this and smiled to herself.
"My mother was right," she said; "'Have a good time alone, and everybody
will want to come.'"
THE KITTEN WHO LOST HERSELF
"I think," said the Blind Horse, "that something is the matter with my
ears." He and the Dappled Gray had been doing field-work all the
morning, and were now eating a hearty dinner in their stalls. They were
the only people on the first floor of the barn. Even the stray Doves who
had wandered in the open door were out in the sunshine once more. Once
in a while the whirr of wings told that some Swallow darted through the
window into the loft above and flew to her nest under the roof. There
was a deep and restful quiet in the sun-warmed air, and yet the Blind
Horse had seemed to be listening to something which the other did not
hear.
The Dappled Gray stopped eating at once. "Your ears?" said he. "What is
wrong with them? I thought your hearing was very good."
"It always has been," was the answer, "and finer than ever since I lost
my sight. You know it is always so with us blind people. We learn to
hear better than we could before losing our sight. But ever since we
came in from the field I have had a queer sound in my ears, and I think
there is something the matter with them."
The Dappled Gray stopped eating and stood perfectly still to listen. He
did not even switch his tail, although at that minute there were three
Flies on his left side and one on his neck. He was trying as hard as he
could to hear the queer sound also, for if he did, it would prove that
the noise was real and that the Blind Horse's hearing was all right.