“Oh! Oh! Auntie, please come here, my foot’s caught in this hammock and
I can’t get out and there’s a caterpillar going to crawl right on me!”
called little Neva Birdsell in an excited tone.
Aunt Doris laid down her sewing and went over to where her little niece
was lying with her eyes riveted on a caterpillar which was slowly
crawling along quite ignorant that anyone was being alarmed by its
presence.
Neva gave a sigh of relief when her aunt picked a leaf from the vine and
the caterpillar crawled off on to it.
“Now what shall I do with him?” asked Aunt Doris as the caterpillar
curled itself up in a little ball.
“Why, kill it, quick as ever you can,” replied Neva promptly, “I don’t
want horrid old caterpillars crawling ’round me.”
Just then a beautiful butterfly lighted on the vine near by and Aunt
Doris questioned, “Shall I catch the butterfly and kill that, too?”
“O, auntie, how could you kill a beautiful butterfly?” exclaimed the
little girl. “Catch it, though, I’d love to see it close to. But there,
now!” she added in a disappointed tone as the butterfly flitted away,
“It’s gone; they always fly away from me.”
Aunt Doris went back to her chair carrying the caterpillar in the leaf
with her. She seemed to be studying it for a moment and then asked, “Do
you know what I have here, Neva?”
“Why, that caterpillar,” answered the little girl in a surprised tone.
Then growing curious she left the hammock and went nearer her aunt’s
chair.
“Yes,” said her aunt, “you are right, yet if I should keep it long
enough it would turn into a butterfly just like the one that flew away a
moment ago; but I suppose I had better kill it as you wish me to.”
“O, please don’t,” said Neva quickly as her aunt started from her chair,
“I didn’t know ’bout it’s ever being a butterfly. Will it really be like
that other one, and could you keep it long enough; and how can you tell
what kind of a butterfly it will be?”
Aunt Doris laughed as she said, “Three questions all in one breath. I
know it will be that kind of a butterfly because I’ve studied about
butterflies and caterpillars. It has another name beside caterpillar and
that is larva. It is a very good name for it means a mask. You know when
a thing is masked you can’t tell quite what it is by its looks and so
you might call this caterpillar a masked butterfly.”
“I think it is a good name,” said Neva, “’cause I never would guess it
was going to be a butterfly; but can we keep it until it isn’t masked?”
“Yes, if you will run and ask Nora for a small pasteboard box we will
fix a house for it,” said her aunt.
Neva ran into the kitchen and soon returned with a shoe-box asking,
“Will this do? It’s the littlest one there was.”
“Yes, that will make a nice, roomy house,” replied her aunt, laying the
caterpillar gently in the box. Then taking a piece of netting from her
work basket she tied it over the top in place of the cover. “Now it will
have plenty of light and air,” she said. “The next thing will be to get
it something to eat.”
“What do caterpillars like?” asked Neva.
“Mostly leaves,” replied her aunt.
“Well, there is one leaf in the box; won’t it eat that?” asked the
little girl, watching the caterpillar crawling over it.
“No, dear, caterpillars are very particular about their food; they all
eat leaves, but different kinds of caterpillars eat different kinds of
leaves. This kind feeds on the leaves of the milk-weed. The butterfly is
always very careful to lay the eggs on the plant whose leaves supply the
food of the caterpillar so when the little caterpillar comes out of the
tiny egg its food is all ready for it.”
“Why, Aunt Doris! How can butterflies ever know so much? They don’t eat
leaves, do they?” asked Neva in a surprised tone.
“No, butterflies eat honey and overripe fruit and such things; it is
indeed wonderful that they can select the right plant, but the One who
made the butterfly gave it wonderful instinct. Who is He, Neva?”
“Our Father,” answered the little girl. “I know that we sing in school:
‘The little sparrow falleth not
But Jesus taketh heed.’
but I never thought of His paying much attention to such a little thing
as butterflies. I’m not afraid of this caterpillar now; I just, almost,
pretty nearly love it.”
Aunt Doris smiled, then setting the box upon the railing she said: “This
caterpillar must have taken quite a journey; we will go down the road a
ways and see if we can find some milk-weed leaves for it.”
Neva ran ahead and her bright eyes soon discovered the leaves. When they
had been placed in the box the little girl sat and watched the
caterpillar make a good meal, while her aunt explained to her how it
would first become a chrysalis and then a butterfly.
“How long does it have to be a caterpillar?” she asked.
“Twenty or thirty days,” answered Aunt Doris. “But I think that this one
is quite old and will hang itself up before long now.”
“How can you tell, auntie?”
“I judge by the color and size. When this caterpillar is very young it
is greenish, but as it grows older it casts its skin several times; each
time it grows brighter and weighs more.”
“Why, how can it ever cast off its skin?” questioned Neva in
astonishment.
Aunt Doris smiled as she replied: “Wait until it is ready to become a
chrysalis and you will see.”
Neva kept close watch of her new pet after that, she was so afraid some
change might take place that she did not see. When bedtime came her aunt
let her take the box up to her room and put it on the dresser that she
might look at it the first thing in the morning.
“Why can’t we have a name for this creature?” Neva asked while she was
getting ready for bed. “I mean a real name spelled with a capital, like
mine?”
“When it gets to be a butterfly it will have a name,” replied her aunt.
“What will it be?” asked Neva.
“Danais,” replied Aunt Doris.
“Danais,” repeated Neva, “That’s a pretty name, let’s call it that now.
There isn’t any last name to it, is there?”
“Why, yes, there is another name,” said her aunt, “but it is a pretty
long one. It is Archippus, Danais Archippus; can you remember that?”
“Oh, yes,” said Neva, “I’ll say it over lots of times and then I’ll
never forget it,” and when Aunt Doris went past the door a little later
she heard a very sleepy voice saying “Danais Archippus, Danais
Archippus, Archippus.”
The next two days the caterpillar crawled around in the box and ate or
slept and although Neva looked at it anxiously many times she could see
no change and she was beginning to feel a little impatient. Early the
third morning she was awakened by a robin which was singing in a tree
near her window. Almost before she had her eyes open she jumped out of
bed and ran over to look in the box. A moment later Aunt Doris heard a
mournful little voice saying: “Danais Archippus, I just believe you’re a
goner.”
“Good morning, little girl, you are an early bird; is there trouble in
the box?” she said going over to the dresser.
“There don’t seem to be anything in the box,” answered Neva in a
sorrowful tone.
Aunt Doris gave one look and then she laughed. “Why, Neva, the sandman
is still in your eyes, for you are looking at the bottom of the box and
here is the caterpillar hung up on the netting by the little hooks in
the tail. It is well that you wakened so early, for half an hour later
our Danais Archippus would have been a chrysalis and you never could
have seen it cast its skin.”
Then putting a soft shawl around the little girl she took her in her lap
and let her hold the box.
Very soon the caterpillar commenced rolling off its skin, but although
Neva watched every minute and almost held her breath, she could scarcely
tell how a little, green case, which looked as though it might be made
of wax, was hanging where the caterpillar had hung a few moments before,
while the old skin lay shriveled up in the bottom of the box.
“Isn’t it beautiful, auntie?” she said. “How can God make so many
beautiful things?”
“Yes, it is very beautiful,” replied her aunt, “but it will be more so
after a little; we will set the box up now and look again after you are
dressed.”
“You were right, auntie,” Neva called a little later. “The green case is
a prettier color now and it has a row of such cute little gold knobs
near the top. What do you s’pose they are there for?”
“You notice that they are placed just where the chrysalis bulges; they
are put there to protect the little sleeper when the wind blows the case
against anything. You know a chrysalis is usually suspended from a leaf
out of doors, and so it needs some such protection,” explained Aunt
Doris.
“And now how long will this be just a chrysalis and will it just hang
and do nothing?” asked the little girl.
“If you are watching it closely you will see that it sometimes swings
towards the light and sometimes away from the light just as its needs
require. It is a sensitive little mummy. But my little Neva will have to
be very patient for it may be twelve or even sixteen days before the
butterfly appears.”
“It’s good I’m making you a long visit,” said Neva, “’cause I wouldn’t
like to go home before the butterfly came.”
After ten days had passed the chrysalis began to look a little darker
and the twelfth day Neva said, “Auntie, I b’lieve I see something that
looks like a wing inside of this little case.”
“Sure, enough,” said Aunt Doris. “That means that Danais Archippus will
soon come out of the little green house.” Almost before she had finished
speaking the case began to move and then the part that was over the
butterfly’s back burst and a crumpled little object dropped to the
bottom of the box.
“Oh, what mussed up wings!” exclaimed Neva in an excited whisper, but
already the butterfly had commenced distending them and soon they looked
three times the size and were all smoothed out.
“Now will he fly?” asked Neva.
“No, the wings are still drooping a little because they are moist; he
will move them back and forth after a little, but will not fly until
they are perfectly dry.”
“Isn’t he just a beauty! How I wish mamma could see how he looks,” said
the little girl in a longing tone.
“How would you like to have auntie paint his picture before he is ready
to fly away?” asked her aunt.
Neva’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, will you?” she exclaimed. “I’ll run and get
your paints.”
A few minutes later the Danais was taken from the box and placed on the
tablespread and Aunt Doris’ brush was doing rapid work.
Neva was fascinated as her eyes traveled from her live butterfly to the
beautiful deep orange wings trimmed with black and white which her aunt
was painting.
“Why Aunt Doris,” she said, “It’s a zact match, it’s ’most a reg’lar
twin. How large it is!”
“Yes, it is four and a half inches across the wings. It is the largest
kind of an American butterfly.”
By the time the painting was finished the butterfly commenced flitting
about the room. It soon found its way to the screen door and Neva said,
“It looks just as if it was coaxing to go out.”
“Yes, butterflies don’t like to be shut up in the house,” said Aunt
Doris, “and I think a certain little girl must want to play out too by
this time, so I’ll open the door and watch you both fly.”
A few minutes later a happy little voice called from the lawn, “Oh, just
look, auntie, Danais Archippus seems to be kissing all the flowers, he’s
so glad to see them.”
When Neva went back to the city she took the picture of the Danais which
her aunt had framed in a pretty gold frame, and also a great bunch of
milkweed pods. She looked at them very proudly as her aunt put them in
her trunk and said, “They will be such beautiful reminderments of my
precious Danais Archippus, though of course I would remember him forever
even if I didn’t have them, wouldn’t I, auntie?” and Aunt Doris looked
into the earnest little face and smiled and felt sure that she would.
Grace T. Thompson.
THE INDIGNANT TURKEY.
A TRUE STORY.
Near the pretty town of Madison, N. J., a turkey hen was at one time
sitting on her nest of eggs. She knew that she must forego many a
pleasant excursion about the poultry yard and through the meadows, where
she and her mate had often picked up a sweet wormy meal. As the days
grew into weeks Mr. Turkey Gobbler seemed to realize it, too, and
decided to put up with widowhood no longer. So he visited a neighboring
farm and enticed a good-natured lady turkey to return with him to his
home. The patient, lawful wife, hatching her eggs, could do nothing
about it. Her place was on the nest, and although doubtless her breast
was ruffled with waves of jealousy, she had no means of avenging
herself. But the day of retributive justice was surely and swiftly
approaching. Hearing a great commotion in the barnyard one morning soon
after the new turkey had been introduced to the fowls, the householder
hurried out to investigate. There he found a strange turkey cock
thrashing with all his might of claw, wing and beak the robber of his
nest and affections, after which he proudly walked off with his mate,
leaving the defeated and disloyal bird to make peace as best he could
with her of whom he was not worthy.
Fanny Skelton Bissell.
[Illustration: CHIPPING SPARROW.
(Spizella socialis.)
About Life-size.
FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES]
THE CHIPPING SPARROW.
(_Spizella socialis._)
The Chipping Sparrow visits the temperate regions of Eastern North
America at that time of the year of which the poet Tennyson has said:
“Now fades the last long streak of snow,
Now bourgeons every maze of quick
About the flowering squares, and thick
By ashen rootes the violets blow.”
With the advancing seasons it passes still farther northward, till at
last some of these birds have established their homes in Newfoundland
and Southern Canada. They nest and rear their young from the Gulf States
to the northern limits of their range.
Mr. Chapman has truthfully said: “The Chippy is among sparrows what the
phœbe is among flycatchers—the humblest, most unassuming member of its
family. Both show trustfulness, which, in spite of their unattractive
appearance and far from pleasing voices, win our affection.”
Few of our feathered friends are more confiding or will show more
confidence in us, especially when by quiet, kindly acts we attract them
to our doorsteps. They love the habitations of man and will select the
vines and bushes of the door-yard in which to build their homes. The
name Social Sparrow is fully as appropriate as Chipping Sparrow. The
latter name is derived from their song, which is best described as a
“monotonous chippy-chippy-chippy-chippy,” ending at times in a quiet
trill. Their happy dispositions and busy lives are inspiring.
“Bid the little homely sparrows,
Chirping in the cold and rain,
Their impatient, sweet complaining,
Sing out from their hearts again;
Bid them set themselves to mating,
Cooing love in softest words,
Crowd their nests, all cold and empty,
Full of little callow birds.”
The song of the Chippy lasts about four seconds and is repeated at
frequent intervals throughout the day. They “frequently repeat their
trills in the darkness of night when restless or disturbed.” Mr.
Silloway has estimated that “if their total practice through the day
amounts to five hours, it is probable that they utter more than two
thousand songs in a day, and perhaps even more; a wonderful record for
these little musicians.” The ground, the fence, the porch or a shrub
serve alike as a rostrum from which, with uplifted heads, to utter their
trills.
Were it not for the English sparrow the yards of our country residences
would be alive with these companionable birds. They not only enjoy the
society of man, but also the presence of their own kind. The male is
very attentive and will share food that he has obtained with his mate,
for whom he shows the greatest fondness. In fact, the love for each
other exhibited by a pair of these sparrows is remarkable. Then, too,
their attachment for the home bush, in which they have passed a happy
season, is frequently shown by their returning to the same bush or one
near by, not only the next season, but probably for several.
The delicate little home of the Chippy is sometimes a neatly and closely
woven fabrication of the hairs of horses and cows. Because of this habit
of using hair in its nest the Chippy is frequently called the Hairbird.
More often, however, the hair is used in the lining, which is protected
by an outer wall made of grasses, fine roots and twigs. The nest is
seldom placed less than five feet from the ground. In this home, with
its feltlike lining, are laid the four or five bluish green eggs, the
larger ends of which are speckled with brown or black. The Chippy is not
contented with a single family and usually raises two in a season.
The patient devotion of the parent birds to their young is very
interesting. They teach the little birds to gather their own food and
carefully guard them till they have gained sufficient strength and
confidence to care for themselves. Even then parents and offspring
remain near each other, lovingly feeding in the same pasture, till the
cold autumn drives them to their summer home in the Southern States and
Mexico.