She then put in a fine crochet-hook, and out tumbled no fewer than
fifteen small green living caterpillars. At last, quite at the back of
the hole, she found a small oval thing, something like an ant's egg,
only more transparent. That was the wasp's egg; and the caterpillars
were for its food when it was hatched, which would be in about three
weeks."
"Don't wasps make honey?" asked Annie.
"No; the common wasp feeds her very young grubs upon the sweet juice of
ripe fruit; in fact they like fruit over-ripe, and that is why they
choose plums and pears and peaches that have fallen down to the ground.
It is dangerous to eat any ripe fruit that has fallen, without first
looking to see if there is a wasp inside it.
"But the young wasps soon want green caterpillars and flies to eat, and
many a blue-bottle fly is killed by wasps."
"If wasps don't store up honey for the winter, what do they live upon
when there are no insects about?" asked Mary.
"When the fruit is all gone, and the nights get cold, about the
beginning of October, then some instinct tells them what to do, for only
a few of them live through the winter.
"The wasps cease to bring in any more food for the young. They tear open
the cells and expose the young grubs to the weather, when they die, or
the birds eat them. Generally they pinch them to death, for they will
not let them live to die of starvation; and while they are in this state
they do not feel pain. So what looks like cruelty is really kindness.
"The full-grown wasps soon become sleepy with cold and die off, all but
the few which live to be the mothers of the wasps next year."
VII.
_CHARLEY FOSTER'S PETS._
"Sweet is the love which Nature brings."--WORDSWORTH.
On the following Saturday afternoon the children went to see their
cousins.
As soon as they arrived, Tom said to Jack, "I saw Charley Foster
yesterday, and told him we would go to see him this afternoon. I asked
him that, if he had any birds' eggs to spare, would he give them to you,
that you might take them back with you to London. He said he should be
most happy to do so; and that we had better stop till after tea, and go
home in the cool of the evening. So," continued Tom, "as soon as you're
ready we'll be off."
"I'm ready now," said Jack; so the boys started for Charley Foster's
house, which was about half a mile off, along the upper edge of the
wood, so the walk was a pleasant one.
Presently they saw two men come out of the wood with large,
square-looking packages, covered over with black linen.
"What are those men doing?" asked Jack; "and what have they got in those
packages?"
"They are bird-catchers, and those are the traps and cages for the
birds. It's a downright shame to keep a thing with wings in a cage. I
can't see what pleasure it can be to listen to their song when they are
shut up like that. I like plenty of room myself, and so do birds," said
Tom.
"What birds have those men been catching?"
"Linnets and goldfinches chiefly. They get nightingales, too, out of
these woods: they are very easy birds to trap, as they are not shy; but
it is now rather too late to catch them. The bird-catchers are after
them about the middle of April, when they first come back to England."
"Do nightingales sing only at night, Tom?"
"No; they sing pretty nearly all day long, only you don't notice them
because other birds are singing too. They begin their night song between
ten and eleven o'clock, when other birds are quiet, and that's the time
to hear them if you happen to be awake. There's Charley Foster's house,
that low white house on the left hand side of the road. There's Charley,
too, looking out for us."
Charley was two or three years older than Tom, but having the same
tastes they were often together.
Charley took them at once to his "den," as he called it, a small room at
one end of the straggling house, reached by a long passage.
"Here," said Charley, "I can do what I like, and make my litters without
disturbing anybody."
Not but that the room was orderly, otherwise Charley would never have
been able to find his things when he wanted them.
He told Jack that he had already put up a box of birds' eggs for him,
with a list and description of the eggs in it.
[Illustration: CHARLEY FOSTER'S COLLECTION.
_Page 68._]
"I'm tremendously obliged to you, I'm sure," said Jack.
"Not at all," said Charley; "I like to give to any one who really cares
for such things: besides, I've not been very generous, as I have only
put in those eggs of which I have other specimens. There are some very
good sorts, though, in your box; for, you see, I've been collecting for
some time. Tom, I've got an owl's egg for you, that white one, and two
jay's eggs--dull green, speckled with olive brown. Look here, too! I've
got a jay itself, which a farmer who lives near here shot and gave to
me. I'm going to try and stuff it."
"What pretty blue and black wings it has!" said Jack.
"Yes; it's a handsome but a very thievish bird. It's very clever, too,
in imitating all kinds of sounds that it hears. It will bleat like a
lamb, mew like a cat, neigh like a horse, and imitate the sawing of
wood exactly."
"How are the red starts getting on?" asked Tom.
"All right," said Charley; "the young birds are hatched now."
Charley turned to Jack, and explained that there was a pair of red
starts that had a nest just outside of the window of the room,--"as you
can see."
Jack went to the window and saw in a hole of the low roof a little
bluish-gray bird with a white crown sitting on a nest; and presently her
mate came with his red tail wagging, bringing an insect in his beak.
Now Jack could see several little red starts poking out their heads from
under their mother's wings, all looking as if they wanted to be fed
first.
"This is the third year that these red starts have built their nest in
that hole," said Charley. "Before that, it seemed as if a pair of
sparrows had looked upon the hole as belonging to them, for when the
red starts first came there were a good many fights between them and the
sparrows.
"One day when the hen red start was sitting, two sparrows made a dead
set at her; and although she behaved in a very plucky manner, she was
getting the worst of it. She then uttered a peculiar cry, and her mate
came to her help directly; and between them they drove off the sparrows.
"That seemed to be the final battle, for there were only a few trifling
skirmishes after that, and the red starts have considered that hole
their own private property ever since."
Charley next showed Jack his collection of butterflies, moths, and
beetles; and after the boys had finished looking at these beautiful and
curious creatures, it was time for tea, so they went downstairs.
When they had finished tea, Charley said, "We will go out of doors and
see our old raven, Grip."
There were all sorts of odd places outside of this rambling old house
which Charley said "just suited him."
In a little enclosure by the side of the kitchen garden was Grip's home.
He was kept at night, for safety, in a large wooden cage with open bars,
something like a hen-coop; but in the day he had his liberty--although
he did not wander far away, for he was very tame.
"He knows all the sounds of the poultry-yard," said Charley, "only I
expect he won't show off when we want him to do so. One morning, he had
not been let out of his cage, and he wanted his breakfast. He called
'Cluck, cluck, cluck,' just as a hen calls her chickens. In fact some
chickens really thought it was their mother calling them, and they ran
to Grip! I am sorry to say he helped himself to one of them; the others
were frightened and made their escape. Ever since then Grip has been in
his present quarters; he was too near the poultry-yard before. Many a
time has he cackled like a hen that has laid an egg, so that the maids
have gone out to look for the egg. He will get up into that elm-tree
there and crow so exactly like a cock that he will set off all the cocks
in the poultry-yard; and, in fact, all the cocks in the neighborhood
that are within hearing will start crowing."
"He knows we are talking about him--Don't you, old Grip?"
Grip gave a croak, as much as to say "Yes," and turned his wise-looking
old head, first on one side then on the other, in a very knowing
fashion.
The boys were just going, when there was a long loud crow from Grip,
exactly like a cock's, which made them all turn round.
"Before we had Grip we had a jackdaw," said Charley. "He was a very
clever bird. He used to go round to the kitchen window every day at a
certain hour, for a potato that the cook used to give him. If it was not
ready she would tell him so, and he would go away for a while, but he
always came back for it.
"One evening he was shut out of his roosting-place by accident, so he
went to the glass doors of the dining-room, which lead into the garden,
and tapped on them loudly with his beak till some one went to let him
in. He hopped about the room, and looked as much as to say,--'I want to
be shown to my bedroom.'
"Poor Jacky! he was killed by an accident; and then we had Grip in his
stead.
"You know we have a pair of hedgehogs, Tom," said Charley. "Well,
they've got some young ones; suppose we go and see them."
The boys went into the kitchen garden, and in a thick hedge at the
bottom they came to the nest which the hedgehogs had made on the ground.
It had a sort of roof to keep the rain off, and inside it was lined with
moss and leaves.
"I never saw a hedgehog," said Jack.
"Well, now, that is one there," said Tom.
Jack saw a little creature rather more than nine inches long, with a
thick body, a long snout, short legs, and no tail to speak of. It was
covered with spines, and could make itself into a ball whenever it
pleased or when it was frightened, and then no dog or beast could touch
the little spiky ball.
"The mother is inside the nest with her young ones," said Charley. "They
are about a fortnight old. These hedgehogs are very tame and know me
well. I'll try to get her to come out of the nest."
Charley went to the cabbage bed and found some slugs, which he put on to
a leaf, and called to the hedgehog. She soon made her appearance, and
the little ones with her, so the boys had a good look at the funny
little things.
"I say, Charley, you won't want six hedgehogs," said Tom. "Can't you
spare me a pair, when these little ones have grown bigger?"
"I daresay I can," said Charley, "I suppose your mother wouldn't mind
having them in the garden: they are apt to make little holes in the
paths, but then they eat slugs and insects. They are quiet, too, in the
day time, but get lively towards evening.
"They are useful little creatures, and soon get tame. I have heard of
their being kept in kitchens to eat up the crickets and beetles there,
sleeping all day and awake at night when these creatures are about. They
eat vegetables and soaked bread, and are easy little things to keep."
"I wish I could see one roll itself into a ball," said Jack.
"Oh, that's soon done," said Charley. He took a stick and gently poked
the hedgehog they saw first. "There, see now! he is bending his head,
and drawing his skin over it like a hood, and closing himself up. See
how stiffly his spikes stick out all over the round ball that he is."
"Well, that is funny," said Jack. "I wonder how he manages to do it?"
"He knows the trick of it," said Tom; "for you can't possibly open him
against his will."
The boys left the hedgehog to uncurl himself when he pleased, and next
went to a cucumber frame where Charley kept a pet toad.
"Don't toads spit poison?" asked Jack.
"No; that's all nonsense. Their skins secrete something unpleasant,
which they can make come out of it when they are frightened or in
danger. Dogs don't like catching hold of a toad with their mouths; but
they are perfectly harmless, in fact they are very useful in a garden,
as they eat slugs, beetles, caterpillars, and earwigs. See, this one
will eat out of my hand; but I must find something for him first."
Charley soon found a fat little slug, which he brought to the toad; and
he at once ate it from his hand.
"I'll find you something else, old boy;" and Charley soon found a fly,
which was snapped up by the toad in a twinkling.
"What beautiful bright eyes he has!" said Jack.
"Yes; and he makes good use of them, too. Didn't you notice how quickly
he darted out his tongue after the fly?--I say, Mr. Toad, I believe you
are growing out of your skin."
"What do you mean, Charley?"
"Don't you see he has grown so much lately that his skin is very tight,
and it is looking dull. He'll soon cast it off. It will split down his
back, and then he will draw his legs out of it.--And you'll have a nice
new suit complete, won't you, old Toady?"
"I think frogs are very interesting creatures too," said Tom.
"So they are," said Charley. "I often stand by our pond down there and
watch them. The pond is in a damp part of the garden; just what frogs
like. In the spring there's a lot of that spotted, jelly-looking stuff,
which is the frogs' spawn, or eggs, about the pond.
"By-and-by, in about a month or so, a tadpole comes out of the egg.
There are swarms of them wriggling about the water, with heads and
bodies and tails, but no legs. In about six weeks more the legs begin to
grow, and gradually the tadpole changes into a frog. See what a number
of young frogs there are hopping about here on the edge of the pond!
They are just out of their tadpole stage. They'll eat just what toads
eat, so they do no harm in a garden."
"I think I'll take some home with me and put them into the little pond
in grandpapa's garden," said Jack; "for I shall like to watch them
growing."
So Jack caught a few carefully, and tied them loosely in his pocket
handkerchief.
"Well," said Tom, "I think we must say good-bye, Charley; it's about
time for us to go home."
"We must not forget the box of birds' eggs; and thank you," said Jack.
"No," said Charley; "I'll fetch the box and go home part of the way with
you. It's a very fine evening for a walk."
VIII.
_A TALK WITH AUNT LIZZIE._
"I can show you the spot where the hyacinth wild
Hangs out her bell blossoms of blue,
And tell where the celandine's bright-eyed child
Fills her chalice with honey-dew,--
The purple-dyed violet, the hawthorn and sloe,
The creepers that trail in the lane,
The dragon, the daisy, and clover-rose, too,
And buttercups gilding the plain."
EDWARD CAPERN.
After the boys had started for Charley Foster's, the little girls went
upstairs into what was once the nursery, where Tom and Katey kept all
their toys and books and learned their lessons; in fact it was still the
children's room.
Katey showed her cousins her various belongings, and said, "I'm afraid I
have not anything so pretty to show you as Tom's birds' eggs. I thought
I would make a collection of wild flowers and leaves, and press them
and fasten them on to paper. So I began with the leaves of the forest
trees, and here they are."
The children looked through the sheets, on which were pressed the leaves
of the oak, the elm, the birch, the willow, and many others besides, all
so different in shape.
"The _leaves_ are very well," said Katey, "but not the _flowers_. I soon
left off pressing them, for the poor flowers looked so wretched, so
unlike the living ones, that I did not care to go on."
"I have felt just the same about some of the things in the museums in
London," said Mary. "They may interest grown-up people, but not us. They
are so dried and withered, that they don't give you much of an idea of
what they were in life. Who would ever guess what a man was like by
seeing a mummy? and some of the things are no better than mummies."
"I am very fond of flowers," said Katey: "they look lovely in their own
places where they grow, but just like mummies, as you say, dried up and
stuck upon paper."
"I'll tell you what: we are going to have tea on the lawn, and after tea
we'll ask mother to show us some sketches she has made of wild flowers.
Now they do give you a real notion of the flowers themselves."
Katey went to the window, and said, "Oh! there is Sarah bringing out the
table for tea already. Let us go downstairs into the garden."
So they all went down to watch Sarah lay the cloth, and put the bread
and butter and cake on the table, then the milk and sugar, and last of
all she brought the teapot.
"Here comes Aunt Lizzie," said Annie; and all the children joined in the
request that when tea was over she would show them her paintings of
flowers.
"To be sure I will," she said; "and we will look at them out of doors as
soon as the tea-table is cleared."
"I _do_ like having tea out of doors," said Annie; "we can never have
it in London, however hot it is."
[Illustration: THE TEA ON THE LAWN.
_Page 82._]
"We cannot have it for very long in the country either," said Aunt
Lizzie, "because our weather is so changeable. Sometimes we have cold
winds with bright sunshine, or it rains, or the grass is damp. Still,
during the long summer days we can frequently manage it; but it is not
always summer even in the country."
"Do the woods seem very dreary to you in the winter, aunt?"
"No; I have known and loved them all my life, and they have a very
different look in winter from what they have in summer."
"But they look so bare when the leaves are gone," said Annie.
"Yes; but you can see the shapes of the trunks and branches, down to the
little twigs. You can tell the name of the tree from its skeleton, for
each has its own form--the sturdy oak, the stiff poplar, the drooping
willow, and the elegant silver birch. You should see them after a fall
of snow. Each tree bears the weight of snow after a different
fashion--like itself.
"In fact the woods during a bright hard frost are as good as Fairyland.
The brown dead oak leaves lying on the ground are fringed all round the
edges with what looks like small diamonds sparkling in the sun. The
frost takes every blade of grass, every twig and straw, and covers them
with glittering crystal, and the whole air is clear and bright."
"We have some very beautiful days in winter," said Katey.
"Yes," said her mother; "calm, still, cloudless days--like midsummer,
only of course colder. Not very often, it is true, but occasionally.
"I was walking on one such day till I came to what had been the private
road leading to a gentleman's house. The house itself was old and
uninhabited, and the way to it was open. I walked along, and the trees
on either side of it were bare, sparkling with frost and looking like
other trees outside. Presently I came to a bend in the road, and saw
that on both sides the space was planted with evergreen shrubs and
trees, and some of the trees were very tall. There were evergreen oaks,
and pines, and firs, and plenty of the large-leaved ivy. It seemed as if
I had walked from midwinter into midsummer. The bright sun was shining,
the air was still, the sky a cloudless blue, and all the trees were
green! I stood still to enjoy the sight, then I walked on for a very
short way, when another sharp turn of the road brought me back to the
wintry landscape of bare trees and more open country. That sight can be
seen any winter now."
"I thought the country was dull in winter," said Mary.
"We have dull days, rainy days, and dark days; but then, although Nature
is so quiet, she is still alive, and there are always changes going on.
"I knew a gentleman, who is dead now, but he lived to be very old. For a
very great many years he always took one walk, at a certain hour every
Sunday morning, all the year through. It was a very ordinary country
walk--through the little town, up by the side of a fir plantation, along
hedge-rows and scattered houses, over a stile into a long ploughed field
generally planted with turnips for cattle, then over another stile,
through winding lanes that led to farm-houses and at last came out into
the public road.
"It interested him to watch the changes week after week--the first
appearing of buds in the spring time, their growth during the week, then
the bursting of the leaves. Then there was the white blossom of the
black-thorn, which comes before the leaves; then that of the white-thorn
or 'May;' the silvery blossom of the willow tree; and the yellow catkins
of the hazel, called by country children 'lamb-tails.' Then came the
wild flowers of very early spring, till, as the weeks went on, their
bloom was over with summer and autumn. Now the hedges were red with hips
and haws. At last the leaves fell, and winter came once more.
"Besides all these changes there were the birds to notice--when they
first came back to England after their winter absence, when the cuckoo
was first heard, and many other things as well.
"You may take the same walk fifty-two times a year, year after year, as
he did, and yet no two walks will be alike.
"Now Sarah shall clear the table and I will fetch my portfolio of
sketches."
When Aunt Lizzie returned she said, "These are all wild flowers
here.--You know that one?"
"Why, yes, it is a primrose. We should know what a primrose was like
better by this than by the dried ones. Why, aunt! you have painted a
whole lot of them growing just as they do grow."
"Yes; I like, if I can, to paint the flowers in their natural places,
besides taking a single flower and painting it the size of life. Look
at that wild rose-bush mixed with bramble in that piece of hedge;
underneath it I have painted a small spray of roses and buds."
"What is that pretty little flower?" asked Annie; "I don't remember ever
having seen one like it."
"It is the wood-sorrel; a very lovely little thing it is too. It is
common in woods and shady places; but the flowers are almost over now."
"We have some roots of it in the shrubbery, and I saw one flower in
bloom there this morning," said Katey.
"Well, you may all go and look at it, if you like." So the children
scampered away to look at the small pale, drooping flower.
"What pretty leaves it has!" said Mary. "I have brought one with me; it
looks like a cluster of leaves in one."
"Yes; the bright, transparent leaves and stems are very delicate. These
leaves will frequently fold up, if knocked, like the leaves of a
sensitive plant. You can look for a plant in the woods and try it. The
leaves, too, have a very acid taste."
"I see a violet root. I like violets because of their sweet smell," said
Annie.
"I like what are called dog-violets too," said her aunt. "They have no
smell at all, but they grow all the summer through, in hedges and in
grass, in such large quantities that the turf often looks like an
embroidered carpet.
"The flower is very similar to the scented violet, only it is of a pale
grayish blue. I have painted two roots side by side, one of the scented,
one of the dog-violet; also a specimen of the white violet, which is not
so common as that of the dark kind, but its smell is quite as
delicious."
The children were delighted to recognize, among others, sketches of
daisies, cowslips, buttercups, wood-anemones, wild hyacinths,
forget-me-nots, eyebright, red and white clover, and many kinds of
flowering grasses and graceful fern leaves.
"What is that?" they said, as they saw something that looked curious but
not pretty.
"That is one of the sketches I took in Cornwall two or three miles from
the Land's End. It is a poor, unhappy furze-bush, covered with dodder.
The dodder is what is called a parasitical plant; that is, a plant that
lives entirely on another. There are several kinds of dodders: some live
entirely on flax, some on nettles, but those that stick to clover and
furze-bushes are the most common in this country.
"When the seed of a dodder dropped into the ground begins to grow, it
feels about for the kind of plant it wants to live upon: if it cannot
find it, it dies.
"This furze dodder, you see, has found what it wanted, and, having done
so, began at once to coil its pink thread-like stem on that of the
furze. Now it had gained its footing, and threw out a great many more
fine stems in all directions, after the fashion of strawberry runners,
rooting as it grew. There are thousands of little dodder plants sucking
the life out of the furze. I have seen many of the bushes quite
smothered, and even killed, by this unpleasant and greedy plant.
"When you are older, if you study the ways of plants, you will find them
quite as interesting as those of animals. They have to get their living;
and some, like the dodder, prefer to get it at the expense of another;
and others resort to all kinds of plans to keep themselves and their
kinds alive.
"The acid of the pretty wood-sorrel is a poison, so nothing will eat it;
and the buttercups growing in meadows are untouched by cattle, because
of the poison in their leaves and stems.