nobody could find him. He had taken to sleeping in the shed under the
floor, and Jinky had made a bed there for him, to please his little
sister, by taking up a board of the floor, and putting down an armful of
hay and a bit of carpet. Kit liked this much; he had become a great
hunter, and he could range the woods on moonlit nights after squirrels
and winter birds, and then seek his retreat for a morning nap, going in
from the outside through a hole in the rough stone foundation of the
wood-shed. But he always came in for his breakfast; and to-day when
Polypod called, there was no answer. Bobbin, as she had named him, did
not come running to the step, his tail high in air, the end curved like
a fish-hook, his ears forward, and his yellow eyes shining; nor did he
come all day. It had snowed very hard the night before, and perhaps he
had gone into a neighbor's barn, they thought; when it cleared up he
would come trotting in as usual. But he did not. Day after day went by;
somebody asked the neighbors, to no purpose, if they had seen the cat;
somebody else trudged over to the lonely barn, two miles away, where
they stored the surplus hay, but Bobbin was not there. Polypod cried
till her eyes ached.
"Mercy me! don't take on so, child," said mother; "there's cats enough,
dear knows. Pa'll fetch ye another kitty the next time he goes to the
'ville."
"Muvver! I want _my_ kitty!" Polypod indignantly answered.
In about two weeks from Bobbin's disappearance a heavy rain and thaw set
in: drifts disappeared, the earth was brown again, and out from that
hole in the stones crept--who but Bobbin! thin as a shingle cat, eyes
big as saucers, feeble, staggering, rough: but Bobbin! Now Polypod
sobbed for joy; she would not let anybody touch him; she made him a
flannel bed, and fed him with a tea-spoon till his voice came back, and
he purred a faint song of gratitude. Polypod loved him now better than
ever; and as his loose skin filled out, and his beautiful dark gray
coat, dashed and striped with black, regained its gloss and depth, his
attachment to the child seemed to increase; he followed her everywhere,
into the woods after the first shy blossoms that laid off their gray
furs and smiled up at the sun, down into the swamp edge to pick cowslip
greens for dinner, into the lots for wild strawberries, and even up on
the ledge for red raspberries; if anybody wanted Polypod, they said,
"Where's the cat?" Mother looked on him with much favor now, for he not
only rid the house of mice and rats as well as ever Whittington's cat
could have done it, but he also caught all the little green or striped
snakes that lurked in and about the old garden, which mother "could not
a-bear!" It was very pretty to see him toss the coiling, squirming
creatures high up in air, and then watch them with his handsome head
cocked aside, and his paw held up ready for a pat as soon as they moved,
or another toss. He never ate them, which pleased Polypod, for she felt
as if she never could kiss him again after he had swallowed a snake.
It was in the late autumn that Bobbin most distinguished himself,
however. Polypod had been quite ill; a touch of fever, the doctor said.
She had been taken out of her tiny bedroom opening from mother's into
the spare chamber up stairs, and put into that big old-fashioned bed
that had a tester and white dimity curtains at the corners. One night
Nelly had given her her medicine, and set down the tallow candle on the
light stand, drawing the curtain to keep the light out of Polypod's
eyes, when she was called down stairs to see one of the neighbors.
Half an hour after, as she was talking very busily, Bobbin came running
into the room and began to walk round her, pull at her dress with his
paw, go to the door, come back, rub against her, look up at her with
great asking eyes, and at last mewed so impatiently that the neighbor
said, "What upon earth ails that cretur? Seems as though he wanted
suthin real bad."
"Oh! I guess he wants to get up into Polypod's room," said Nelly; "he
sets by her dreadfully; but I was real sure I left him on to the foot of
her bed, and I know I shet the door."
"Mebbe you'd better let him go up," suggested the visitor, who found
Bobbin's importunity rather distracting to a very important conversation
he wanted to begin.
So Nelly opened the door, and Bobbin rushed up the front stairs, and
began to mew loudly at the top.
"I did shut the door, certain sure," laughed Nelly, going up to open it,
and turning quite pale at the smell of fire, and then at the sight of
Polypod calmly asleep in the bed, though the end of one pillow and the
dimity curtain next the light stand were blazing and smoking away with a
good-will.
Polypod might have burned or smothered to death but that Nelly had left
the window over the shed roof open a little way when she went down, the
night was so unusually warm; and probably Bobbin, seeing something
wrong, had gone out here, jumped off the shed roof, and, making his way
into the front door, gone to the first person he found for help. Now
this is a true story, or I shouldn't dare to tell it. And thanks to
Bobbin, and the visitor, who came tearing up when Nelly screamed, "Oh,
George!" and pulled down the curtain very quickly, and stamped on it,
there was no great harm done; for Polly's dose of skull-cap tea kept her
quiet even when she awoke with the noise.
But nobody ever saw a cat so admired and well treated as Bobbin was
after that. Nothing in the Dyer house was too good for him; and when,
that same winter, he was chased by a dog of the tin peddler's, and fell
into the well, from which he was fished out next day dead and dripping,
Polypod's heart was broken. It was small comfort that Jinky dug a neat
little grave under the Bell pear-tree, and put up a shingle head-stone,
with the tender inscription:
"Here lies Bobbin,
Pretty as a robin,
Smart as a whip.
Why did he slip,
Sad to tell,
And get drowned in the well?"
This was all good, as far as it went, but Polypod cried harder and
harder. At last she went to mother.
"Muvver," she piteously sobbed, "ca-can't I have a b-black bonnet to
w-w-wear to meetin'?"
"Land alive, child! what under the canopy do you want a black bonnet
for?"
"Why, you s-said folks w-wore 'em when any-b-body they loved was d-dead,
to show they was s-sorry, and I'm aw-awful sorry 'bout Bobbin; more'n I
ever w-was before--ev-ever so much!"
Mother upset the churn, and spilled the buttermilk on the spot. It was a
hasty movement did it, but anything was better than to have dear little
Polypod see her smile. She compromised for a black bow on the child's
hood, on the ground that nobody in meeting was acquainted with Bobbin,
and if the bow was noticed it might be thought that some distant
relative of the family was dead. Polypod could only sob, "W-well, I
don't c-care so vely much. I fe-feel real b-black inside."
Dear Polypod! may she live to grow up in the faith that it is better and
truer than any depth of outward mourning to rend the heart, not the
garments--in her own quaint phrase, to "feel real black inside!"
THE WHIRLIGIG HOUSE.
BY CHARLES BARNARD.
They were a very young couple, and as soon as they were married they
tried to find a place where they could begin housekeeping. After looking
about for some time, they found a lovely house, sheltered from the north
and open to the south. It was a pleasant, airy spot, and quite sunny, so
they decided to move in at once. Everything went beautifully in the new
house until the third day, when, to their great alarm, they woke early
in the morning, and found the sun rising in the south. This was very
curious, for they had read in their school-books that "if you stand with
your face to the south, the sun will rise on your left hand, and set on
your right hand." Yet there was the sun rising as plain as could be in
front of the house, and they knew the house faced south. However, the
sun came up in the most natural manner in the world, went up to the
middle of the sky at noon, and went down among some beautiful clouds at
night in the north.
Next morning something still more wonderful happened: the young people
slept quite late, for the sun rose behind the house, and they did not
know it was morning until he was shining brightly.
"My dear," said the husband, "this is very singular. The sun rose in the
north, and I suppose it will set in the south."
So it did, for they both watched it go down in front of the house.
"Never mind," said the wife. "I dare say the sun knows the way, and I'm
very sleepy. I think I'll go to bed."
Then for a week the sun rose every day in the north, and set in the
south, as if it were quite the proper thing to do. Then came a still
more wonderful day: the sun rose in the north; but while the family were
at dinner in the front parlor, it gave a jump and went clear round to
the south, and set at night in the old-fashioned way.
"My love, I think the sun behaves in the most surprising manner. I hope
there is nothing wrong with it."
"Oh, I hope not, I'm sure," said she, "for father could not afford to
give us a mantel clock for a wedding present, and I have to depend on
the sun. It would be very distressing if it should get out of order."
The next morning the sun rose in the west, and before it had been an
hour high, it gave a big jump and ran round to the east, and then went
calmly in the old way, as if nothing had happened. The young people
were, of course, greatly surprised, and were much pleased to see it go
down in the west, just as it used to do before it fell into such bad
habits.
The next day the little wife went home to see her mother, and told the
family all about it. They said it was very strange, but they had not
noticed anything wrong with the sun. At night her father went home with
her, and when he came in sight of the house, he sat on the fence and
laughed so heartily that he nearly fell off. When he went home he told
all the folks about it, and they had a good laugh over the young people
who went to housekeeping in a _ventilator_.
[Illustration: THE YOUNG COUPLE AND THE WHIRLIGIG HOUSE.]
[Begun in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE No. 66, February 1.]
PHIL'S FAIRIES.
BY MRS. W. J. HAYS,
AUTHOR OF "PRINCESS IDLEWAYS," ETC.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE FAIRY'S STORY CONCLUDED.
The owl replied softly, telling her errand, praising the bravery of
the frog, and evidently pleasing the kingfisher with the news of
the death of his enemy the night-hawk.
"I will go," he answered. "I do not pretend to be chivalric; I
should prefer to sleep; nevertheless I will go. Rise, follow me. I
expected to breakfast at home; now we will get some sea-food."
"He is always thus," whispered the owl, as Arthur and she rose
high in the air. "He is a wonderful naturalist, a student of
ichthyology, has a vast and profound fund of knowledge, but a
great gourmand, always considering what he will eat; but he is
reliable; we may trust him."
They sailed now high, now low, over ravines and gulfs, until the
continuous murmur which had accompanied them deepened into the
steady, solemn roar of the ocean. Great crags, broad sands, and
huge waves tossing their white crests now met their eyes.
The soft faint gray of early dawn lit the heavens. The kingfisher
perched himself on the top of a rock, and watched the seething
waves with a steady and keen outlook. The owl fluttered down to
the long line of breakers, and bade Arthur notice the immense
quantity of sea-weed fringing the rocks in all directions.
"Now how to carry it back is the question," said Arthur, rather
dolorously.
"My friend, have no fear," said the owl. "Go to work bravely, and
gather all you can, then we will arrange to transport it. Hasten,
however, as much as you can."
Arthur hopped about zealously. He was half deafened with the
thunder of the waves, half blinded with the dashing spray, half
drowned with the salt-water pouring from every cliff and cranny of
the rocks. Still, he tore and clutched at the sea-weed, dragging
it in masses larger than his own frog body to where the owl waited
for him on the beach in a sort of grotto hollowed out by the
waves. There they piled it until they both were assured they had
the proper quantity. Then the owl flew to a promontory and hailed
the kingfisher. Arthur, quite worn out, fell asleep. When he
awoke, he found himself most strangely placed.
[Illustration: MAKING THE STURGEON USEFUL.]
So soundly had he slept that the owl and kingfisher, having
completed their arrangements for the removal of the sea-weed, had
removed Arthur also, and he woke to find himself on the back of an
enormous sturgeon, with sea-weed under him, over him, and about
him. Tightly about the sturgeon was bound an old rope, which the
kingfisher had procured from the remains of a wreck on the rocks,
and in which he had entangled the sturgeon; this rope the owl and
kingfisher took turns in holding, keeping the sturgeon near the
surface of the waves by its check upon his movements, which were
very bold and rapid. Thus, by the double force of flying and
swimming, Arthur was carried with immense speed into the quiet
waters of a bay, from which they had emerged on arriving at the
ocean.
From the bay they sailed up into the river, and were coursing
rapidly on to its narrower surface, when the sturgeon suddenly
gave a great leap, very nearly throwing Arthur and his precious
load off his back.
The owl screamed, the kingfisher shouted hoarsely, but tightened
his hold upon the rope, while the sturgeon dashed madly on.
Again he made another frantic leap, whereupon the kingfisher gave
him a thrust with his beak, to which the sturgeon replied:
"The current is becoming too shallow; I can go no farther. I
_must_ have air. How can you expect me to go up this trout stream?
have you no mercy for such a beast of burden as you have made me?"
"Forward again!" shouted the kingfisher, tightening the rope
again.
Arthur felt the sturgeon shiver, and was conscious that his
movements were weaker. Another leap, and he burst the rope; but as
he jumped, he tossed his load of sea-weed high in the air; it
fell, and Arthur with it, on a rock.
The owl gave a long, dismal cry, the kingfisher swept madly away
after the sturgeon, and Arthur, bruised and sore, lay panting on
the rock. For a long while he could do nothing. The owl went off
in search of food, promising to return at night-fall. The day wore
on. Arthur, weak with hunger, tried to devour some of the
sea-weed. It was too bitter and salt. Leaning over the edge of the
rock, he saw a shoal of tiny fishes playing hide-and-seek in the
eddies of the stream. He clutched at one of them, and devoured it.
Never had he tasted a sweeter morsel. He caught another, and
another, until his hunger was fully appeased. Evening came again;
the moon shone early; Arthur was awakened from a long nap by the
hooting call of the owl, which said,
"Here I am again, my distressed friend."
At the same moment the kingfisher swooped down on them, and stood
tilting and flapping his wings on a corner of the rock. "Now,"
said he, "as I am a bird of my word, and have promised to help
you, we will proceed to business. This sea-weed is dry, as you
see, and very much lighter. You, Mrs. Owl, can easily carry it,
while I will take your young friend Mr. Frog. Let us be off at
once, you, madam, directing the flight."
The kingfisher and Arthur then heaped the sea-weed upon the owl,
and Arthur, clambering on the rather oily back of the kingfisher,
was once again going over the tree-tops.
Before morning they had reached the desired spot, the flat rock
under the chestnut-tree, placed the sea-weed upon it, and, hardly
waiting for thanks, the kingfisher left them.
Arthur thanked the owl warmly, assuring her of his deep gratitude.
To which the owl replied: "You have done me quite as good service,
and my thanks are quite as due to you. I return to my empty nest a
desolate mother, but never shall I forget your generous sympathy.
Possibly I may find consolation, but should I ever raise another
brood, it could never equal the beauty of my lost darlings. Alas!
we feathered creatures have great trials: we toil diligently for
our families, build nests at great cost of time and effort, often
to see them swept away by the winds; or, our nests lasting, and
unattacked by enemies, many a young bird is thrown to the earth by
the violence of storms, and comes to an untimely end through
starvation. Sympathy, therefore, we appreciate; it helps us to
bear our sorrows with becoming fortitude. Never shall I forget
your gallantry, my friend; the thought of it will cheer many a
solitary hour when all the world is asleep. I bid you farewell."
So saying, the owl flapped her wings, and was gone.
Arthur hopped away from the chestnut-tree to the place where he
had lost himself. It was early morning, but he was wearied, and
slept in spite of all his anxiety. When he awoke he was no longer
a frog, but a very hungry boy. The noonday sun was shining, and at
his side hopped a little brown bird. It twittered gladly, as if
congratulating him, but not one word could he understand. Before
this adventure he would have probably frightened it away, but now
he reached out his hand softly and stroked its feathers, then
seeking berries, he placed them where the little creature could
feast upon them. It peered at him with its bright little eyes, and
even perched upon his shoulder. Never again did Arthur idly
destroy any living creature of the woods--not the humblest weed or
flower, bright-winged insect or speckled egg. Nor did he loiter
again when sent upon errands. The elves thereafter left him in
peace.
"Good-by, dear Phil; I am off now. This is my last story."
* * * * *
"Where am I? Has the music stopped? Was it my wind harp--my poor little
wind harp?"
"Why, Phil, your wind harp is broken. Did you not know that it fell from
your window last night?" said Lisa, coming into the dining-room.
"No. I wonder if I shall ever see the wind fairy again?"
"Dreaming again, Phil?" said Lisa.
"You always think I dream, Lisa, whenever I speak of fairies."
"Do I, dear? Well, you must get ready now for Graham; he is coming to
take you out on the lake. Miss Schuyler will not be home to dinner, and
we three are to have ours on Eagle Island."
Phil went up stairs and gathered together the broken pieces of his wind
harp. He folded each piece up carefully in paper, and put them all away.
"No more fairy stories," he said to himself. "Well, I suppose I am
getting beyond them, and must put up with sober facts; but they are not
half so nice," he said, with a sigh--"not half so nice." Then he took
out his sketch-book and pencils, and prepared for work.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
[Illustration]
AN ORPHLING.
MR. KULLCHAW. "Good gracious, children, you must not think of bringing
such a forlorn-looking cur as that in the house!"
FANNY. "Oh, but, Papa dear, when he is washed and mended, I think he'll
look real nice, and we can exhibit him at the Dog Show."
[Illustration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.]
NEW HARTFORD, CONNECTICUT.
Last summer our big cat caught a rat. It was one of the largest
rats I ever saw. The cat did not eat it, but left it on the lawn
dead. The next day we noticed the rat did not look nearly as large,
and upon going to it, we saw that it was half buried, and was being
slowly pulled down by something. On looking closely, we discovered
several large black beetles, spotted with yellow, working under the
rat; and in thirty-six hours from the time it was left there, they
buried it all out of sight except a little bit of its tail.
Can any one tell me why the beetles did this?
HALLIE A. S.
The beetles which buried the rat belonged to the family of carrion
beetles known as _Silphidæ_. They live in the ground, and have feet
fitted for digging. They eat all kinds of filth and dead animals, and on
this account are sometimes called scavengers. Those whose work relieved
your lawn of the dead rat belonged to the branch of the _Silphidæ_
family called burying or sexton beetles. The instinct of these bugs is
very remarkable. They scent a dead mouse or any small animal from afar,
and at once proceed to secure the prize. If the ground where it lies is
rocky, and too hard for their little feet to work in, an army of them
fasten on the body, and drag it to a softer place. Then they work
underneath, as you saw them do, until they sink their prey, and can
cover it away from the air and sun, which would soon dry it, and make it
unfit for their food. The sexton beetles lay their eggs in the little
dead body they have buried, so that when the tiny grubs are hatched,
their food is all ready for them. The common carrion beetles have strong
teeth, and can eat almost any animal substance, no matter if it is very
hard and dry, but the sexton beetles can only eat very soft things, and
their little grubs would die had not Nature, who cares for the least of
her children, endowed them with this wonderful instinct to provide
suitable food and protection for their young.
* * * * *
DOVER, NEW HAMPSHIRE.
I have had my first volume of YOUNG PEOPLE bound, and it makes a
very nice book. On page 496 of that volume is a picture of the
Indians killing Major Waldron here in Dover. I live just across the
river from where his house was, and I can see the place from my
windows. We do not have any Indians here now, but I saw some once
in a show, and they were savage-looking fellows.
BURTON T. S.
* * * * *
RATON, NEW MEXICO.
We live in the Raton Mountains. We call our home Glenwood. It is a
beautiful place, especially in the summer. It is situated at the
mouth of two cañons. We have a great many beautiful wild flowers
and ferns here, and we press a great many for winter decoration.
We have two pet calves. Their names are Rose and Graceful. They
are very gentle. Rose always comes to the door to wait for her
milk, and if she does not get enough, she will go around to
another door, and wait until she gets more. We have only to take a
pan in our hands, and she will trot after us all over the place.
I think YOUNG PEOPLE is delightful, and it is very pleasant to
think that from the Atlantic to the Pacific thousands of little
readers are delighted with the same stories, and welcome the
coming of this little paper with the same eagerness.
ELLA G. R.
* * * * *
NEAR RICHMOND, VIRGINIA.
About a week ago my papa came home in the evening and told us that
a nice horse had fallen and broken her leg on the Reservoir Drive,
and that the owner would have to shoot her. The next morning we saw
the poor horse limping up the road on three legs, and the rain was
pouring down. We all felt so very sorry, and papa had her brought
into our stable and fed. When he looked at her leg, he thought it
could be cured. He went to see the owner, who said papa might cure
her if he cared to take the trouble. Papa has put her leg in
splints, and bound it up with oakum and strong bandages, and it is
doing nicely. It will have to be kept in splints for four weeks. I
will write and tell YOUNG PEOPLE when our horse is well. We are
going to call her Experiment. I am seven years old.
BESSIE K. N.
* * * * *
ALBANY, NEW YORK.
DEAR YOUNG PEOPLE,--I write to tell you about my home. It is
situated on the Rensselaer and Saratoga Railroad, thirty miles from
Saratoga; the name of it is Comstock's. It was founded by my
great-grandfather in 1849.
There used to be a great many Indians around here, and a number of
arrow-heads have been found in a muck bed at the end of our
meadow. A woman living on the mountain, about a mile from us,
found an arrow-head firmly stuck in a piece of fire-wood which her
husband had cut. Near by there is a cave dug in the solid rock,
most likely the work of Indians. Near it there is a hole in the
solid rock, about two feet deep and nine inches across, where they
used to pound corn. Up a creek not far from our house a cannon
full of gold coin (so tradition says) was sunk by Burgoyne's army
when they went from Skenesboro' (now Whitehall) to Fort Edward,
and almost every summer people come to drag for it. Once they
hooked on to something very heavy, which, as they had but one
horse, they could not pull up. Many people thought it was the
cannon. There was a battle fought at Port Ann, four miles south of
Comstock's, in the French and Indian war, and even now people
sometimes find old coins there under the stones.
GEORGE C. B.
* * * * *
GLEN HAVEN, WISCONSIN.
I am a little girl eleven years old, and a subscriber to this
delightful little paper ever since it was published. I do not know
how I would get along without it. I have a little niece with blue
eyes. She is seventeen months old. When she comes to our house, she
says "Dood-day" to everybody. She always wants to see the pictures
in YOUNG PEOPLE, but she is too little to read. This is my fourth
letter to Our Post-office Box. All the others must have gone to the
"waste-basket." I do hope this will not go there too.
AMY L. O.
* * * * *
LISBON, IOWA.