the snakes out of Ireland that he knocked a hole in it, but that an angel
appeared and mended it, so that the drum was afterward kept as a relic.
“It is told that in one part of Ireland from which St. Patrick drove the
snakes and toads he chained one huge serpent by a lake called in Irish
Lough Dilveen and told him to stay until Monday. The people around the
district still claim that every Monday they hear the serpent calling out
in the Irish dialect, ‘It’s a long Monday, St. Patrick!’
“St. Patrick is said to have died on the 17th of March, 493, aged 121.
His grave is at Dunpatrick, Ireland, and a tombstone now bears his name
cut in Irish characters.”
MARCH 19: The Clocks
“I think I shall tell you the story of the talking that went on one day
in a clock shop when the old clock mender had gone to his lunch,” said
daddy.
“‘My master is so lazy!’ said the Eight-Day Clock. ‘He keeps saying: “Oh,
dear, I must wind up that Clock.” And then he grabs a newspaper and sits
down and reads. He quite forgets about me. He should wind me up when it
is time. Gracious, I strike so he can tell I need to be wound up. But he
doesn’t pay much attention. He just winds me up after I have had to stop
for days. And such a fine Clock as I am, too.’
“‘You may be a fine Clock,’ said the little Watch with the broken
mainspring, ‘but I don’t see as it does you any good. You are always
being brought here.’
“‘I can’t help it,’ said the Eight-Day Clock. ‘You see, I get so upset
over not being wound up and I get so tired and worried wondering if my
master will remember, that I get feeling run down. Then I weep a Clock’s
tears, which only we Clocks and Watches know about. We feel so badly when
we are not treated right. And then when we feel badly it upsets our works
and we have to be brought to the clock mender’s shop. But I wish we could
teach our masters a lesson,’ said the Eight-Day Clock.
“‘We will,’ said the Cuckoo Clock.
“‘What will we do?’ asked the rest.
“‘We will be so hard to mend,’ said the Cuckoo Clock, ‘that we will make
the clock mender charge great big prices. And then our masters will look
after us.’ And all the Clocks at once looked happier.”
MARCH 20: A Party and Polly
“Polly want a cracker, ha, ha,” laughed the parrot.
“No, Polly doesn’t want a cracker, ha, ha,” the parrot continued. “For
there is no one in the room to give me a cracker, and I’ve eaten up the
one I had in my cage. I have some seed and some water, but not a trace of
a cracker.”
Polly, the parrot, stepped out of her cage and looked about the room. She
flew this way and that, and she had a good-sized room in which to fly—a
room with very high ceilings.
“Polly doesn’t see a cracker,” she said to herself. She couldn’t talk to
any one else, you see, because there was no one else in the room. And
she knew perfectly well that the pictures on the walls and the rugs on
the floor didn’t care about being talked to. She had never heard them
say anything or fly about or walk about—and she knew very well why they
couldn’t.
Because they weren’t live things. They weren’t people, nor were they
animals, nor birds. They were nothing but rugs and pictures and
extremely, extremely silly.
She hadn’t been looking about long when her mistress came in all dressed
up in a most beautiful manner.
“Well, Polly,” her mistress said, “we are having a party to-day.”
“Polly have a party, Polly have a party,” said the parrot.
And when the guests arrived Polly looked down from her perch and said:
“Polly have a party, Polly have a party.” How every one did laugh and
admire the nice, cheerful, friendly Polly Parrot. And her mistress was
very proud of Polly!
MARCH 21: Salt, Pepper and Sugar
“Creatures and things aren’t to be admired who won’t take the trouble to
go out of their way to do nice things,” said Sugar of the Sugar Bowl.
“And as the Sugar Bowl can’t go walking around looking for nice things to
do at least it can admire the Salt Cellar and the Pepper Shaker for the
work they do in seasoning and making things have a good taste.”
“Ah, Sugar Bowl,” said the Salt Cellar, “I am glad to hear you talk
this way. For some time I have been afraid that you didn’t have enough
character. I was very much afraid that you were becoming too sugary and
too weak!
“The Pepper Shaker would tell you, too, how much he thinks of you, but
if he comes about too much he is apt to make people sneeze. He doesn’t
like to do that. He can’t help it if too much of him is used, but he
hates to be used like that. He likes to add to the taste of things, but
not to be made out a cruel creature.
“Yes, he had a terrible blow once. He was treated so badly! It wasn’t
fair to him at all.
“Some very mean boys and girls thought it would be fun to put sneezing
powder in the flowers which they would give to their friends to smell.
Then as their friends began to sneeze they would laugh.
“Well, a great deal of my Pepper friend was used then. He made those
people sneeze and he didn’t want to in the least. Oh, he did feel so
badly about it. It wasn’t funny, he said, it was mean, out and out mean!
The people who sneezed were miserable. Their noses hurt, their throats
hurt and they couldn’t sleep for several nights.
“One little girl who had sneezed so hard and so much lost her voice for
several days, for the sneezing powder got down in her throat, and her
throat has never been quite so strong since.
“So I think we should all be used in our places and not too much of any
of us, for if too much sugar is used things will be sickish and if too
much pepper or salt is used the poor pepper and salt creatures are taken
a mean advantage of!”
MARCH 22: A Sun Parlor for Birds
“There was once a grown-up lady,” said daddy, “who had loved the stories
of the fairies and of birds and flowers when she had been a little girl.
She had so loved to read of all the kind deeds of the fairies that she
had made up her mind that when she grew up she would do something kind
too.
“Well, this lady had the roof of her house made into a Sun Parlor. There
were trees all round, and moss, and little pools of water which she had
fixed to look as much like out-of-doors as possible. The Sun Parlor she
had inclosed in glass. Of course the glass made the sun shine through all
the brighter. And she had little wee doors so the birds could get in and
out, but so small that a cat could never get into this bird home.
“But still more wonderful was a big cellar where all kinds of good
apples, bread crumbs, more water and countless goodies were kept.”
“But how could the birds get from the roof to the cellar?” asked Jack.
“I don’t wonder you ask that,” said daddy. “The lady had all that part
beautifully arranged. In the Sun Parlor were tunnels which led down into
the cellar, and the birds used to love going through these dark passages
into the ‘Goody-shop’ as it was called in Bird language—and it sounded
the same to them as it would to you in Boy-and-Girl language.
“At first the birds were tempted into their winter home by the bread
crumbs that were in the Sun Parlor. For, of course, as you can imagine,
it took the birds some time to get used to a beautiful summer home in the
winter that was really just for them. Soon, though, little birds know
when people are being kind to them.
“Of course the lady let all the birds who wanted to come in have just as
good a time and stay just as long as they wanted to. But she especially
wanted little sick birds who had perhaps fallen out of their nests.
“One day the lady came across a baby Robin whose family had arrived
before the warm weather. The baby Robin had fallen from its nest, and
very gently the lady picked him up and took him to the Sun Parlor. The
mother was crying near-by for she saw her baby being taken away from her
and she couldn’t help at all.
“But she saw from the top of a tree where her little sick baby was taken.
How happy and relieved she was—for, of course, she had to be in her
nest with all the other little Robins. But she sang every day the most
wonderful songs for the lady who watched over her baby Robin until it was
quite strong and able to fly.”
MARCH 23: The Automobiles
“Honk-honk, it seems a pity,” said one automobile to the other. “I know
I seem like the rudest sort of an old thing. I scare folks, and children
just run when they see me coming. But it does seem a pity. Yes, it seems
a shame that I can’t help it.
“One day I was resting. My owner had gone inside a building. I heard a
little girl and an old lady talking. The little girl said, ‘I’ve been
quite ill and my heart is just beginning to get strong. I have a horrible
time crossing the street, for I simply cannot walk across. Those old
automobiles make me run.’
“The old lady said to the little girl, ‘I know just how you feel, my
dear, for I have been ill too, and I am not supposed to run fast. It
hurts me when I run fast and yet I have to hurry to get out of the way of
the automobiles.’
“‘I don’t see why they have to make people run, when they’re not going to
fires and they’re not going after accidents,’ said the little girl. ‘It
does not seem fair in the least.’
“‘It doesn’t,’ said the old lady. ‘But I don’t suppose the people who run
automobiles are ever sick. They don’t know what it means to have a horn
tooted at them when they feel they cannot run.
“‘And it seems a pity that folks should be in so much of a hurry, as
they run along in their automobiles, that they can’t give those who are
walking a fair chance, too.’
“Sometimes I wish I weren’t an automobile.”
“Sometimes I wish I were one with a different owner,” said the second
automobile.
“Maybe we will be sold and nice people will own us, who will consider
those who are walking,” said the first automobile.
“Let’s hope so,” said the second automobile.
“There’s the first star of the evening,” said the first automobile.
“We’ll make a wish.”
So the modern automobiles wished in the old, old way, their wishes!
MARCH 24: The Trailing Arbutus
“We mustn’t waste any more time,” whispered one of the trailing arbutus
family to another.
“No, we mustn’t. We must awaken for we are first to awaken every year.
And all the families in this part get up soon.
“Years ago,” continued the second arbutus, “some children came here to
look for trailing arbutus flowers. They said to each other:
“‘It must be too soon. There aren’t any.’ But they looked under some of
our leaves and several of us were trying to peep out as fast as we could,
so we would not disappoint the children.
“Many of our sisters and brothers were picked and I believe they came out
later in water.
“But those same children have come back every year, and now they are
almost grown-up. They always say,
“‘Here is the first place we find these lovely spring flowers.’ And so we
know what is expected of us. Our roots always hand on this story to all
the arbutus flowers.”
And now along came the grown-ups and some children.
“We hide our heads under the leaves because we’re shy, but we love
children and the whole beautiful world, so pick lots of us, and we’ll be
bright and gay,” softly whispered the flowers.
But the children only knew that the flowers were very, very fragrant, and
oh, so very sweet!
MARCH 25: The Telephone Dog
“The telephone always seemed very important to Rogue, the collie,” said
daddy. “He had known his mistress to rush out after the telephone had
rung and she had answered it, as if some one were ill, or something had
happened which she had found to be of very great importance.
“She was working in the garden one day when Rogue heard the telephone
ring. Evidently she didn’t hear it, for she stayed out in the garden and
didn’t come in to answer it. It rang and it rang, and Rogue didn’t know
what to do.
“Finally he thought up a scheme, and this is what he did. He ran out in
the garden and he stood before his mistress and barked and barked without
stopping. First she stroked him and didn’t seem to think anything special
was the matter, but that, perhaps, he wanted to play.
“He kept on barking, and after a few minutes she said: ‘What is the
matter, Rogue?’
“He started to go towards the house, barking, and turned around to see if
she were following him. When she didn’t he went and pulled at her skirt.
Then she went into the house, following Rogue, and he stopped before the
telephone which was still ringing.
“She answered it and found that it had been ringing a long time, but it
was so important that they had kept on ringing to see if she wouldn’t
hear it after a while.
“Then she knew that Rogue had let her know the telephone was ringing and
wanted her to come to answer it, for that was something he couldn’t do.
But he could let her know that it was ringing, now that he had found a
way of doing so.
“And now Rogue always lets his mistress know when the telephone is
ringing. She works in her garden a great deal but she never misses a
telephone call because Rogue hears it, barks for her, and leads her in
before the telephone.”
MARCH 26: The Kettle’s Trouble
“I’m not angry,” said the kettle. “I’m hurt. My poor porcelain feelings
are most dreadfully hurt. A child tried to move me and in so doing she
spilled some of the boiling water over herself.”
“I wasn’t quite boiling,” said the water; “very nearly boiling I was,
though.”
“Don’t interrupt,” said the kettle. “You’ve caused me enough trouble.
Well, the child got quite badly burned. It hurt awfully, for burns always
do.”
“Yes,” said the butter, from the ice box in the corner of the kitchen,
“she came to me to be comforted. Butter is excellent for burns.”
“But she blamed me for burning her,” said the kettle. “She said that ‘the
horrid old kettle burned her,’ and it wasn’t I at all.”
But the water, fire, paper, sticks, coal and match each in turn quickly
said they were not to blame but only the cook, for starting the fire in
the first place!
MARCH 27: Mr. Measles’ Puzzle
“Go away, go away,” said Peter Goblin. “You mustn’t come around here. No,
you mustn’t. I won’t have it, not for a moment will I have it.”
“May we talk to you, then?” asked Mr. Measles, as he hurried off.
“Yes, I will come and talk to you, but you mustn’t stay around here.
Goblins don’t get measles, but children do, and I won’t have it. Hurry
off. Hurry off.”
“Wouldn’t they like to have us?” asked Mr. Mumps. “Just think how we’d
make their faces puff up and look so fine and fat.”
“Yes,” said Peter Goblin, crossly, “and make it hard for them to swallow.
No sir, no sir, you get right away from here.”
“How about me?” asked Mrs. Croup.
“You go away, too,” said Peter Goblin.
“Can’t I have just one little look at a nice little boy or a nice little
girl?” asked Master Chicken-Pox.
“You most certainly cannot,” said Peter Goblin.
“I don’t see why not,” said Mr. Measles crossly. He had come back a
little because he had heard the others talking to Peter Goblin and he
thought perhaps Peter had given in. Of course he had never known him to,
but he might—one could never tell.
“I thought I’d told you to start off,” said Peter Goblin. “Now I won’t
put up with any more of this nonsense. Be off—all of you. Be off, right
away.”
“You promised to talk to us,” said Mr. Measles. “You will, won’t you?”
“But we’d rather have a little chat with a child first,” said Mr. Mumps.
“Maybe you would like to,” said Peter Goblin, “but you’re not going to.
And so, one, two, three—go! Every one of you. I’ll follow along.”
“Now, what is the use,” Mr. Mumps muttered, “of being able to make some
folks fat when one isn’t given the chance?”
“You don’t want to make them fat and well,” said Peter Goblin.
They had all wandered quite far away from the children and so Peter
Goblin felt they were safe. He would get many of his goblins right to
work to keep an eye on them, for goblins cannot get measles, mumps,
chicken-pox or croup.
“Yes, I make them fat,” said Mr. Mumps. “I never bother about more
than their cheeks. They grumble so after I’ve made them fat that I get
disheartened.”
“Good thing you do,” said Peter Goblin. “You’re certainly mean enough.”
Mr. Mumps knew Peter was right, so didn’t say another word. Mr. Measles
spoke next.
“We wanted to have you talk to us,” said Mr. Measles, “because we cannot
understand you.”
“Why not?” asked Peter Goblin. “I try to protect the children from
getting measles, mumps, chicken-pox and croup. Of course they have to
help me by trying to keep as well and strong as they can so as to escape
you. Whenever one of you gets past us, how badly we do feel. You often
do, but we try our best to keep you out. We can’t keep you out entirely
but we can help.
“And then good, kind doctors drive you away.”
“We hate doctors,” said Mr. Measles.
“Well,” said Mrs. Croup, “we shouldn’t hate them so much, because we give
them a lot of trouble, and we love to give trouble.”
“That’s so, we do,” said Master Chicken-Pox.
“But,” said Mr. Measles, “people say, ‘oh, don’t catch the measles. And
be careful not to catch the mumps. Don’t go near any one with chicken-pox
or you might catch it.’”
“Now, to catch a thing,” continued Mr. Measles, “means to chase after
it or try to get it in some way. If they don’t like us why do they talk
about catching measles? They say ‘Be careful not to catch Mr. Mumps.’
It’s very silly, for if they really don’t like us, they should say,
‘Don’t let Mr. Mumps catch you.’”
“It’s rather an absurd expression,” admitted Peter Goblin, “but stay away
from children and talk about it for a good long while. That’s what you
must all do!”
MARCH 28: Winter’s Exit
“When we speak of a person making an exit,” said daddy, “we mean that the
person has gone out, and so when we speak of the winter’s exit, we mean
that the winter has made his departure. The winter was quite angry that
Mr. Sun was so eager to see the spring.
“‘I’d think,’ said the winter, ‘you’d be a little scrap more polite,
anyway. It always makes me so mad that I just hang around and hang
around, and laugh when I hear folks say: “Isn’t the winter ever going?”’
“‘Are you going to make your last bow soon?’ asked Mr. Sun.
“‘To-morrow,’ said the winter. ‘Yes, by to-morrow I’ll really have to
go. And after this last little snow-storm there’ll be no more until next
year. Ah, what a sad thought that is to me, though it’s not such a sad
thought for others. They seem to be so absurdly fond of young spring.
They spoil him frightfully.’
“‘And you won’t really send any more blizzards?’ asked Mr. Sun.
“‘I can’t,’ said the winter, ‘because you would cross that old Equator.’
“Mr. Sun smiled and the winter said: ‘I’ll take a rest now and fool the
people! They’ll think it’s really spring, and then I’ll give them my fine
farewell to-morrow.’
“And sure enough on the morrow there was a light fall of snow. The spring
hardly knew what to make of it at first, until he found it was so light a
storm.
“‘That’s the winter’s bow as he makes his exit,’ said Mr. Sun to the
spring.
“And the spring sent out the early Breezes and said: ‘Whisper to the
birds, the buds, the children that I’ve really, really come, and that
winter has made his exit!’”
MARCH 29: Another Biddle Story
“I must tell you another story about the gray cat, Biddle Birdsall,” said
daddy. “His mistress Gertrude was away at school. His mistress’ mother
and daddy were out, and the cook was out. It was a very sad household for
a cat who wanted a drink of milk.
“Then he had an idea! He went into his master’s study and emptying the
waste-paper basket in a pile on the floor, he pushed the waste-paper
basket towards the pantry door.
“When he had finished pushing the basket and when it was right up by the
door he turned it upside down and climbed upon it.
“‘There,’ thought Biddle, ‘now I have it.’
“And he had! He opened that door with his two front paws, turning the
knob until it was undone and he could push the door open.
“Then he moved the basket away, opened the door wide, and purring
delightedly to himself, he walked inside the pantry.
“There was the milk in the saucer, and then, as you can easily guess,
Biddle had the milk which he wanted. When he was drinking it the family
came home and saw Biddle and the waste-paper basket and saw just what he
had done. And this is another true story of the cat, Biddle Birdsall,”
ended daddy.
MARCH 30: The Squirrels’ Spring Work
“A little girl named Gwen had fixed a squirrel house on a pear tree
near an old apple tree,” said daddy. “Now, the apple tree was near
Gwen’s bedroom, and the squirrels could jump from the apple tree to her
window-sill, where they were very likely to find nuts waiting for them.
“When the days began to get a little warmer Gwen hung just outside the
window-sill a little hammock and waited to see if the squirrels would
dare to swing in it. Having all the nuts Gwen put on her window-sill and
seeing her do such kind things so often made them pretty tame. And, too,
they appeared to realize that it was Gwen who had seen to the building of
the little house.
“But the hammock seemed very strange to them at first. However, one very
brave squirrel thought he’d try it and jumped into the hammock. Gwen was
watching back of a curtain, and it was all she could do to keep from
crying aloud with joy, for she was so pleased that one of the squirrels
was actually using her little hammock. After a while the other squirrels
tried it.
“Before long one of the old squirrels began to scold for all he was
worth. Oh, he was very much annoyed, and all the squirrels stopped
swinging in the hammock. They seemed to be paying great attention to the
old squirrel, and Gwen wondered what it was all about.
“The old squirrel was the leader, and he was the one who always gave the
directions and did all the managing. This, in squirrel language, was what
he said:
“‘Now, don’t you know you can’t spend all your time idling! You are the
laziest lot of squirrels I have ever known. Don’t you know that you must
get to work? This is the season for us to tap the sirup from the maple
trees, and you are spending your time swinging in a hammock. It is all
very well to play, but then there is work to be done. We don’t want to
waste our time and let all the good sap go, do we? And you really do want
the maple sirup, don’t you?’
“Off they started to scamper to the nearest maple tree. Gwen put on her
hat and coat and followed along to see what they were going to do. They
got all the sap they wanted and smacked their lips over it. They enjoyed
the work really, for it meant good times to follow, and they were glad
the wise old squirrel had told them about it in plenty of time.”
MARCH 31: The Bunch of Keys
The keys were all talking in their jingling way. “I open a drawer in
which birthday presents are locked up before the birthday has come,” said
one of the keys. “I know so many secrets, all about presents and nice
things for celebrations.”
“I open the cake tin,” said another key, “and there is going to be a
birthday cake to-morrow all decorated with candles. There is going to be
a party.”
“So I’ll be used too,” said the candy drawer key.
“And I will too,” said the birthday drawer key.
“And I will too,” said the key which opened the money box, “for some
little treats will be bought.”
“We’ll jingle to-morrow, all right,” said the keys in chorus, “for we
are going to open up secrets and pleasures and treats for a birthday
celebration.”
And the keys all sang:
“If you’re a key, a key,
You can see, can see,
The opening of joys,
For girls and for boys.”
APRIL 1: Marketing
“It is surprising,” said Mr. Robin, “how many creatures forget that
they’re not the only ones who go marketing.
“Ladies go to the shops and they think they’re the only ones who see that
their families are fed. But they’re not at all. Now, all of the robins
go a-marketing. We are very good at it. And most of the gentlemen birds
do the marketing when the mother birds are watching over the eggs and the
little birdlings.”
[Illustration: “‘THIS IS THE SEASON FOR US TO TAP THE SIRUP FROM
THE MAPLE TREES, AND YOU ARE SPENDING YOUR TIME SWINGING IN A
HAMMOCK.’”—_Page 73_]
“That is so,” agreed Mrs. Robin; “the dear father birds are splendid about
looking after the food for the home when we’re busy guarding the nests
and seeing that the eggs hatch out into dear little birdlings.
“And you always know where to get the best worms.”
“To be sure,” said Mr. Robin, “and that is what I meant when I said that
though we did not go to the same markets as people we went marketing, too.
“What a horrible thing it would be if people did come to the lawns and
began digging up all the worms! Gracious, the poor birds would have a
dreadful time!
“But they don’t do that any more than we go to the grocery stores and
tell the grocer to please do us up a package of potatoes and another of
onions, and one more of meat which we’d order at the meat shop.
“It is fair the way things are divided up. In this way the lawns don’t
run short of worms as they otherwise might do.”
APRIL 2: The Buds’ Secrets