by tossing her up in the air, and playing with her as though she were a
ball, and he could bat her in a game of his own mean making.
“Oh, how she would feel when Gracie was lifted up into Edward’s hands,
and then he would toss her up and say:
“‘What’s the difference? She’s only made of rags. Why do you care? Gracie
doesn’t.’ One day he left the doll high up in a tree out in the yard, and
Grace was afraid that more snow would come in the night and that it would
spoil her beloved Gracie, for there had been a late snow-storm that day.
“But a boy, a friend of Edward’s, who didn’t think Edward was really much
of a boy for teasing Grace in that horrid way, had found Grace crying. He
found out what the trouble was, and he got Gracie from the high limb of
the tree.
“Edward didn’t know that his friend had brought down the doll, and at
night when he slept, lo and behold, Gracie seemed to come and stand at
the end of his bed.
“But no longer was Gracie a little rag doll. She had grown, oh, she had
grown. And she was wearing instead of a painted wig, great icicles which
were so heavy and cold looking.
“Her body seemed very stiff and straight. It seemed very strong, and as
if she were made of steel or of iron instead of rags.
“‘Edward,’ she said, and her voice seemed harsh and terrible, ‘Edward,’
she continued, ‘you left me out in the snow to-night, so as to tease your
little sister. But now I will show you what it is like to be abused. Even
if you don’t actually hurt me, you hurt your sister who loves me. Wait
and I will show you.’
“‘Oh, don’t,’ shrieked Edward. He was very cowardly when he was going
to be teased, you see. ‘I’ll be good. I promise,’ and his voice sounded
thoroughly frightened.
“‘I’ll have to show you first,’ said the doll. She took Edward in her
arms, which had grown so big and so hard, and she tossed him up in the
air and around and about, so that he was frightened any moment he might
land on the ground.
“And Edward thought of the doll outside—he thought she still was there,
and oh, he was so sorry, but he never again made Grace miserable by
teasing Gracie.”
APRIL 14: The Onion’s Speech
“The vegetables were talking in the cellar,” said daddy, “and I must
confess that they were boasting a great deal. But still one can forgive a
vegetable for boasting very often, for if we lived so near the ground—or
in the ground as they do—we’d probably like to pretend we were higher
up! The onion was now talking. ‘I came from the Land of the Pyramids
originally. My ancient home was in Egypt, far, far across the water, in a
wonderful, ancient part of the world that is full of history and interest
and beauty.’
“‘Hear! Hear!’ said all the other vegetables.
“‘I myself have never seen that far land,’ continued the onion, ‘but my
family came from there at first, way, way back where the family tree
first starts from.’
“‘How can you have a family tree when you’re an onion and not even a
branch?’ asked a very plain little potato.
“‘People,’ said the onion haughtily, ‘have family trees, and they
aren’t branches, nor are they leaves. Family trees mean ancestors,
noble grandfathers and aristocratic grandmothers, high-up great aunts,
and snobbish great uncles. A family tree is something every one and
everything can’t have. Now you, poor potato, haven’t a family tree at
all.’
“But the potato didn’t seem to mind in the least. However, the onion went
on talking. ‘Now my young friend, the radishes came first from China—an
interesting history has the Radish family. The Horse-Chestnut family came
from Asia, and the Mulberry trees from Persia. The Cucumbers came from
the East Indies, and the Spinach family came first from Arabia.’
“‘How very fine,’ said the potato in a very sarcastic tone of voice.
“‘You’re right,’ said the onion, not noticing the sarcastic voice; ‘it’s
very fine to have a family tree. It’s something, as I said before, that
every one can’t have. You never came from afar, Mr. Potato. And neither
did the oats, corn, pumpkins and other plain creatures who don’t know
what aristocracy and grandeur mean.’
“‘What does it mean?’ asked the potato.
“‘You weren’t paying attention,’ said the onion. ‘It means a family tree
and noble grandparents.’
“‘Pooh!’ exclaimed the potato. ‘If a vegetable isn’t good itself it
makes no difference where it came from nor what its grandparents were.
It’s what a vegetable is itself. Suppose I were a bad potato, which
I’m not, I’m thankful to say, would it make any difference because my
great-great-grandfather had come from some interesting land across the
sea? Not in the least. I’m a good useful vegetable and can be cooked
in many ways. That’s what counts in this world. To amount to something
yourself. Be a real vegetable! Do what you can to nourish the world!
Don’t boast!’
“The onion felt very badly. It had been so proud of its fine history, and
often it was unhappy because it was so unkindly talked about.
“‘I try to be good,’ said the onion. ‘I season things and I make many
good dishes. I do the best I can.’
“‘Of course you do, little onion,’ said the potato. ‘But next time you
make a speech, tell us all to do our best and not boast about what others
have done or have been.’
“And the onion always made speeches after that which were not about
family trees, and when it was finally cooked every one said: ‘What a nice
onion must have been put in this soup.’”
APRIL 15: A Bookworm
“I tried cork biting once,” said one bookworm to another bookworm.
“And yet,” said the other bookworm, “you are known as ‘The Bookworm’ by
some people who don’t know much.”
“That is not a great complaint,” said the first bookworm, “to be called
‘The Bookworm’ by people who don’t know much. I love books, but I don’t
care for reading. That might sound strange to some folks, but the
bookworm families know that being a bookworm doesn’t mean reading words.
Once I went through each page of each book along on the shelf in just
the very same spot, so that they could have put a ribbon or a string or
anything they might have had near at hand through all those many holes
and hung the books up instead of standing them on the shelves. I thought
they might care to change the books a little, so I did my best to help.
That certainly makes me deserve my name!”
APRIL 16: The Wild Black Cherry
“The wild black cherry tree is very handsome,” said daddy.
“Its foliage is something like that of the willow, drooping and looking
very dainty and lovely. Its bark is rich and soft, but best of all,
is the fruit which is used for making all sorts of delicious goodies,
especially wild cherry juice!
“Then medicines and tonics have been made from the fruit and bark and
roots of the wild black cherry.
“Cherry-wood is considered by many people to be almost as handsome as
rosewood and mahogany, and the old wild black cherry tree is the tree
which is used to make beautiful cherry-wood furniture.
“Its cousin, the wild cherry, is greatly enjoyed by birds who simply love
to eat the little fruits.
“Another cousin, the choke-cherry, is a tree filled with very bitter
fruit but the birds like the choke-cherry trees almost as well as any
other and flock about any they may find. The fashionable and rich cousin
is the sweet cherry which is cultivated in this country. And these are
the cherries which we all like to eat best.”
APRIL 17: Spring Blossoms
“How do you feel?” asked the first apple blossom of a pear blossom on one
of the other trees in the orchard.
“Splendidly,” said the pear blossom. “How about yourself?”
“Never better,” said the apple blossom. Now when the other pear blossoms
and apple blossoms heard these two talking they all wanted to see what
was going on.
And before long they were all out talking and chatting while some of them
were having games with the Breeze Brothers who blew them to the ground
and made it look as if the snow had come again.
“Did your tree have a secret to whisper to you?” asked the first apple
blossom.
“Yes,” answered the first pear blossom. “I was just about to ask you the
same question.”
“It’s this way with us,” said the first apple blossom. “You see the
farmhouse is very shabby. It has been needing a coat of paint for so
many years. And the people who live inside are so poor they can’t afford
anything they don’t actually need.
“They feel badly that they cannot afford to have their house painted for
it would look so much brighter and prettier.
“Well, it has been this same way for so many, many years, as I said
before. And they have had bad luck with the potatoes and the corn every
year. Something always happens. Bugs eat up the potatoes and a storm is
likely to come and hurt the corn just when it would be growing quite
perfect.
“All these things my tree whispered and said, ‘Little blossoms, all of
you must be beautiful so for one season in the year the people in the
farmhouse will think they have the loveliest of homes. Make their dingy
home look like a fairyland.’” And once again the blossoms gave joy to
the people in the dingy farmhouse, who every year had the most beautiful
place owing to the blossoms.
APRIL 18: The Button Bag
“In a work bag,” said daddy, “there lived a button bag. The button bag
was made of blue and white cambric, I believe you call it, and it had a
blue silk ribbon around it at the top—I suppose a sort of neck-tie, one
might say.
“At any rate, in this bag were loads and loads of buttons. The button bag
was a very large button bag, and the work bag was a very large work bag.
“Whenever any one wanted a button, or whenever any one said they had lost
a button or that a button was off, the work bag was taken out and then a
button was found—always a button for everything that needed a button.
“And when any member of the household wanted to do a little mending, for
everything that lacked a button there was always found to be one.
“What did the buttons and the button bag have to say to all this? Were
they pleased they were so useful? We shall hear.
“‘When is the party going to be?’ asked the big, white button, with the
shining face.
“‘Pretty soon,’ said the little green button, ‘pretty soon.’
“‘I’ve been to lots of parties,’ said a button with a funny little face,
a face of some old, old knight or lord or something very noble!
“He had two sisters and a brother and the four of them were all just
alike. They had never been used, as nothing had ever come up that needed
their time and their presence. They had been in the button bag for years.
But, of course, they were kept, for there might be a time, no one knows
when or how soon, when the buttons with the faces might be just the ones
wanted.
“‘It’s so nice,’ said the one who had just spoken, ‘that we are always
sure of a home. It’s so nice. Some would throw us away and would say they
had no use for a lot of old buttons taking up room when they were about
sure we’d never be used.
“‘But we don’t have to worry, for the mistress of the house who owns the
work bag and the button bag and all the buttons, always says that we
don’t eat or drink, meaning we don’t cost her any money, and we might be
useful some time.
“‘She’s a sensible lady, yes she is. And we’re sure of a home, quite sure
of one.
“‘But as I said I have been to a great many parties. Although I have
lived in the button bag such a long time, once I lived on a handsome
dress, oh, such a handsome dress, and then I went to great balls and
parties and all.’
“‘Ah,’ said a big black button, ‘I’ve had a nice life, too. I’ve lived on
fur coats. I’ve been on several, and I’ve been out on glorious bracing
winter days when the snow came in my face and body all at once!
“‘I’ve been for sleigh-rides where bells jingled and where my button
heart leaped for joy!’
“‘And I,’ said a little brown button, ‘have on the other hand been about
in the summer. I belonged to a lovely bathing suit which belonged to a
little girl, and I used to see the sand made into castles and bridges and
rivers, and all sorts of marvelous things, and the lovely ocean would go
over me—oh, it was so cool and refreshing!
“‘And all about me were happy, smiling people. Every one was shrieking
with delight. If I had known how to shriek I would have called at the top
of my voice, if I had a voice:
“‘“Oh, the button is happy, too, the button is so happy!”’
“‘Well,’ said the tan button, ‘we must get ready for the party, as we
must frolic all night and then be back in our places by morning, so it
won’t confuse or mix any one up who may sew in the morning.’
“‘Right,’ said all the buttons.
“So they all borrowed old pieces of ribbon from the bag and little pieces
of thread, and they dressed themselves in fine array, and then they
danced and sang in their little button voices, which, of course, aren’t
real voices, but only make-believe ones. This was their song:
“‘The buttons are we, happy, gleeful and glad;
We are of all kinds and we never are sad.
We love those who use us and even those who do not;
Ah, yes, indeed, we’re a merry, merry lot!’”
APRIL 19: The Patient Chimpanzee
“Charlie was the name of a chimpanzee in the Zoo,” said daddy, “and he
was ill. The keeper went to Charlie with a medicine bottle, carrying a
glass and a spoon, too.
“‘I am sorry, Charlie,’ said the keeper, and from the look Charlie gave
him he knew he understood.
“‘Good chimpanzee,’ said the keeper. ‘You fine, patient animal. You teach
us all a lesson—all of us—for none of us take medicine well, neither
children nor even grown-ups.’
“The chimpanzee swallowed the medicine. He tried very hard not to make a
face as he did so, but he took it all—every drop—and then he tried to lie
quite still. For it was such horrid tasting medicine.
“The keeper still stood by Charlie with the empty glass and bottle in his
hand. Then he put them down and took Charlie’s head and stroked it again
and again.
“Charlie nudged up against the keeper.
“‘You will make me well, keeper,’ he seemed to say. ‘It is not your fault
you had to give me the horrid medicine. Dear keeper, you know that by
to-morrow I will be feeling like my old self again.’ For monkeys and
chimpanzees are the most patient creatures when they are sick.”
APRIL 20: The Toad
“A toad,” said daddy, “was once sent all the way in a little box from one
side of this continent to the other to be the pet of a little sick boy
named Paul.
“He was a horned toad, and he was the kind of a toad that needs little
else beside air to live on.
“Now, the toad seemed to know he must behave on the journey and he was
carried in a little box with air holes punched through it. Of course he
needed the air more than anything, and wasn’t he happy when at last he
arrived, and could have all the air he wanted. And when Paul saw him he
knew from the toad’s honest, ugly face he would be loyal and good, and a
real pet.”
APRIL 21: The Pine Needles
“I must thread my needle before I begin my work,” said a little girl as
she sat under a big pine tree, with another little girl.
“What’s that I hear?” asked one of the pine needles. “She speaks about
threading her needle? Am I her needle, or are you her needle, or who in
the world is her needle? And what is thread?”
The poor needles were very nervous. And the other little girl spoke next:
“I like to knit better than I do to sew because then I can use four
needles.”
“Oh, dear, oh dear,” said the pine needles. “There’s a child who needs
four needles. Do you suppose she threads us too?”
They watched for a long time, trying to move away from the children so
they would not be used. They whispered to the pine tree saying:
“Blow about and move us away,
Sway, swing, swing and sway.
For we’ve just this minute heard it said,
That into needles they will put thread.”
And the pine tree whispered to the breeze:
“Blow, blow, make me sway,
So I can move the needles away.
Please, Mr. Wind, would you mind
Doing this act so very kind?”
So the wind blew the pine tree and the pine tree’s branches swayed and
blew about the little pine needles. But no sooner had all this happened
than they saw that the children had other things called needles. They
hadn’t wanted pine needles at all!
APRIL 22: The Cat’s Mistake
As I don’t think you will be able to guess right away and as I want to
tell you what really happened, I will tell you the place Blackie the cat
chose for his nap one Sunday.
It was in the church organ! Well, he had a fine sleep. And he was still
asleep when the organist came in and began to play.
Then poor Blackie woke up with a start! At first he didn’t know whether
he was having a nightmare or a bad dream, or what was happening.
He moved to one side and the organ gave a curious rumble and a very funny
sound and the organist looked as if he didn’t know what the trouble
could be, and the people stopped singing and then tried to go on singing
without any music.
The organist tried to play again and this awfully queer rumble and burr
and buzz was heard once more. So the people went on finishing their
singing without any organ.
Of course Blackie tried to move when he felt the pedals moving and he
jumped over the inside stops and pedals and made these very strange
sounds as he did so.
The organist looked inside the organ and saw nothing. Then, suddenly, he
saw two big green eyes staring at him.
“It’s a cat in there,” he said to himself.
Poor Blackie was very much frightened. This was altogether too much. He
liked adventures and he liked to explore but this was going too far.
“Yes, that is a cat,” said the organist to himself, and Blackie’s green
eyes shone back at him when he said this.
“Come, pussy; come, nice pussy,” said the organist in a whisper. Poor
Blackie was so frightened he did not know what to do. Still the organist
kept on coaxing and begging Blackie to come out. And after a while
Blackie felt less frightened and the soft whisper of the organist sounded
very kind and Blackie came out from inside of the church organ.
Oh, how happy he was when he was out and the organist got a little boy to
lift him quietly and take him out of the church.
And what joy it was for Blackie to be back home again, to rest and have a
nice sleep after his adventure, which had turned out to be such a mistake!
APRIL 23: The Butterfly Who Loved the Sun
“I saw a little boy to-day,” said daddy, “named Robert who has a
collection of cocoons. He keeps them on little twigs in a great big box
punched full of holes.
“Then he waits to see the butterflies come out. After they have come
out he never kills them or tries to keep them, for he thinks that is
dreadfully cruel. He knows well that they love to see the sun and be out
in the fresh air among the flowers, and he wouldn’t deprive them of that
pleasure for anything.
[Illustration: “THE BUTTERFLY THOUGHT, ‘WELL, THIS MAY BE MY FIRST PARTY,
BUT IT CERTAINLY WON’T BE MY LAST.’”—_Page 95_]
“But one day about a week ago out from a cocoon came the most beautiful
pale blue butterfly Robert had ever seen.
“He at once took it out of the box, and off it flew into the warm sun’s
rays and lighted upon a small bush which was covered with plum-blossoms
and the butterfly acted as if it thought, ‘Well, this may be my first
party, but it certainly won’t be my last.’”
APRIL 24: The Horse-Chestnut
“I’d like to know,” said Fairy Ybab, of a magnificent tree which was one
mass of huge blossoms, “why you are called the Horse-Chestnut tree? You
aren’t eaten by horses, are you? You don’t look like a horse.”
The Horse-Chestnut gave a funny low, whispering laugh.
“I will explain,” said the Horse-Chestnut. “You see, there are some
creatures who have engagements all the time. They have to meet a friend
at such and such a time or they have to be back for dinner at such a time
or they must be in bed at such another time.
“Now, the trees are different. We haven’t any engagements like that. We
trees don’t have to go anywhere at all. In fact, we can’t go anywhere.
We’re perfectly satisfied, too.
“You’ve never heard of a tree pulling itself up by the roots and crying
out in a hoarse, leafy way:
“‘Dear me, I do want to go to a birthday party.’
“In the first place of all I am called a Horse-Chestnut tree because I
have marks between my leaves and twigs which look like horseshoes with
nails in them.
“That is the answer to the first question. And the answer to the second
question is this: No, I am not eaten by horses. My nuts are much too
bitter. Children like to play with them, for they’re big and handsome,
but they’re not good to eat.
“There are your two questions answered.”
APRIL 25: The Loving Mates
“A little bird had lost her mate,” said daddy, “and was very sad. A
sudden storm had come up when she was out, but when the storm blew over
she found her way back to the dear mate who was looking for her.
“‘T-r-i-l-l, t-r-i-l-l,’ her little mate cried, and trembled with joy.
“‘My little mate, my loving little mate,’ she said in her bird language
as she gave him a kiss with her little beak.
“And then such a song! Such a song as has seldom been heard before was
sung by that happy bird to his little loving mate.”
APRIL 26: The Dandelion
“Two children were walking,” said daddy. “One of them stopped to pick
some dandelions.
“‘I love these yellow flowers,’ said the little girl. ‘No one scolds when
you pick them. I’ve never owned a garden. But I always get these flowers
every spring. And, oh, how I love them! Dear, soft, yellow posies,’ she
said.
“This was many years ago but from that day the dandelion’s family have
always come up in the spring.”
APRIL 27: Butterfly’s Growth
“A butterfly lays an egg on a leaf,” said daddy. “In a little while the
egg becomes a caterpillar. And what do you suppose the caterpillar has
for its very first meal?”
Both the children shook their heads.
“It eats some of the shell from which it came. It’s a little like moving
out of a house and before leaving it entirely, eating it up!
“Then the caterpillar becomes a chrysalis and soon a butterfly. It’s a
happy day for the caterpillar when it becomes a beautiful butterfly. No
longer will people call it a horrid caterpillar. They will say, ‘Look at
the beautiful butterfly!’
“And as the butterfly sips from the little flowers and enters right into
the hearts of many of them, it whispers:
“‘I’ve been a long time coming to you, flower, but the hard crawling
journey had a wonderful ending.’
“And though the flower does not altogether understand, it partly does,
for it whispers: ‘Eat all of my honey and sip my sweetness, for you are
my beautiful butterfly visitor!’”
APRIL 28: The Tack and the Nail
“I heard something far from pleasant about you, little Tack,” said the
big Nail.
There were many other tacks in the box, but there were also many nails.
They were all together in one big white box, and whichever size was
wanted could be picked from the lot.
But the Nail which was the biggest of all, or about the biggest, was
talking to the Tack which was about the smallest of all the tacks in this
big box.
“Well, I suppose you want me to ask you what it is,” said the Tack,
moving a little in the box.
“You needn’t ask me if you don’t want to,” said the Nail haughtily.
“But of course I want to; that is only natural,” said the Tack.
“I thought you would want to,” said the Nail, in a hard, metallic voice.
Now a metallic voice is a voice which sounds as hard and cold as any
metal could be. Of course that was the natural sort of voice for a nail
to have—still it was not a very cheerful voice to hear.
“The Master said that he had kept forgetting things all day long. And
then he said that he had a head like a tack.”
“Well, what of it?” asked the Tack. “Is that all?”
“That’s all, little Tack,” said the Nail. “Isn’t that enough?”
“I don’t think that was so dreadful,” said the Tack.
“Perhaps you don’t understand,” said the Nail.
“Perhaps not,” the Tack agreed.
“I’d better make sure you understand and so I will tell you. The Master
meant that his head was so small and stupid that he couldn’t remember
anything, and when he said that his family told him he mustn’t talk so
about himself. There, little Tack, you see you have a little stupid head.
No head at all, and because it’s such a poor head they’ve made that sad
saying about it. There was never such a thing said of a Nail.”
“Maybe not,” said the Tack angrily, “but I can hang just as many pictures
as you can. Maybe you are used for big pictures but I am used for small
ones—nice little favorites, photographs and so forth. I’m just as useful
in my way. Just as useful,” the Tack repeated.