get even brighter and brighter, and more red every second.
“‘You’re looking magnificent, Mr. Sun,’ the gnomes called out in
admiration.
“‘So glad to hear you say that,’ said Mr. Sun, ‘for this is my birthday
party!’
“‘Your birthday!’ they cried out in amazement. ‘Why, we never knew you
had a birthday!’
[Illustration: “FOR A MOMENT MR. SUN WAS HIDDEN BY A PURPLE CLOUD.”—_Page
209_]
“‘Oh, oh,’ said Mr. Sun, and he almost lost his fine color which he had
been getting. ‘Dear me, O Mr. Purple Cloud,’ he called, ‘let me hide my
head in your best shawl—these little gnomes never knew I had a birthday!’
And for a moment Mr. Sun was hidden by a purple cloud.
“‘But explain to us,’ said the gnomes. ‘We don’t want to hurt your
feelings. We’re only too glad to be at your birthday party. We just
didn’t know about it—that’s all. Won’t you tell us, Mr. Sun?’
“And Mr. Sun again came out from the purple cloud and said:
“‘Why, you see when I change into this bright red robe of mine—then it’s
my birthday. Perfectly simple, isn’t it?
“‘And as for having more than one birthday a year—that is true. I have
them whenever I feel like it—but usually I have one when I’m going to
work very hard for the next day, to make folks fine and warm, and the
things in the gardens grow. You see, when I’m feeling so strong and well
I think I ought to celebrate, so I give a birthday party.
“‘Every one admires me when I wear this robe, and it’s just the same to
me as if they were all saying that they wished me many happy returns of
the day—for they all are hoping that I will wear the red robe again.’”
AUGUST 31: The Lost Dog
“You know I got lost,” said Collie. “It was a dreadful experience. I
really didn’t know what to do. I had gone off for a trip and hadn’t
realized how far I had gone. And you know I’m very young.
“Of course, I would have found my way home in the long run, I know that.
But it was everything to be helped as I was!
“I found myself in another small town where there was a very fashionable
Inn. An Inn is a fashionable boarding-house, I believe, and is like a
smart hotel, only smaller. Now, in this Inn, they didn’t allow dogs.
“There were many elderly ladies there, and many of them were fussy.
“I came upon this place, and I was so tired. I thought to myself that the
people might be friendly, and so I wagged my tail, although they didn’t
look the friendly sort.
“None of them had spoken to me, or anything like that.
“But when I wagged my tail and looked at some of them politely, they said
to each other:
“‘What a lovely dog.’
“I thought that they might help me, and so I wagged my tail again and
gave a low, friendly bark, and one of the ladies said:
“‘That dog must be lost.’
“Very gently I walked up near her, so I wouldn’t frighten her, and I
found that she wasn’t frightened.
“Then I put my head in her lap and she patted me. And one of the other
women said to her:
“‘Why, I never saw you pat a dog before. How do you know that he won’t
bite?’
“Of course that was enough to make me furious. As if dogs were all going
to bite!
“But I kept my temper and the lady said:
“‘Oh, he is a beautiful dog and you can tell he is used to being petted.
I am not afraid of him.’
“And then the lady called out the one who owned the Inn, and she asked to
have me fed and a drink of water given to me.
“Then one of the very stylish and superior waiters brought me out a
dainty meal and served me as though I were a fine paying guest, and
called my meal ‘luncheon.’
“Then they telephoned about to the neighbors and others, and asked
questions about any missing dogs that had been reported, and they found
out I belonged to my master, and they helped me to come home.
“In fact, I should say they brought me home, and it would have been a
hard job by myself. But, oh dogs! It’s good to be home!”
SEPTEMBER 1: The Whippoorwills
In the deep and dark woods, where there are many rocks, and where people
seldom go, live the Whippoorwills.
The Whippoorwills guard their young if danger is near, but when they are
little eggs they are not sheltered by a home-nest—the ground does well
enough for them.
Perhaps Mother Whippoorwill thinks it is a mistake to begin by spoiling
her children, but she is not a hard-hearted mother as this would seem to
show. No, she is always ready to defend them from enemies.
Now, Mr. Whippoorwill is about the size of a robin, but he looks longer
because he has great, long wings. He is covered with reddish-brown
feathers, and sometimes grayish-white. He has a fine white collar and
his quills are decorated with white. He has bristles all about his beak,
which is very large.
Mrs. Whippoorwill is just about the same in looks, except she has a tan
collar instead of a white one, and her tail is tan, too.
One night—for the whippoorwills love the night-time—a boy thought he
would like to catch a whippoorwill and have him for a pet. He loved the
wonderful song of the whippoorwill—which is a beautiful, rather sad note.
The whippoorwills only sing when away from people, and they love to be
by themselves. That is why they choose their homes where people will not
come.
And he caught Mr. Whippoorwill. “Ah,” he said. “I will be very good to
you. You may have a big place to fly about in, for I have made it with
wire in the yard. And you will have a little home of your own. I will not
keep you in a small cage. That would be cruel.”
The little boy hadn’t thought that it would be cruel to keep the
whippoorwill in any way—the bird who loves solitude—or being alone.
Every night after this he listened to hear his whippoorwill sing,
but never a sound did he make. Then he thought is was because Mr.
Whippoorwill was without his mate, and after a long time he caught Mrs.
Whippoorwill.
Now he would surely have the glorious Whippoorwill singing every evening,
he thought.
But not a sound did he hear. In fact, they seemed to have forgotten their
note—they had left it behind in the woods.
You see, the Whippoorwill will not sing in captivity. He is utterly
miserable then, and he longs to be back where he can be alone and away
from creatures. Then, at night, when it is quiet and dark, we can
sometimes hear his glorious note.
The boy did not know what to make of it, but at last he let them go. Oh!
The joy of spreading their wings toward the dark woods! How wonderful it
was! And to see the Whippoorwill children! To feel the dark cool woods,
to sleep all day, to work all night!
“Ah,” said Mr. Whippoorwill, when he was back in the woods, “I must see
if I can find my note. I left it in the woods behind me.”
“So did I,” said Mrs. Whippoorwill. And to their great delight they found
their notes again—they had just been quiet deep down in their throats,
for they had left the woods, and their little bird hearts had been too
sad for singing. The children joined in too. And the boy heard them all.
“They sing now,” he said. “They don’t like to be caught.” And how glad
the Whippoorwills were that the boy understood.
SEPTEMBER 2: The Monkey
“A hurdy-gurdy, or hand organ,” said daddy, “came to town one day when it
was very, very hot. No summer day had been so sultry. Down the village
street the old man played tune after tune as he stopped in front of
different shops and houses.
“A monkey was with him and the monkey took off his cap and put the
pennies which were given to him into his cap and then into his little
pocket of the red coat he wore. He was all in red and he looked rather
hot and uncomfortable.
“The man would make the monkey do tricks and the people who watched gave
the monkey money. Later on the man took the money. For what could the
monkey do with pennies! He could not go out and buy food. No, he had
to take just what was given to him. And sometimes he did not get quite
enough.
“And yet the old man was always greeted with smiles. No one asked him if
he was good to his monkey. No one said that he ought not to be making the
monkey work on such a hot day.
“They all just watched! Lots of people who had not been able to do any
work to speak of all day—so hot had it been—now watched the monkey work.
“Trick after trick he went through, and his little hand clutched the
pennies that were given to him in a sort of way, as if he wanted to say:
“‘I must hold on to these. I have to work so hard for them.’
“The hurdy-gurdy played pieces in front of the different places until at
last they stopped before a little gray house.
“‘We won’t stay here long,’ said the man to himself. ‘I don’t believe we
will get many pennies here.’
“Out of a window appeared the head of a little boy. His name was Bobbie
and he loved animals of all sorts.
“He smiled when he saw the cunning little monkey with the red hat and
jacket and the tune of the hurdy-gurdy sounded so bright and jolly and
full of fun.
“He hurried down the stairs and ran out of the front door. What joy on a
horrid, hot day to have a hurdy-gurdy and monkey in the village! What a
treat! What a very great treat! He had three pennies ready!
“The monkey began to do some tricks, urged on by the man who had seen the
pennies shining from Bobbie’s hand.
“‘Show the little gentleman your fine tricks,’ said the man.
“Bobbie was feeling so happy when suddenly he noticed the face of the
little monkey. Oh, how pleading were his eyes, and Bobbie put his hand
underneath the red jacket. The body of the little monkey was so hot.
“‘Aren’t you ashamed!’ said Bobbie. ‘The very idea of making a monkey
wear a hot suit on a day like this just because you think it looks fine!’
“The man pulled at the monkey’s chain. ‘Come along,’ he said. ‘We’ll not
show this gentleman fine tricks.’
“‘I don’t want to see them,’ said Bobbie. ‘On a day when grown men don’t
feel like work, to make a little dumb animal go through trick after trick
to get you money! Aren’t you ashamed!’
“Somehow the man did not go away. He was so surprised at being talked to
in such a way. He really did not know just what to make of it.
“‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do,’ said Bobbie, who was half sobbing now with
anger. ‘I’ll give you all the pennies from my bank. I have 63 pennies in
all. Only, promise me to take off the monkey’s red hat and jacket and
give him a rest to-day and other hot days? To think of a man making money
out of a little monkey when it’s so hot his little back is burning and
his eyes are begging to be allowed rest and a cool place!’
“‘I’ll promise you,’ said the man, as he took off the monkey’s jacket
and cap. ‘But I won’t take your 63 cents. You and my monkey have made me
ashamed. I’m ashamed enough—I don’t want the 63 cents.’ But Bobbie did
give the man and the monkey a nice, cool drink.”
SEPTEMBER 3: Paper Dolls
“A little girl named Milly,” said daddy, “was very fond of paper dolls.
Now one day when she had had three of her dolls a year she thought she
would give them a birthday party and her mother told her to start off at
once to ask her friends.
“‘You must bring your paper dolls too, and all their clothes, so we can
pretend they are going to lots of things,’ said Milly as she went to the
houses of her friends. ‘Bring them first dressed in their best as my
dollies are dressed up now waiting for them.’
“And Milly told them to come in one hour. In just that time they arrived
and brought with them their boxes of paper dolls.
“‘Come right along,’ said Milly. ‘The dolls are waiting for their party
in the nursery.’
“‘We have brought them presents,’ said Milly’s little friends. ‘Our dolls
are giving them birthday gifts of new paper shawls and hats which we have
made.’
“Of course Milly was delighted, but the greatest surprise of all was when
they entered the door of the nursery.
“There around the neck of each paper doll was a pink piece of crinkly
paper which reached out to the little table. In the center of this was a
pink and white birthday cake, with three candles—one for each paper doll!
“‘Oh mother!’ shouted Milly, ‘what a gorgeous surprise!’”
SEPTEMBER 4: Larry’s Labor Day
Larry was five years old and he loved holidays. But the coming holiday—it
was not Larry’s. Nor had it anything to do with Larry. The thought of
that bothered him. He wished somehow it could be different.
He had asked his father what Labor Day meant and his father had told him
that it was a holiday set apart as a day of recognition of the laboring
class. He had not quite understood what that meant but his father had
explained that it meant a day set aside in honor of there being such a
class as a laboring class, showing that to belong to the laboring class
was something dignified and to be respected.
Larry knew then that it was useless for him to have a share in this
holiday—a real, real share in it at least. This was different from Xmas
and Thanksgiving and the Fourth of July.
But then a happy thought came to him. For the next few days Larry was
very, very busy. Every one thought he was busily playing and making
mud-pies and such, but not at all.
And on the morning of Labor Day they knew what Larry had been doing.
He led his father and his mother and his grown-up sister and his
fourteen-year-old brother to the very far corner of the garden which had
always been set aside as Larry’s mud-pie playground.
There he showed them a tiny garden set out with paths and borders
of pretty pebbles. Growing in the garden were ferns which Larry had
transplanted from the woods and a tiny red geranium stood proudly in a
little bed by itself. It had come from Larry’s nursery flower pot.
“You see,” he said, “I wanted to have a holiday to-day—I mean I wanted to
have a right to the holiday, as daddy talked about laborers having, so
I’ve labor-ed too.” It was rather a hard word to say but he managed it
well.
“And now,” he turned to his family, “don’t you think I can have a little
share in Labor Day too—a real little share?”
And his family said “Yes,” and I think you’ll agree with them too!
SEPTEMBER 5: In the Barnyard
“Quack, quack,” said Mrs. Duck, “these warm days do make me feel like
swimming.”
“They don’t make me feel like swimming, grunt, grunt,” said Grandfather
Porky Pig. “They make me feel like lying down in the mud and resting and
dreaming sweet pig dreams.”
“What in the world are sweet pig dreams?” asked Mrs. Duck. “Yes, quack,
quack, what in the world are they? I’ve never heard of sweet pig dreams
though I have heard of sweet dreams.”
“Sweet pig dreams and sweet dreams are the same,” said Grandfather Porky
Pig, “except that sweet pig dreams are the sweet dreams which a pig has.
Do you see? I dream of being given too much to eat for I’m never given
enough to satisfy my pig heart, and so I always pick up some more myself.”
“I wouldn’t speak of my pig heart, if I were you, quack, quack,” said
Mrs. Duck. “I’d speak of my pig tummy.”
“Oh, very well,” said Grandfather Porky, “I do not object. But I must be
off for my rest as I want to feel fit for my next meal.”
“Don’t you always feel fit for your meals?” asked Mrs. Duck.
“Always,” said Grandfather Porky, “but I like to talk that way. It amuses
me,” he ended with a laughing squeal and a twist to his tail.
SEPTEMBER 6: The Animals’ Talk
“Of course it is true we do not speak the language people speak. We have
our own way of talking, but that doesn’t mean that we don’t talk,” said
Larry, the monkey.
“It is just as absurd, I think, for people to say that of animals as it
would be for the animals to tell American people that they can’t talk
because they don’t speak like all the other people in the world, or to
tell the French people that they can’t talk because there are people who
speak quite differently from them.
“When we are unhappy we make certain sounds and words of our own.
“When we are frightened we have other sounds to make. When we are pleased
we have still others. When we are playing we have others again.
“And so have all the animals. The Bears have different kinds of growls
for different things they mean to say.
“The Deer can talk, oh so well!
“The Chimpanzees and the Orang-utans are great talkers and they know
a lot, too. Don’t people know that? Haven’t they ever seen and heard a
Chimpanzee and his keeper talking?
“Then if they haven’t, I just wish they would! And I wish they’d come and
hear me when I chat with my keeper. He understands me.
“He knows what I want and why I want it, and when I want it. He knows
whether I feel well or sick. He understands me perfectly, and I
understand him.
“Dogs talk, as every one surely must know! And Mr. Siberian Tiger talks.
He told the keeper how pleased he was the other day when the keeper
rubbed his back through the side of the cage.
“He actually purred like a pussy cat!
“And the Wolves! How they talk whether they are here in the zoo or
whether they are free!
“The Bears all talk. And the Rabbits talk. Their thumping sounds are
words, oh yes, indeed.
“Mother Rabbit thumps the ground when danger is near; instead of saying
‘Danger,’ as people do, Rabbits thump their word ‘Danger.’
“Beavers talk. Prairie Dogs talk, and one of them always guards when the
rest are playing above ground and the one who is guarding certainly knows
how to say ‘Danger’ when danger is near.
“The Striped Chipmunk talks, too. He can tell you that he is happy living
about the rocky ground where he makes his home. He knows how to warn of
danger, and he talks of the things he likes to eat.
“Dear me, all animals talk! Of course they do! And every sound they make
means something. Our talks must be translated into the language of people
if they’re to understand what we’re saying, but if they study us and our
talk they’ll be able to translate what we have to say.”
SEPTEMBER 7: Doctor Birds
“A little boy named Peter,” said daddy, “had been very ill. His mother
and daddy had been so worried about him that they had decided he needed a
change of air. So his mother had taken him north, far, far from his home.
“Poor Peter! How long the days did seem sometimes.
“‘If he could only get interested in something,’ said the doctor. ‘He
would then get well twice as quickly. Doesn’t he like to read?’
“‘Yes,’ said his mother, ‘but he is lonely for his friends.’
“But one day on the ledge of the little sleeping porch Peter had, came a
small bird.
“‘What a beautiful voice,’ said Peter, after the little bird had given a
glorious song.
“‘Twit, twit,’ answered the little bird. ‘Chirp, chirp, tweet,’ which was
his way of saying he was so glad Peter liked it.
“‘Mother,’ called Peter, ‘may I have some crumbs for this little bird? He
has sung for me and has been here to call on me.’
“Peter’s mother came rushing out with a bowl of bread crumbs and then she
brought out some clear, cool water. The little bird looked so grateful
and pleased, and he went off singing gaily. That morning seemed very
short to Peter, and that afternoon the doctor said that Peter seemed very
much better. The next day seven birds came and sang and had a delicious
repast. And the following day a flock of birds came—all of many colors
and they all had lovely voices. Peter grew steadily better.
“Peter suddenly thought that the birds would leave him, for the autumn
would take these birds south. Sure enough, they began to grow fewer and
fewer, but his first little friend was the last to leave.
“‘Oh,’ said Peter, ‘you’ve made me well. How I hate to see you go.’ Peter
was walking around now, but he always spent his mornings in the sleeping
porch where the birds came. And Peter waved a beautiful blue silk
handkerchief he had. ‘Good-by little bird friend,’ he called.
“But that afternoon when the doctor came he told Peter’s mother that
Peter was well enough to go back home, so Peter went back with his
friends, ‘The Doctor Birds,’ as he called them.”
SEPTEMBER 8: Nine Years Old
“I’m nine years old to-day,” chirped the canary bird. “That is a pretty
good age for a canary bird, too. I believe I am to have a special piece
of crisp lettuce and a new piece of cuttle fish bone as birthday presents.
“Then, too, I’ve heard that I am to have a bite of an apple, also. Ah,
yes, it is fine to be nine years old.
“My mistress has been saying for some time that when to-day came it would
be my ninth birthday.
“How good she is to me. I haven’t been able to see for the past year or
so. I found myself seeing things less clearly and less clearly.
“Finally I couldn’t see anything. I can feel my way about my cage of
course, and sometimes my mistress takes me out and pets me, and I sit on
her finger and she kisses the top of my head.
“Then I give her little love pecks, too—my little bird kind of kisses.
“I have an idea when it is night because my mistress says ‘Hush’ to me
several times over and kisses me several times, one time right after
another for several moments, and then I’m put back on my perch.
“Then I put my head under my wing, which, of course, is the way I sleep.
And next I put my head out for a moment and I hear her say: ‘Good, Dicky.
That’s right.’
“Yes, I’m nine years old, and I’ve had nine happy years of bird life, so
far.”
SEPTEMBER 9: Evelyn’s Story
“Yes, I know,” said daddy, “I promised Evelyn I would tell her about the
dolls I saw in the Old Natural History Museum in Washington the other
day. There were dolls which belonged to the great-granddaughter of Major
Bradford, who was an aide-de-camp to Washington.
“There were dolls and toys which belonged to children at different
periods of time, years ago.
“Some of the dolls had blue eyes, and some had brown eyes. Many of them
wore real lace and looked very fine and wonderful. There were toys too,
and there were some sets of dolls’ china which didn’t look unlike the
china Evelyn owns. There were many dolls and toys which belonged to
children in 1870.
“So that any little girl who ever goes to Washington should go to see the
dolls which used to be played with many years ago.”
SEPTEMBER 10: The Gallant Rooster
“Ah,” said Mr. Red Crown Rooster, “I have found a worm. First come, first
served,” he added.
Then Miss Gray Hen looked at the worm and said:
“May I have it? I didn’t eat much breakfast this morning, and I’d enjoy
an extra meal.”
“Indeed, it is a pleasure to give it to you, cock-a-doodle-do,” said Mr.
Red Crown Rooster, who was a gallant, mannerly young rooster.
SEPTEMBER 11: The Fairy Queen Story
“The little chicks were still half-way out of their shells and half-way
in their shells,” said daddy.
“‘See the broken shells we are leaving behind us,’ said one little chick
to his brother.
“‘Will we ever be able to get back in again?’
“‘I don’t believe we will,’ said another little chick. ‘Oh, dear, there
we have gone and broken our shells and we won’t be able to go back when
we want to. And we may want to, very much indeed. For we may feel very
shy in the great barnyard world. And we may want to crawl back into our
little dark hiding places.’
“‘Little chicks,’ said a sweet voice, ‘I am the Fairy Queen. I won’t come
too near to you so you can see me, but I am going to tell you something.
You are growing out of your shells just as boys and girls grow out of
their shoes and their suits and their dresses. They can’t get back into
them again, either, any more than you can get back into your shells,
for that is growth, little chicks, and when you grow to get bigger and
stronger you can’t go back to your babyhood.
“‘A grown-up man can’t go back into a little boy, a little boy can’t go
back to the way he was when he was a baby and had to be wheeled in a
carriage, and neither can you go back into your shells. None of us can do
such things, because it isn’t Mother Nature’s way, and Mother Nature’s
way is always the best.
“‘So don’t feel sad, little chicks, because you are leaving your shells
for good. It only means you are growing up into big chickens.’ And they
all felt happy again.”
SEPTEMBER 12: The White Oak
“We have sturdy, strong trunks and arms,” said Old Mother White Oak, “and
we have such good roots that we can stand storms.”
“We are very popular with the men who gather lumber and the people who
care for trees. And we live to a very great age. Oh, we become so old!”
“Then we’ve a long, long, time to live, eh, Mother Oak?” asked the little
Oaks.
“You may live to be more than two hundred years old,” said Mother Oak.
“Yes, you will probably live to be far older than that.”
“How wonderful,” the young Oaks whispered.
“We belong to a very great and mighty family of Oaks. By that I mean that
there are many different kinds of oaks; like us in many ways and again
unlike us in a good many ways.”
“They say that there are three hundred different kinds of Oak trees!”
“Oh dear, what lots of Oaks,” said one of the young Oaks. “How thrilling
to belong to such a very big family.”
SEPTEMBER 13: Wasted Moments
The gold watch was talking to the silver watch and the gun-metal watch.