one day when Mr. Fox was hovering near-by, the farmer spied him.
“‘Bang, Bang, Bang,’ went the farmer’s gun.
“‘Oh me, oh my,’ said Mr. Fox. ‘This is no place for me to hunt. There is
a horrid man with a gun around here. How very inconsiderate of him when I
want to do my marketing and when I like his chickens so much. He should
be flattered to think I like his barnyard.’
“But the farmer wasn’t flattered in the least, and off went the gun again.
“Mr. Fox ran for all he was worth and got safely back to the woods.
“When he reached his home, Mrs. Fox said, ‘Well, and what luck to-day, my
dear?’
“‘None at all,’ said Mr. Fox. ‘That marketing place is no good.’
“‘Why not?’ asked Mrs. Fox as she raised her head.
“‘Because, my dear,’ said Mr. Fox, ‘there is a man around with a gun.’
“‘Oh dear,’ shivered Mrs. Fox. ‘Did you hear the gun?’
“‘Indeed I just escaped being killed.’
“‘Oh, my love,’ said Mrs. Fox. ‘Well, we still have some chicken left,
and to-morrow you’ll just have to find a new market—that’s all!’”
OCTOBER 1: Gypsy, the Cat
“Gypsy was a cat,” said daddy, “who had been so named because she had
been picked up one night when she was all alone, and when she certainly
looked as if she had had no home for weeks and months. She certainly
looked as if she had led a gypsy’s life—wandering and homeless, and she
seemed happy indeed to be taken by little Marian to her nice warm house.
“Marian got home just before dinner time. ‘Ah,’ she thought to herself,
‘Gypsy will have a nice dinner—not just a meal she has had to pick up as
best she could. It will be a real meal, and she will have her milk in a
fine saucer.
“‘I have brought a cat home,’ said Marian to her mother. ‘I have
named her Gypsy as she is a poor little waif cat, quite homeless and
friendless.’
“Right away Gypsy was given a nice warm bowl of milk. And then Marian’s
family sat down for their dinner.
“Gypsy sat upon a bookcase. ‘Maybe she thinks she looks wise,’ said
Marian. And Gypsy blinked her eyes and purred as if to say, ‘I am a wise
cat. I know I have a good home. And I have the sense to look happy.’
“While Marian and her family were eating Gypsy would look at them from
time to time, but every time any of them turned to look at her, she
would put her head to one side and look off into space. She seemed to
be saying, ‘Maybe I have been a waif but I’m very proud. And I will not
appear to be a beggar.’
“So from that day on, Gypsy always had some milk before Marian began her
dinner. She never begged for food, for she was a Gypsy cat with a great
deal of pride!”
OCTOBER 2: The Make-Believe Elephant
“Lucy,” said daddy, “had her home in a big city apartment house.”
“Down in the main hallway, on a stand there, was an elephant. Not a real
elephant, for of course a real elephant could hardly find room on a
hallway stand, to say the least. This one was made out of stone and he
was exactly the same color as a real, live elephant.
“Now often Lucy would come in from dancing class, or from play, or
from school, and she would wonder what it would be like to be a stone
elephant, and she used to feel very sorry for the elephant, always
standing in the hall.
“‘I know,’ she would say, ‘that the elephant isn’t a real, live one, but
just the same, it does seem funny to be always in the same place, day
after day.’
“And then one evening when Lucy was asleep the Dream King sent the
elephant to call on her.
“‘I know,’ the elephant began, without even waiting for Lucy to make a
curtsy as she might have done if he had only given her time, ‘that you
have often wondered about me.’
“‘I have,’ said Lucy, ‘it is true.’
“‘But,’ said the elephant, ‘you mustn’t, for I am very happy. The reason
I am happy is because I haven’t the brains or the feelings to be unhappy
because I am always in one place.
“‘If I were a real elephant I would want to go out in the sunshine, I
would want to eat, I would even want to play baseball; perhaps I would
march in parades. But I’m not a real elephant—I’m only a make-believe
one, and I haven’t any feeling at all—no, not a scrap of feeling.
“‘And I haven’t any brains. I couldn’t even smile at you if you were
awake. It’s the old Dream King who is helping me to smile now.’
“And Lucy noticed that the elephant was smiling, such a funny, droll,
stone-elephant smile.
“‘No, Lucy,’ the elephant continued, ‘you need never feel sorry for me
because I am always in one place. I am like a table or a chair or a
bed—except I am made in the shape of an animal.
“‘It is nice to be a stone elephant if one has always been one,’ it said,
‘and I suppose it is nice to be a little girl if one has always been
one,’ and it waved its trunk and was gone.”
OCTOBER 3: Canary Cloudy Wings
“Cloudy Wings thought he would like to see the world,” said daddy. “He
had always had a good deal of freedom but he thought he would like more.
“So this little canary flew out of a window. He wandered about and flew
from bush to bush. Soon it began to rain.
“Cloudy Wings stood under the tree but the rain dripped down over his
little body and his bright yellow feathers were all wet.
“‘Oh, how cold it is,’ thought Cloudy Wings to himself. ‘I can’t shake
off this water as I do my bath water, because it all comes on me again.
And my little Master always puts me in the sun to dry after my bath. If
there is no sun I am put near a stove or where I can slowly get good and
dry. This is awful!’ And he gave miserable little sounds.
“Of course in the meantime, McLean, his Master, was almost frightened out
of his poor wits. What could have happened to Cloudy Wings? He saw that
a window had been left open, and he knew the bird must have gone out. He
kept the window open hoping Cloudy Wings would come back, and he sat by
the open window, shivering in the dampness, saying to himself, and trying
hard to keep back the tears:
“‘Oh Cloudy Wings, come back! I want you so! Please come back, Cloudy
Wings!’
“Poor Cloudy Wings, wet and miserable, saw a round glass house, and beat
his wings against the panes of glass.
“An old man was inside looking after his flowers, for the glass house was
a conservatory of flowers and plants. When he saw the poor little wet
bird he opened the door and took him in. Cloudy Wings sat in his warm
hands while the old man smoothed and dried the little wet feathers.
“‘You belong to the little boy down the road,’ he said to himself. ‘I’ve
seen you in the window. I always could tell you by your gray wings.’ So
back in the old man’s pocket Cloudy Wings went to his Master, and never
again did he leave his home.”
OCTOBER 4: The Abused Pencil
“A boy named Gerald,” said daddy, “was finding it very hard to do his
lessons. School had commenced and yet the days were so lovely it was hard
to study.
“He could not draw a map and he was supposed to have one drawn for the
next day. He found it so hard to remember just how the places looked on
the map and he was supposed to do it from memory.
“He gave up trying the map after a few moments. Then he sat and chewed
the end of his pencil. Perhaps in a moment or two he would think of all
the places he was supposed to mark.
“He decided he would do his arithmetic but he could not manage the sums.
They were all so extremely hard. Much worse than they had been in the
spring, though in reality they were a little easier. The teacher had
known the children had had a long summer and it would take them a little
time to get back into their work.
“He tried to do the sums but couldn’t. What a pity the book had no
answers in the back! And he began to chew the end of his pencil again
while he tried to think.
“Before long he felt he could not do his lessons for he was too tired and
they were entirely too hard. He was dreadfully afraid he would be put
back with the boys a year younger than he was, and yet he couldn’t do
such difficult lessons.
“How ashamed he would be to be put back! Oh dear, what could he do? He
must simply tell the teacher the lessons were too hard. But then he felt
sure she would tell him to go back into a class where they were easier.
“He put his head down on his arms. The soft autumn breeze was blowing.
It had been a warm day and two bumble-bees were buzzing and talking very
near him. They were having some sort of a talk about the sweetness of the
honey in the honeysuckle vine.
“Just then he saw his pencil. The end of it was wrapped up in cotton wool
and gauze.
“‘Gracious, pencil, what is the matter?’ asked Gerald.
“‘I shouldn’t think you would ask me what is the matter,’ said the pencil
as it squeaked in a sad little voice.
“‘Why not?’ asked Gerald. But the moment he had asked the question he
knew the answer.
“The pencil answered him just the same. ‘You know I am to do your work.
I will work but I must be guided and directed. I cannot think. A pencil
is not supposed to think. A boy is supposed to do that. I merely write
down what you think is correct, and goodness only knows I often feel very
badly when I have to write down all sorts of wrong answers.
“‘And when I won’t think for you,’ continued the pencil, ‘this is the way
you abuse me. Think! Don’t bite me to pieces. And I’ll tell you another
thing. You may bite me in two, but never, never will I do your thinking
for you. I am not supposed to and I won’t.’ The pencil was certainly
very emphatic, Gerald thought, and he decided he would not argue with it.
“‘I was a lovely red pencil with black lead,’ the pencil continued, in
an injured tone, ‘and now I am all bitten to pieces. One of my ends is
almost useless, and I will break when the lead is used very much further.
Oh, dear! And I was such a nice pencil!’ It sighed and seemed very
mournful.
“Just at that moment the cotton wool came off the pencil and Gerald saw
that he had been sleeping. The pencil had been badly bitten, but Gerald,
now wide awake, put his mind to his studying, and found the lessons were
not so hard after all!”
OCTOBER 5: The Onions
“We are far more useful than you are,” said the seeds of the lettuce
which were just peeping above the ground in a box, showing their little
green heads. They were in a schoolroom.
“I can’t help that,” said the geranium plant. “I was never meant to
be useful. I try to be bright and cheerful. I wish I could be useful
but every one can’t be just the same as every one else. Neither can
plants all be the same. Vegetables can’t be plants and plants can’t be
vegetables. But we all have our own reasons for being here.”
“I don’t see,” said one of the onions. They were very small but were also
coming up in a box of their own. And after the onion had said that, it
kept quite still just as if it had completely finished talking.
“You commenced to say something,” said the lettuce. “Why not finish?”
“Sometimes I get too discouraged to finish,” said the onion. “We all feel
that way at times.”
“And why?” asked the lettuce.
“For you it is different, little lettuce leaves,” said the onion. “You
are a salad when you grow up. You are considered a luxury and a treat.”
“Don’t people enjoy eating you?” asked the lettuce.
“Yes,” said the onion, “they often enjoy eating us. But they won’t give
us any praise for it. They eat us when they’re off by themselves as if
they were a little ashamed of eating us.
“I have often heard folks say,” continued the onion, “‘Oh, I am ashamed
to admit it, but I do like fried onions.’ Then another will say, ‘Just
imagine, little Freddy likes to eat raw onions when they are small.’ Oh,
things like that cut us so,” said the onion. “We like to be eaten. All
vegetables do, but we would like to be appreciated.”
“If you weren’t appreciated and liked,” said the lettuce politely, “you
wouldn’t be planted and grown. They use you all the time—to season food
and to make things have a nice taste.”
“Ah,” said the onion, which was doing all the talking for the family,
“that is true. But listen to what they always say. They explain that they
like to put a little onion in the soup—not so the soup will taste of
onion—oh, mercy, no—but just to give it a little flavor. That is what we
do. We flavor many a dish, but we don’t get the credit. Life is full of
trials,” ended the onion.
OCTOBER 6: Trixie’s Burglar
“It was night time and Trixie the parrot,” said daddy, “had her head
under her wing. Sometimes she slept this way, just as a canary bird would
sleep. But often she would huddle up on her perch and doze off with her
head drooping down a little on her chest.
“All of the family were asleep when Trixie seemed to hear in her dream a
strange sound. She pulled her head from under her wing and looked about
her with sleepy eyes.
“Did she see some one way off in the corner? Trixie was frightened. She
did not quite know why. She was never frightened of people, but this
person stayed where it was so dark, and did not light a light—only a
little one that flashed quickly and went right out again.
“When her master came downstairs late at night, he always turned on the
light. But Trixie thought she had better be polite. This was probably
some very queer guest and she must be nice, for all the family were
asleep.
“‘Hello,’ said Trixie. The man grumbled to himself. ‘He didn’t answer
me,’ thought Trixie. ‘I must speak again.’ And this time she shrieked,
‘Hello.’
“‘Will you keep quiet?’ said the man in a frightened, low voice.
“‘No,’ answered Trixie, ‘never still.’ Now Trixie had said this in a
very loud voice, and from upstairs Trixie’s master heard the parrot.
‘She never says that except when some one is here,’ he said, and he went
downstairs.
“As he reached the room where the parrot was he saw a man hurrying
off—hurrying off before he had had a chance to get anything, for he had
spent his time since Trixie had spoken putting a large coat over the
parrot’s cage.
“The window had been left open and a burglar had come in, but Trixie, the
parrot, had been the cause of his going out.”
OCTOBER 7: An Autumn Party
“A trumpet sounded through the woods,” said daddy, “and then the voice of
Mr. Giant was heard saying, ‘Come, all the fairies, to the bonfire party.
Come, brownies; come, elves; come, gnomes; come, bogeys; come, goblins;
and come, Witty Witch!’
“At that all the creatures came flying and running and rushing to the
bonfire party. The invitations were delivered by Mr. Wind to those who
were any distance away. They told stories, they sang, and they ate
roasted corn. And later on, when Mr. Moon had come up to see what was
going on, they danced. And how like fairyland they all did look, for they
all wore gorgeous costumes of the early autumn colors.”
OCTOBER 8: A Little Dog
“A little black dog named Soot,” said daddy, “was out for a scamper when
he saw out in the lake, far out from the shore, an upturned canoe and two
girls trying to swim with all their clothes on to the shore. They could
swim—yes, but how long could they keep it up?
“Oh, dear, how badly Soot did feel to be so small. He could not rescue
them. He was so very tiny. But he had a voice and he could run on his
little legs. So back into the village he tore as fast as he could,
barking, barking, barking.
“He ran to some men and he stood around them barking and jumping up and
down; his little face looking very sad and worried.
“‘Something must be wrong,’ said one of the men. ‘Let’s go and see. This
dog never acts like this as a rule.’ Soot led them down by the water and
there they saw the upturned boat and the two girls trying so hard to swim
to shore. The men rushed to one of the boat houses on the shore of the
lake. Everything had been closed up, for the boating season was almost
over and very few people went out in the autumn. The men broke open a
boat house and they took a launch out into the lake. They just reached
the two girls in time. In another three minutes they could not have kept
up any longer. They had called for help but the wind had carried their
voices in another direction, and the only one who had seen them was Soot,
their real rescuer!”
OCTOBER 9: Alta’s Guinea Pigs
“Now, there were two guinea pigs which were quite big. They were the
mother and daddy guinea pigs. And there were three smaller guinea pigs.
They were the children, of course,” explained daddy, “and they all
belonged to a pretty little girl named Alta.
“It was night-time, and Alta was sound asleep. And as it was winter-time,
the guinea pigs were in the box in Alta’s room.
“The guinea pigs were all asleep, too, when they heard a scratching on
their box. First Daddy Guinea Pig opened his eyes.
“‘What is it you want?’ he asked.
“‘Don’t be afraid,’ said a low voice. ‘I’m Peter Gnome. I’ve come to
call on you. I won’t hurt you. I think you are all very nice. And your
children, sir, are lovely.’
“That pleased Daddy Guinea Pig so much that he invited Peter Gnome to
look at the children and to play with them. Mother Guinea Pig was awake
now, and as Peter Gnome gently took the little guinea pigs in his hands,
one by one, they squealed sleepily and seemed no more than little round
bits of fuzz.
“First Peter Gnome would stroke one guinea pig and then another, and he
told the daddy and mother that he simply could not make up his mind which
was the loveliest.
“That delighted the proud parents, for they had never been able to decide
themselves.
“‘Did you feel like eating the children when they were very young, Mr.
Guinea Pig?’ asked Peter Gnome.
“‘Feel like eating my own children?’ he squealed in such a loud voice
that Peter was very much afraid Alta would awaken.
“‘Well, there are many creatures who do,’ said Peter Gnome. ‘I only asked
because I wanted to know and I heard you did.’
“‘Well, now you know,’ said Daddy Guinea Pig, ‘that I do not eat my
children when they are young or old. I most certainly do not. I love them
from the first day up, and more all the time.’
“‘He does, indeed,’ said Mother Guinea Pig. ‘He is a great help to me. He
is an unusual Guinea Pig.’
“‘He is devoted to us,’ squealed the little guinea pigs.
“‘I’m so glad to hear it,’ said Peter Gnome. ‘You’ll forgive the
question?’
“‘To be sure,’ said Daddy Guinea Pig, who was calm again now. ‘Of course
there are guinea pigs and other creatures who do such things, but I’m not
one of them. Never, never, never!’
“‘I’m honored to have met you, sir,’ said Peter Gnome, ‘and your family
is wonderful.’ So off he hurried, throwing behind him a piece of cabbage
leaf and saying to himself what a lovely family of guinea pigs they were.”
OCTOBER 10: A Devoted Dog
“Bobbie was a small fox terrier. He was black and white,” said daddy. “Or
perhaps I had better say he had a white body with black spots.
“He belonged to a little girl named Lily and he was very, very fond of
her.
“One day Lily’s mother said: ‘How would you like to visit your cousins?’
Lily thought it would be splendid. On the following day the trunk was
brought down from the attic to be packed. Bobbie saw it and knew that he
was not going to be taken on the trip. If he had been going too, Lily
would have acted very differently.
“He sat by the trunk and cried! And all day long he wouldn’t move.
Early the next morning the trunk was carried away to the depot by an
expressman, and poor Bobbie howled.
“Lily kissed his little black-spotted ears and she, too, cried but her
cousins did not want Bobbie brought too.
“After Lily had left the house Bobbie would not be comforted. He would
not eat, and all day long he would look up the road to see if Lily was
coming. The next night there was a sudden scamper and a wild bound. For
far away Bobbie had heard the sounds of wheels and he felt Lily was
there. Yes, she had come right home. She had missed her Bobbie. And never
again were they apart.”
OCTOBER 11: A Bird’s Secret
“The Fairy Wondrous Secrets told me to talk to you when you were asleep,”
said the canary to his little mistress Cora.
“Then tell me how it is you can get along without teeth,” said Cora.
“My beak takes the place of teeth,” the canary explained. “It is very
sharp, and I can eat all I want.
“When you see me at the cuttlefish and the sugar, I am really sharpening
my beak—just as though it were a knife. Now that is something creatures
cannot do with teeth. Whoever heard of people sharpening their teeth?
“But that is what we do all the time with our beaks—we birds. Yes, we
also sharpen our beaks on the bars in our cages. And the birds outside
find plenty of tools for sharpening. We are never bothered about eating
anything we wish to have. If we feel like it we sharpen up in time and
then how we do enjoy our food.”
OCTOBER 12: Columbus Day
October twelfth is not celebrated as a holiday because it was the day
when Christopher Columbus was born, but because it was supposed to be the
date upon which Columbus first stood upon the ground which forms a part
of the continent of America. The exact date of his birth is not known nor
the exact place.
Columbus took many voyages in his life-time; he discovered many islands
and made for himself a great and lasting name in history, but he never
knew he had discovered a new continent! Always he thought that those
places he had touched were parts of Asia.
And it seems quite sad to think of the times we’ve been applauded (and
often, very justly too!) when we’ve recited well or played the piano
well, while Christopher Columbus, who discovered America, did not even
know of the great deed that he had done. Never had he any realization
that in a new continent they would erect monuments to him, nor that in
schools they would give pageants about his trip, his discouragements, his
successes.
And his little son Diego, whom Queen Isabella made a page at the Spanish
Court, could not boast to the others and say,
“My father has discovered a new continent, which is more than can be said
for most fathers, and most people for that matter!”
For neither did little Diego know; and it has always seemed such a pity.
It would have been so splendid a thing for any little boy to have been
able to say!
OCTOBER 13: The Camels
“It always strikes folks as funny,” said Sophia Camel, “that we look our
best in the winter time and not in the summer time when the zoo is filled
with people and when so many come to ride us.
“But we don’t care about our looks. We have our family ways. And one of
our family ways is to molt our hair after the long winter is over.
“We can’t change our ways to suit people, even if we would like to change
them.”
“We can’t, indeed,” said Sally Camel. “And though they may think it a
pity we don’t dress up in the summer time they will have to take us as
they find us and be satisfied.”
OCTOBER 14: A Naughty Cat
“Jota, the cat,” said daddy, “was always complaining. First Jota would
leave her milk as if she didn’t like it at all and then she would upset
her little dish filled with bacon.
“There was really nothing in the world the matter with Jota except that
she had been spoiled.
“‘I have some nice milk for you to-day,’ said the cook. ‘It has just come
and it is good and warm.’
“Now Jota was thinking of the mice she had heard scampering in the
cellar. She didn’t want the milk. She would much rather have mice. And
when cook lifted her up and carried her to the corner of the kitchen
where she had put the bowl of milk, Jota scratched as well as snarled.
“Oh, how badly the cook did feel! Not because the scratch was such a bad
one. No, that amounted to very little, but she felt so hurt that Jota
could have scratched her. She had always been so good to Jota.
“Jota hurried to the cellar. Yes, now she smelt the mice! Ah, what a
scamper she would have. She did not want milk. No, she would have mice.
She sprang for a mouse. What! It had vanished. Then she tried for another
as it was hurrying across the floor. She missed the second one. She tried
to catch three others and each time she missed them.
“Jota for once in her life was thoroughly and absolutely ashamed of
herself. She had not been able to catch the mice and she had once been
famous for her powers as a mouse catcher.
“Yes, she had grown lazy and useless. She had been stupid too. That was
all because she had not been unselfish and nice, but had been horrid to
every one. And it had spoiled her. She could not catch mice!
“Jota was a very sad cat as she slowly climbed the cellar stairs. She
went back into the kitchen and there she drank the milk she had been so
rude and horrid about before.
“‘Oh, you were thirsty after all,’ said the kind cook. Jota purred and
jumped into the cook’s lap, trying to say:
“‘I know I have been horrid but please forgive me now.’”
OCTOBER 15: The Chipmunks
“The chipmunks were having a fine time the other day,” said daddy. ‘Hurry
up, hurry up,’ said old Father Chipmunk to the younger ones. ‘We want all
the nuts we can get for the winter. There will be a long, long, time to
eat, and we must hunt now.’