A VISIT TO THE ZOO.
The days were growing longer and pleasanter. The trees were all dressed
in green now, and the maples in front of the Burton home bent their
green boughs and shook their leaves at the invitation of every little
zephyr.
The evening star shone over the western hills, followed closely by the
slender new moon. The sun sank to rest behind those same hills, some
nights gorgeously attended by crimson and gold and purple clouds; on
other evenings, dropping out of sight suddenly, as if in a hurry to get
to China, as Winnie was fond of telling Ralph.
Winnie often sat with Ralph on the front steps these days, and showed
him the bright star and tried to explain to him that it was a big world,
perhaps full of people; or she would put on her roller skates and skate
up and down the flagged pavement, while he rode his velocipede.
Winnie thought she had never known a spring so beautiful as this one.
She felt as if she could stay out of doors forever, and found it even
harder to keep her resolution of conquering self-indulgence and sticking
to her duties now than when she liked so much to sit by a bright fire
and read.
She had her pretty card and her motto in the looking-glass in her room,
but she found it so hard to remember--or to want to remember, perhaps,
which every one knows is quite a different thing--that she pinned a
little piece of stiff paper with the word "Now" written on it, inside
her dress. On the whole, however, she kept pretty well to her resolution
of having a time for everything and doing everything in its time.
But she had never before felt such a desire to be out of doors, and she
imagined she heard fairies beckoning to her from the woods and hills. So
one day, when Aunt Kitty came over and invited Ralph and herself and the
other four girls of her little band to go to the Zoological Garden the
next Saturday, the girl's delight was unbounded, and she was in a fever
lest something should happen to prevent their going.
She delivered her message to the other girls. Miriam and Fannie at once
said they thought they could go, but Ernestine did not feel sure she
could arrange her Saturday duties so that no extra burden would fall on
her mother, while Gretta told them she would have to ask her father to
excuse her from the extra practice on Saturday, as they were to take
their lunches and stay all day.
Fortunately Gretta found her father in very good humor. She had been
making excellent progress with her music, and he was very willing she
should have a holiday. Ernestine, also, had arranged with one of the
neighbors in the building to take care of her little children on
the succeeding Saturday, in return for her help in doing some extra
household work.
Saturday turned out to be a warm, pleasant day, and in their eagerness
the girls arrived at the Burtons' a little ahead of time, and had to
wait till Miss Benton came, which she did soon, looking very happy. As
for Ralph, his eyes were as bright as stars, and he was the very picture
of joy and good humor.
They walked up to Elm Street, and from there took the car to the Mt.
Bellevue inclined railway. When they entered the car of the latter, all
stood at the front end of it and looked out of the window, and had the
strange sensation, which no familiarity therewith seems quite to deaden,
of being lifted suddenly into another region, and of seeing the great
city sinking down, down, until one wonders where it is going. Then, all
at once, the car stopped with its usual jerk, and there they were, at
the top of the hill.
There were very few people about the Bellevue House. They took a walk
around the grounds and through the building, and stood looking at the
city, covered with its workaday smoke from the many manufactories, till
it almost seemed as if it were seen through a cloud.
"How strange it is," said Miriam, as they entered the street-car at the
top of the hill, "to see the houses just as close together here, and
to have it seem like a city of itself, and yet so different from the
business part of Cincinnati below that it is hard to imagine the two are
any part of each other!"
"There is something strange about such things," said Miss Benton. "It is
just like people's lives. Their daily business, which brings them bread
and butter, and which is really the largest and most important part
of existence, seems to sink into insignificance or to be forgotten
altogether when social relations are taken up. But, after all, I like to
live in the city itself, where there is something of the past lingering
about. Everything seems so new here."
"I don't know," said Ernestine. "I think I would like to live up here;
the air seems so much purer. But I would want a bigger yard than these,
where I might have a garden."
"It's cleaner, too, up here," said practical Gretta, who was neatness
itself. "I visit my aunt on Vine Street Hill, and things always looks
so much nicer and newer at her house than the same ones at ours. And
it isn't because we don't try, for we do twice the amount of work; my
mother and sister are always going about with a duster." And Gretta, who
had made a long speech for her, finished with a sigh, at which they all
laughed.
"Gretta would like a house where everything had a glass cover," said
Miriam. "As for me, I like things jolly and comfortable, and if they get
grimy and sooty, and nobody's to blame, what's the use of making one's
self unhappy about it? I'm afraid I'm a good deal like Josie Thompson,
for I do like to enjoy myself."
"Well, no two of us are alike, and I don't think it was intended that we
should be," said Miss Benton. "That is what makes the charm of people's
houses--that they should all partake of the individuality of their
owners. When I enter even a little girl's room, I like to see some
signs of her ownership there, and not have it all as her mother or older
sister or the maid arranged it. I like to see something that looks as if
she had an object in life, if it is nothing more than a charm string of
buttons, (which, by the way, has gone out of fashion, I believe,) or a
scrapbook."
"Well, then, Aunt Kitty," said Winnifred, smiling at her own thought,
"it must be a treat for you to go into Uncle Fred's room; for, if I were
to see such a room at the North Pole, I would think of him."
"Well," said Miss Benton, with a smile, "I might enjoy it better if
it were in some other house. I think, in this case, it must be that
familiarity breeds contempt. The fact is, girls, my brother's room is
more of an old curiosity shop than a modern sleeping-room. He has always
had a sort of magpie-habit of storing things away, and is continually
having some new hobby; and as his hobbies are often changed, and each
hobby is apt to take the form of making some sort of collection, he has
queer things lying about. But from the time he was quite a little boy,
mother always said, 'Oh, let him have that,' or 'do the other, and he'll
be satisfied at home.'"
"How many canes and walking-sticks has he, Aunt Kitty?"
"Eight, I think, and each one has a history; and two or three of them a
mystery, which he refuses to divulge. But here we are at the end of our
journey, and Fannie hasn't had an opportunity to open her mouth."
"It's probably very good for my tongue to get a rest; it works quite
steadily as a usual thing--at least so my father says. But if Ralph
hadn't been all eyes, this would have been dull for him."
"I isn't all eyes!" said Ralph, indignantly.
They now approached the entrance to the Zoological Garden, and the girls
once more took out their pocket books; but Miss Benton was ahead of them
again, and had settled for the party before there was time to demur.
The first thing they spied were the mounds of the prairie dogs, and
they stood watching these a long time. It was such fun to see the little
animals running in and out of their holes and to hear their funny bark,
which Miriam said was "the best part of them, and probably very much
better than their bite."
Our little party was fortunate enough to be at the cages of the
carnivora just at feeding time. The great lions lay basking in the sun
and looking so innocent and amiable that it was almost impossible to
imagine they could be at all dangerous, when suddenly the man who fed
them appeared with the raw meat. Then their roars were fairly appalling,
and made the whole crowd jump, while Ralph clung tight to the hand of
Aunt Kitty, who said:
"I was just thinking how nice it would be to pat that quiet, majestic
fellow on the head, as I would my Angora cat; but I think I'll wait till
he's had his dinner."
"Oh, Aunt Kitty," said Ralph, "I 'ouldn't let you; he'd eat you up!"
It was an exciting but rather terrible pleasure to see the wild
creatures quarreling and growling and fighting over their dinners, and
was also a most effective object lesson on greediness.
Like other visitors, although Miss Kitty laughed at them for it, our
little party followed the keeper around from one cage to another as he
fed the various animals.
"I like the bears best," said Fannie. "They look like Eskimos when they
stand on their hind legs, and they stare up at us and the other people
as if we were here just for them to look at."
"There is a something within me that, in spite of bears and all their
attractions, tells me it must be dinner time," said Miss Benton, taking
out her watch. "Yes, it is one o'clock; suppose we get our baskets."
Ralph, in particular, manifested great approval of this part of the
programme, and, having selected a nice grassy spot, they disposed of
themselves as comfortably as possible, each with her basket at her side.
As they opened the baskets, passing the thin sandwiches and pickles,
Winnie made a suggestion.
"Aunt Kitty, let's play 'I have a thought.'"
"Very well," replied the lady; and, after a short explanation of the
game, and a little time to think, she announced the fact that she had a
thought.
"Why is it like the sky?" asked Winnie.
"Because it is round."
"Why is it like a bear?" asked Miriam, her thoughts still on the bear
pit.
"Because--oh, Miriam, that is a hard one!--because it is sometimes
white."
"Why is it like me?" said Ralph.
"Because everybody likes it when it is good." And Ralph wondered why
they all laughed.
"Why is it like the grass?" asked Ernestine.
"Because it is greenest in the spring."
Then the questions poured upon Miss Benton rapidly, as the girls began
to see how the game was played.
"Why is it like music?" asked Gretta.
"Because it suggests pleasant thoughts."
"Why is it like a novel?"
"It is often highly flavored."
"Why is it like an egg?"
"Because it is an article of food."
"Why is it like a cream-puff?"
"Because the best part is inside."
"Why is it like cheese?" said Fannie, putting a piece in her mouth.
"Because it comes on with the dessert."
"Why is it like a book?"
"Because the best part is usually between the covers."
"Why is it like a ring?"
"Because people like to have a finger in it."
At which there was a general shout, and they all said: "A pie, of
course!"
"But what kind of a pie, Miss Benton?" asked Miriam.
"That you must find out, too," was the laughing answer; and the
questions went on.
"It can't be lemon or custard or pumpkin," said Fannie, "because we know
it has two covers."
"Why is it like a flower?"
"Because it has various colors."
"And is greenest in the spring," said Winnie, musingly. "Oh, it is an
apple pie! And Miss Benton acknowledged that she had guessed correctly.
Then Ernestine and Gretta consulted, and took a thought together. Their
thought was a geography lesson, and of course the resemblances were most
absurd, and it required all the ingenuity the two girls possessed to
answer the questions.
They were all so occupied with the game and their dinner that no one
noticed Miss Benton had not yet opened her basket, and great was their
surprise and delight when she passed around to each of them a grocer's
thin platter filled with strawberries, for they were still very scarce,
as it was early in the season.
After dinner, Miss Benton took out a book and said she was going to read
for a while, so the girls walked around, taking Ralph with them, and
greatly enjoying the admiration he excited by his pretty dress,
his beauty and his cunning speeches. They too, however, soon found
themselves somewhat tired, so they went back to Miss Benton, and,
sitting down for a rest, amused themselves by hunting for four-leaved
clovers. In this Winnie and Miriam proved themselves the lucky ones.
Fannie had not the slightest success, till finally she gave a little cry
and held up a clover.
But Miss Benton's quick eyes noticed a twinkle in Fannie's, and saying,
"Oh, Fannie, I'm afraid you're a little cheat!" she reached over and
adroitly separated one of the leaves from another, leaving only a common
clover leaf.
"Well," said Fannie, laughing at being discovered so soon, "if I don't
have good luck, I'm not going to let everyone know it. My father tells
me to make up my mind that lots of things will happen to me in this
world which I'll best conquer by grinning and bearing them. And that's
what I'm going to do."
"A very good plan, my dear," said Miss Benton, "for even if the grin is
a sickly one, it's better than a frown or a whine."
"I guess I don't do that way," said Gretta, whose tongue and conscience
both seemed to be awaking. "I'm afraid I go away and pout."
"The worst of habits," said Miss Benton, with intentional decision.
"That is the habit which is most disagreeable to everyone around,
most full of unhappiness to the one who indulges in it, and the most
difficult to break. I am afraid that ill-temper is as powerful a giant
as procrastination, because it, too, assumes so many forms; there
are pouting and whining, storming and scolding, and the various other
manifestations which we all, more or less, indulge in. I do not think
many people cling to the powerful Giant Hate, but it is 'the little
foxes that spoil the vines,' and little fits of temper, long indulged
in, might at last lead even to that. But, girls, I didn't inveigle you
out here this lovely day to lecture you. So come, let's be moving on."
They next went to the aviary. Here, although they enjoyed looking at
the birds, they became more interested in a party of children, boys
and girls, each one looking like the others, so far as clothes were
concerned. Of course they must be from some charitable institution, but
the girls did not know which one. Afterward, when our little company
had gone to the monkey house and found a number of the same uniformed
children, Miss Benton said to one of them, "What school is this, my
dear?"
The child looked at her a moment in surprise, and then replied: "Why,
this is the monkey school, I think."
"Where is the teacher?" asked Ralph, who mistook both question and
answer, as the child herself had done.
Miriam and Fannie were delighted at this, and, going up pretty close
to one of the cages, Fannie, who had yellow bangs, said, pointing to a
great monkey which was watching them in a very observant manner:
"I think this must be the teacher."
Just as she made the remark, the monkey stretched out his long arms,
grabbed her bangs, and pulled out several hairs, which he smelled, and
then threw down with an air of disgust.
Fannie was somewhat startled at first, but, recovering herself, she said
the monkey must have thought her hair was wisps of hay.
Miss Benton did not seem very fond of the "monkey school," as they
dubbed it for the remainder of the afternoon, and she proposed going to
the pony track. This gave general satisfaction. Here, too, they found
the uniformed children, all of them having a lovely time. Miss Benton
found out, by conversing with one of the attendants, that they were from
one of the city orphan asylums, and that the whole lovely day was a gift
to them from one of its patrons--admission into the garden and a ride
for each child on one of the ponies.
[Illustration: Ralph was not in the least frightened.]
They stood watching the orphan children for awhile, as they rode around
the track, and Miss Benton asked if her guests would not like a ride,
too. Fannie, Winnie and Miriam said that they would, and each selected a
pony; Fannie, who had attended a riding-school, riding very gracefully.
Ralph thought he would like a ride, too, so the riding-master brought
his smallest pony, and two of the little orphan boys came up and begged
permission to lead it around the track.
Miss Benton consented, and, Ralph having been lifted into the saddle,
they started off, a boy on each side of him. But the little pony started
to run, and one of the boys was soon left behind; the other, who had
hold of the bridle, kept up manfully for a time, but before the pony had
gone round the track, he, too, was left behind. Ralph, however, held on
to the bridle himself, and, not in the least frightened, kept his seat
in the saddle as if it had been his velocipede. And the by-standers
seemed to think it as cunning as did his partial aunt and the rest of
her party. However, in spite of the courage he had shown, Ralph was
quite willing to get off.
They remained at the track a little longer, watching the other children
riding, and feeling glad that, if children were left alone in the world,
there were people noble and good and with means enough to gather the
little waifs together, and that they, too, had happy holidays.