I don’t know. Now just take my advice and ask no more silly questions.
I tell you the thing is not worth your troubling yourself about. But I
admire your spirit,” continued the Frog. “I will make you an offer. If
you choose to take a seat on my back I will carry you up to dry land and
you can judge for yourself what is there and how you like it.”
“I accept with gratitude, honoured Frog,” said the little Grub.
“Drop yourself down on my back, then, and cling to me as well as you can.
Come now, hold fast.”
The little Grub obeyed and the Frog, swimming gently upwards, soon
reached the bulrushes by the water’s side.
“Hold fast,” repeated the Frog, and then, raising his head out of the
pond, he clambered up the bank and got upon the grass.
“Now, then, here we are,” exclaimed the Frog. “What do you think of dry
land?”
But no one answered.
“Hallow! Gone? That’s just what I was afraid of. He has floated off my
back, stupid fellow. But perhaps he has made his way to the water’s edge
here after all, and then I can help him out. I’ll wait about and see.”
And away went Froggy with a leap along the grass by the edge of the pond
glancing every now and then among the bulrushes to see if he could spy
his little friend, the dragon fly grub.
But what had become of the little grub? He had really clung to the Frog’s
back with all his might; but the moment the mask of his face began to
issue from the water, a shock seemed to strike his frame and he reeled
from his resting place back into the pond panting and struggling for life.
“Terrible,” he cried as soon as he came to himself. “The Frog has
deceived me. He cannot go there, at any rate.” And with these words, the
little Grub moved away to his old companions to talk over with them what
he had done and where he had been.
“It was terrible, terrible. But the sun is beginning to set and I must
take a turn around the pond in search of food.” And away went the little
dragon fly grub for a ramble among the water plants.
On his return who should he see sitting calmly on a stone at the bottom
of the pond but his friend the yellow Frog.
“You here!” cried the startled Grub. “You never left this world at all
then. How you deceived me, Frog!”
“Clumsy fellow,” replied the Frog. “Why did you not sit fast as I told
you?”
The little Grub soon told his story while the Frog sat staring at him in
silence out of his great goggle eyes.
“And now,” said the Grub, “since there is nothing beyond this world, all
your stories of going there must be mere inventions. As I have no wish to
be fooled by any more of your tales, I will bid you a very good evening.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” said the Frog, “until you have heard my story.”
“As you wish,” answered the Grub.
Then the Frog told him how he had lingered by the edge of the pond in
hope of seeing the little Grub again, how he had hopped about in the
grass, how he had peeped among the bulrushes.
“And at last,” he continued, “though I did not see you yourself, I saw a
sight which has more interest for you than for any other creature that
lives,” and then the Frog stopped speaking.
“What was it?” asked the inquisitive little Grub.
“Up the polished green stalk of one of those bulrushes I saw a little
dragon-fly grub slowly and gradually climb till he had left the water
behind him. As I continued to look, I noticed that a rent seemed to come
in your friend’s body. I cannot tell you in what way the thing happened,
but after many struggles, there came from it one of those beautiful
creatures who float through the air and dazzle the eyes of all who catch
glimpses of them as they pass—a glorious Dragon-fly!
“As if just waking from a dream he lifted his wings out of the covering.
Though shrivelled and damp at first they stretched and expanded in
the sunshine till they glistened as if with fire. I saw the beautiful
creature at last poise himself for a second or two in the air before
he took flight. I saw the four gauzy wings flash back the sunshine that
was poured on them. I heard the clash with which they struck the air and
I saw his body give out rays of glittering blue and green as he darted
along and away over the water in circles that seemed to know no end. Then
I plunged below to find you out and tell you the good news.”
“It’s a wonderful story,” said the little Grub.
“A wonderful story, indeed,” repeated the Frog.
“And you really think, then, that the glorious creature you saw was once
a—”
“Silence,” cried the Frog. “All your questions have been answered. It is
getting dark here in your world. I must return to my grassy home on dry
land. Go to rest, little fellow, and awake in hopes.”
The Frog swam close to the bank and clambered up its side while the
little Grub returned to his companions to wait and hope.
THE CICADA’S STORY[11]
AGNES MCCLELLAN DAULTON
Once upon a time a grasshopper introduced me to Mr. Periodical Cicada.
He was a very pleasant fellow and not a bit stuck up, although the poets
have written of him, and almost every one knows him by the name of
seventeen year locust, though he really is not a locust at all. I was
pleased to meet him, and asked him if he would mind telling me what he
did all those seventeen years, and he replied:
“Not at all, now that they are over it is very pleasant to talk about
them.” Then he began his story. “Seventeen years ago this June, in an old
orchard, my mother tucked away in the green twigs of a mossy apple tree
hundreds of little cradles. I was sleeping in one and in the others were
my brothers and sisters. While my mother was at work our father sat on a
twig close by and sang the merriest lullaby that babies ever listened to.
“Several weeks later we little ones crept out of our cradles and dropped
lightly to the ground beneath the tree; then each of us dug a little
burrow and hid ourselves away in the warm, moist soil near sappy rootlets
that gave us our food.
“We were very tiny at first, but little by little we grew, always making
our cells bigger to fit, so that we were as snug and cosy as babies could
be, only it was very dark and lonely.
“The rootlets would tell us when it was spring, of how the pink and white
blossoms were holding up perfumed cups to the blue sky; of the tree
musical with the humming of the bees that came for honey; then of summer,
when birds nested and sang among the green boughs; later of autumn, of
apples mellow and ripe, globes of red and gold, that fell with a muffled
thud in the long, green grass; and at last of the winter, and of the
fleecy snow that clothed the old tree in soft white. They whispered
of heat, of cold, of sunshine and rain, of freezing winds and balmy
breezes, but we baby Cicadas neither understood nor cared, and there
tucked away in our gloomy cells we lived seventeen long years.
“But one May day, in the sweetest of apple blossoming time, all we little
Cicadas made up our minds to go out into the world and seek our fortunes.
Then every one of us began digging and carrying up to the surface tiny
pellets of soft clay.
“My, but we did work hard, and by the time the big sun had hidden his
round face in the west each of us had built a funny little chimney six
inches high.”
“Oh, how lovely!” I cried; “and please, Mr. Periodical Cicada, what were
they for?”
But the Cicada only shook his head at me gravely, as much as to say that
it was a Cicada family secret.
“When the chimneys were done,” he went on, “we all scrambled up and began
hunting a safe place to rest. I soon found a fine twig where I held on
for dear life. I wasn’t very pretty, being dressed in a brown coat, and
besides, I had gotten very muddy building my chimney. Now while I was
hanging there hoping to dry off—click—and goodness me! if my little
brown jacket hadn’t split down my back from collar to waistband. I felt
very bad, for even if it was a muddy, ugly brown coat, it was all I had,
and I had no idea where to get another in the big, cold world I had just
come into. But when I stepped out of my coat to see if I could mend it,
my stockings and shoes came off with it and there I hung, if you will
believe me, dressed in the prettiest cream-coloured suit you ever saw. I
never was more surprised in my life.
“Just then, I happened to catch a glimpse of one of my sisters, and she
also was in cream, and there was a brother; yes, there was the whole
family, and every one of us in a lovely suit of cream-colour. But, oh,
when we got a good look at each other we laughed till we almost fell from
our perches, for each of us had pink eyes and heavy, fierce eyebrows, and
queer humps on the sides of our necks. Such a ridiculous looking lot of
youngsters you never saw. Beside us hung our old, muddy clothes, coat,
shoes, stockings, and all. If you look in the orchard you can often find
these old clothes long after the Cicadas have flown away.”
“Oh, Mr. Cicada, how I should love to have seen you!” I exclaimed. “I
shall look for little brown coats as soon as I get home.”
“This was only the beginning,” went on Periodical. “The most wonderful
things were to come; for slowly, slowly those humps on our necks began
to swell, and after a time they opened out into two lovely, gauzy wings,
veined with pearl colour. When the great round moon came gliding up over
the orchard and shed down upon us her gentle, silvery light, there we
hung like some strange, beautiful flowers. The apple blossoms thought we
were flowers and whispered to us some of the prettiest honey and pollen
secrets; they were so provoked when we flew away and they found out their
mistake—but they need not fear for we will never tell; no, indeed, never!
“When morning came we found our beauty had been very fleeting, for our
lovely cream-coloured suits had changed to greenish-brown, and our wings,
though still transparent, were dull of colour. The males among us were
drummers. Deep within my body, I carried two drums, each being covered
by a plate that you can easily see on the outside. Now, I don’t need
drumsticks, for my drums are air instruments, and by twitching my muscles
I can snap my drumheads faster and faster, making the gayest sort of a
roll-call. Listen to this: _Whirr-r-r-r-r!_”
EDITH AND THE BEES
HELEN KELLER
One beautiful morning last June, a sweet little girl thought she would go
out into the garden and pick some flowers for one of her playmates, who
was sick and obliged to stay shut up in the house this fragrant summer
morning. “Tommy shall have the most beautiful flowers in the garden,”
thought Edith, as she took her little basket and pruning scissors, and
ran out into the garden. She looked like a lovely fairy or a sunbeam,
flitting about the rose-bushes. I think she was the most exquisite rose
in all the garden herself. Her heart was full of thoughts of Tommy, while
she worked away busily. “I wish I knew something that would please Tommy
more than anything else!” she said to herself. “I would love to make him
happy,” and she sat down on the edge of a beautiful fountain to think.
While she sat there thinking, two dear little birds began to take their
bath in the lovely, sparkling water that rippled and danced in the
sunshine. They would plunge into the water and come out dripping, perch
on the side of the fountain for a moment, and plunge in again. Then they
would shake the bright drops from their feathers, and fly away singing
sweeter than ever. Edith thought the little birds enjoyed their bath as
much as her baby brother did his.
When they had flown away to a distant tree, Edith noticed a beautiful
pink rosebud, more beautiful than any she had yet seen. “Oh, how lovely
you are!” she cried; and, running to the bush where it was, she bent
down the branch, that she might examine it more closely, when out of the
heart of the rose came a small insect and stung her pretty cheek. The
little girl began to weep loudly, and ran to her father who was working
in another part of the yard. “Why, my little girl!” said he, “a bee has
stung you.” He drew out the sting, and bathed her swollen cheek in cool
water, at the same time telling her many interesting things about the
wonderful little bees.
“Do not cry any more, my child,” said her father, “and I will take you to
see a kind gentleman who keeps many hives of bees.”
“Oh, thank you!” cried Edith, brushing away her tears. “I will run and
get ready now.”
The bee-master, as everybody called the old man who kept the bees, was
very glad to show his little pets, and to tell Edith all he knew about
them. He led her to a hive, made wholly of glass, so that she might watch
the bees at their work.
“There are three kinds of bees in every hive,” said the gentleman. “That
large bee in the middle is the queen bee. She is the most important bee
in the hive. She has a sting, but seldom makes use of it. Those busy
bees are the worker bees. It was probably a worker that stung you this
morning, my little girl,” said the bee-master.
Edith thought she did not like the worker bee as well as the others; but
when she heard what industrious little workers they are, and how they
take all the care of the young bees, build the cells of wax, and bring
in the honey, she felt much more affection for them.
“What do the bees do in winter when there are no flowers from which to
gather honey?” inquired Edith.
“They sleep during the long, cold winter days, and awaken when the warm
spring returns,” replied her kind instructor.
“Now,” said Edith’s father, “we had better go, or you will not get to see
Tommy to-day.”
Then the little girl thanked her new friend for telling her so much about
his interesting pets, and promised to come and see him as often as she
could.
“Oh, father!” cried Edith, as they walked homeward, “I am almost glad
that the naughty little bee stung me this morning, for now I shall have
something interesting to tell Tommy.”
THE LITTLE TADPOLE[12]
KATHARINE PYLE
The brook flows down past the field, around the hill, and through the
wood.
There are all sorts of things in the brook: water cress and snails, and
little darting fishes, eelgrass and crawfish, and under a stone where the
water is cool and deep a little brown lizard used to live.
The lizard was a busy little thing, always anxious about something or
other. She told the crawfish when to shed their shells; she showed the
snails where to find dead leaves; and she attended to every one else’s
business as well as her own.
One day when she was crawling up the stream, she saw a tadpole lying in a
sunny shallow, with its nose almost out of the water.
“That tadpole oughtn’t to lie there in the sun,” said the lizard to
herself. “It’s too warm. I think I’ll tell him.” So she crawled up to
where the tadpole was lying.
As she came nearer she heard the tadpole whispering softly to himself.
“Oh, how beautiful! how beautiful!” he was saying.
“What is so beautiful?” asked the lizard curiously, looking about her.
“That singing!” cried the tadpole. “Don’t you hear it?”
And now that the lizard listened, she did indeed hear a perfect chorus of
birds singing their morning songs in wood and field and thicket.
“Yes, it’s pretty enough,” said the lizard. “But you oughtn’t to be lying
here in the hot sun. You’ll make yourself sick.”
The tadpole only wriggled impatiently, and then lay still, listening. But
presently he turned his little dull eyes on the lizard. “I suppose you
have often seen birds coming down to the stream to bathe,” he said. “Do
you think I look anything like one?”
“Like a bird!” cried the lizard. “No, you don’t.”
“Well, I don’t see why not,” said the tadpole. “To be sure, I haven’t
any legs, but I have a tail.”
“Yes,” said the lizard, “but birds have beaks and feathers and wings as
well, and you haven’t anything but a body and a tail.”
“That is true,” said the tadpole, and he sighed heavily.
As the lizard had said, it was warm up in the shallow where the tadpole
lay; but she was curious now as to why the tadpole should want to look
like a bird, so she settled herself down more comfortably and went on
talking.
“Now, I should like to know,” she said, “why you want to look like a
bird.”
At first the tadpole made no answer; he seemed to be either shy or dull,
but when the lizard asked him again, he said: “I don’t know.”
Then he was silent again; and the lizard was about to go away when the
tadpole suddenly went on: “It’s because there seems to be something
inside of me that must sing, and I’ve tried and tried, until all the
fishes and even the snails laugh at me, and I can’t make a sound. I
think if I only had legs, and could hop about like a bird, I could do it.”
“But I don’t see why you should want to sing,” said the lizard. “I never
did.”
Still, the tadpole seemed so grieved about it that she felt sorry for
him, and stayed there in the shallow talking to him for quite a long
time; and the next morning she went to see him again.
This was the beginning of a friendship between the two; and though the
lizard could not understand why the tadpole should wish to sing, she
never made fun of him, but tried to think of some plan by which he might
learn to do it.
Once she suggested that if he were only up on the shore he might be able
to do something about it. So he wriggled himself up half out of the
water; but almost immediately he grew so sick that the lizard had to pull
him back again by his tail, feeling terribly frightened, all the while,
lest it should break.
It was the very next morning that the lizard found the tadpole in a state
of wild excitement. “Oh, Lizard, Lizard!” he cried, shaking all over
from his nose to his tail. “Just look at me! I’m getting legs.”
It was true. There they were, still very small and weak, but really
legs. The lizard and the tadpole had been too busy talking over how to
make them grow to notice that they were already budding. They were still
more excited when, soon afterwards, they saw near the front part of the
tadpole’s body two more little buds; and the lizard was sure these would
prove to be wings.
It was a terrible blow to them when they found these were not wings at
all, but more legs. “Now it’s all over,” cried the tadpole, in despair.
“It was bad enough not to have wings; but now that I’m getting legs this
way, there’s no knowing where it’ll end.”
The lizard, too, was almost hopeless, until suddenly she remembered a
crawfish she had known who had lost one of his legs in a fight, and it
had hardly hurt him at all. She said perhaps she could pull the tadpole’s
front legs off the same way.
He was quite willing for her to try, but at the first twitch she gave he
cried out, “Ouch! that hurts!” so the lizard had to stop.
She still thought, however, that something could have been done about it
if the tadpole had not been such a coward and had let her pull harder.
But worse was to follow.
One morning, before the lizard was up, the tadpole came wriggling over to
the door of her house.
“Lizard, Lizard, come out here,” he cried. Then, as soon as she came out,
he begged her to get a piece of eelgrass and measure his tail.
“I’ve been afraid it was shrinking for some time,” he said, “and now I’m
almost sure of it. I have such strange feelings, too. Sometimes I feel as
though I must have air, and I get up on a stone so that I’m almost out of
the water, and only then am I comfortable.”
Hastily the lizard got the eelgrass and measured. Then they sat staring
at each other in dismay. The tail was almost gone!
Still, the lizard would not give up all hope.
That same crawfish that had lost a leg lived farther down the stream,
and he was very old and wise. She would get him to come and look at the
tadpole and give his advice.
So the kindly little lizard bustled away, and soon she came back, to
where the tadpole was lying, and the crawfish came with her, twiddling
his feelers, and staring both ways with his goggle eyes.
“Sick tadpole!” he cried. “This is no tadpole!” Then, coming closer, the
crawfish went on: “Why are you lying here? Why aren’t you over in the
swamp singing with all the rest of them? Don’t you know you are a frog?”
“A frog!” cried the lizard.
But the young tadpole frog leaped clear out of the brook with a joyous
cry.
“A frog!” he shouted. “Why, that’s the best of all! If that’s true I
must say good-bye, little Lizard. Hey for the wide green swamp and the
loud frog chorus under the light of the moon! Good-bye, little friend,
good-bye! I shall never forget what you have done for me.”
So the frog went away to join his brothers.
The little lizard felt quite lonely for a while after the frog had gone;
but she comforted herself by thinking how happy he must be.
Often in the twilight, or when the moon was bright, she listened to the
chorus of frogs as they sang over in the swamp, and wondered if the one
who sang so much louder and deeper than the rest was the little frog who
had tried so hard to be a bird.
“After all,” she said to herself, “there are more ways of singing than
one.”
MISTER HOP-TOAD
JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY
Howdy, Mister Hop-Toad! Glad to see you out!
Bin a month o’ Sundays since I seen you hereabout.
Kind o’ bin a-layin’ in, from the frost and snow?
Glad to see you out ag’in, it’s been so long ago.
BUZ AND HUM
MAURICE NOËL
The time came when Buz and Hum, two young bees, were allowed to try their
wings.
“Follow me,” said a friendly older bee; “I can spare time to fly a little
way; and when I stop, you stop, too.”
“All right,” cried Buz, trembling with excitement.
Hum said nothing, but her wings began to move, almost in spite of herself.
Away went the bee, as straight as a line from the mouth of the hive, and
away flew Buz and Hum after her; but at first starting they both found it
a little difficult to keep quite straight, and Buz knocked against the
board to begin with, and nearly stopped herself, as she had not learned
how to rise.
The older bee did not go far, and lit on the branch of a peach tree which
was growing against a wall near by. Buz came after her in a great hurry,
but missed the branch and gave herself a bang against the wall. Hum saw
this, and managed to stop herself in time; but she did not judge her
distance very well either; and got on the peach tree in a scrambling sort
of way.
“Very good,” said their friend, as they all three stood together; “you
will soon be able to take care of yourself now; but just let me see you
back to the hive.”
So off they flew again, and lighted on the board in a very creditable
manner.
“Now,” said the bee, “I shall leave you; but before I go let me advise
you, as a friend, not to quit the garden to-day; there are plenty of
flowers, and plenty of opportunities for you to meet with ‘Experience,’
without flying over any of the four walls.”
“Who is Experience?” asked Buz and Hum together.
“Oh! somebody to whom you are going to be introduced, who will teach you
more in a day than you could learn from me in a week. Good-bye.”
So saying, she disappeared into the hive.
“Isn’t it too delightful?” exclaimed Buz to Hum. “Flying! why it’s even
more fun that I thought!”
“It is,” said Hum; “but I should like to get some honey at once.”
“Of course,” replied Buz, “only I should like to fly a long way to get
it.”
“I want to fill a cell quickly,” said Hum.
“Oh, yes, to be sure! What a delightful thing it will be to put one’s
proboscis down into every flower and see what’s there! Do you know,”
added Buz, putting out her proboscis, “I feel as if I could suck honey
tremendously; don’t you?”
“Yes, yes,” cried Hum. “I long to be at it; let’s be off at once.”
So away they went and lit on a bed of flowers. Hum spent the day between
the hive and that bed, and was quite, quite happy; but Buz, though she,
too, liked collecting the honey, wanted to have more excitement in
getting it; and every now and then, as she passed to and from the hive, a
lovely field of clover, not far off, sent forth such a delicious smell,
as the breeze swept over it, that she was strongly tempted to disregard
the advice she had been given, and to hurry off to it.
At last she could stand it no longer; and, rising high into the air, she
sailed over the wall and went out into the world beyond.
And so she reached the field of clover, and, flying quite low over
the flowers, was astonished to see how many bees were busy among
them—bumble-bees without end, and plenty of honey-bees, too; in fact, the
air was filled with the pleasant murmur that they made.
“To be sure,” said Buz to herself, “this is the place for me! Poor, dear
old Hum! I hope she is enjoying herself as much as I am. I don’t mean to
be idle either, so here goes for some honey.”