only one foot and carry my house on my back. Yet I am not complaining,
for I have a head in which are my eyes, mouth, feelers, and organs of
smell, while my relative, the oyster, having no head, has to wear his
eyes, ears, and feelers on his mantle and his mouth near his hinge, poor
fellow! Even my own cousin, the land-snail, has her eyes on long feelers,
and has to draw them in if danger is near. Then see what a handsome
cone-shaped shell I wear; inside there is a kind of spiral staircase, up
which I can creep, and I can close my door with a thin film. If I break
my shell I patch it with a sticky fluid that hardens and makes my home
as good as new. I am an air-breathing creature and go up to the top to
set free the bubble of impure air I have breathed and then bring down a
bubble of fresh, sweet air. I have a long, ribbon-like tongue covered
with teeth, with which I can chew the delicious water-weeds. Really, I
consider myself a very lucky creature.”
“It must be a trifle monotonous,” thought the Hyla, as he swam toward the
top. “I should want a more stirring life. I wonder what that is!”
What he saw was a small object floating on the top of the water like an
odd little boat, only it seemed made of tiny jars with their openings
toward the bottom, and out of these jars were darting wee brown wigglers.
“Hello, little chaps! who are you?” called the tree-toad.
“We don’t know, we just got out,” cried the wigglers, “but there is our
big brother; ask him.”
The brother was a curious fellow. His body was very slender and of a
mottled green colour, and he had large dark eyes. He also wore a huge
moustache, which he was always moving about in a curious way, for he used
it as a hand for feeding himself. On one side of his tail was a queer
little screw he used as a propeller and rudder. He was sailing about at a
furious rate, but almost always on his head, with his tail stuck out of
the water.
“Allow me to ask what you are doing in that strange position?” inquired
the Hyla in his mildest tones.
“Breathing, sir, as I should think you could see,” replied the larva,
crossly. “What other way should one breathe?”
“Oh, excuse me,” said the tree-toad, as he slipped up to his old seat on
the log. “I didn’t mean any offence.”
“The fact is,” said the larva more pleasantly, “I have to go into my pupa
case to-morrow and it makes me cross. It is no fun simply to float about
without eating. Still, I shall be able to move about, and that is more
than many an insect can do as a pupa, and after all it is only for a few
days, and then I shall hatch out into a beautiful mosquito.”
“Well, well,” said the tree-toad, “that will be pleasant. It seems to me
I have heard of the mosquito. He is a musician, like myself, is he not?”
“My mother was a fine singer,” replied the larva, proudly. “She had
beautiful wings, two plume-like antennæ, and six slender legs; and she
always carried about with her a case in which there were five lancets to
pierce the skin of men and cattle, and she had also a drop of poison to
inject into the wound. My father never did anything but fly about in the
sunshine and sip honey; my mother was the talented member of the family.
I think I will be going; there come the Giant Water-bugs.”
Mrs. Giant Water-bug was swimming quietly along by her husband, who
looked very sulky and cross, and did not even return the Hyla’s greeting.
“My, my,” sighed a water-boatman who was swimming about on his back, “how
I do pity Mr. Giant Water-bug! Do not take offence at his not speaking,
Hyla; he is simply crushed with his trouble. You see his wife forces
him to act as a sort of baby carriage. She fastens her eggs on his back
with waterproof glue, although he struggles and struggles to escape her,
and he has to carry them about with him everywhere, poor old fellow!
Sometimes he is so nearly heartbroken he just hangs to a water-weed and
won’t move, no matter who tries to get up a fight with him. It is hard on
him, for Giant Water-bugs have gay times. They fly away from the pond in
such numbers to dance about those great shining balls that hang over the
village that men have changed their names to ‘electric-light’ bugs. But
what a time I have been gossiping here! I think I shall go for a swim.”
The tree-toad sat sunning himself on the log, but ever on the outlook for
a new acquaintance.
“Faugh!” exclaimed the Hyla at last, “there is one of those horrid things
that used to frighten me most out of my wits when I was a timid little
polliwog wriggling through the water. She can’t hurt me now, so I will
speak to her. Good-morning, my friend! May I ask who you are, and where
you are going?”
“I am not quite sure either,” replied the queer-looking creature as it
dragged itself painfully up a water-weed. “I was once a larva much feared
in this pool. I fed upon the juiciest polliwogs and other delicacies. But
a strange change came over me. I couldn’t eat, and I fell half asleep,
and to-day I feel that I just _must_ climb out of the water; I cannot
tell why. I think another change is going to take place in me. So I can
only bid the world good-bye. Perhaps this is death.” And fixing herself
firmly to the weed by means of two little hooks on each of her six feet
she hung perfectly motionless.
“Bless me,” gasped the tree-toad, after he had watched the creature
patiently for a few minutes. “Her eyes are certainly growing brighter,
and what is the matter with her back? A crack, as I am a tree-toad!”
Slowly the queer thing drew herself out of her case. She had a soft body
now, and damp, closely-folded wings. But the kind sunshine and the gentle
breeze came to help, and, little by little, she began to unfurl her
wonderful wings,—great filmy wings that shimmered with blue and green,
brown and yellow, delicate pink and violet, and she had large eyes that
glittered with twenty thousand facets.
“Oh! oh!” cried the Hyla. “How beautiful you are, you great dragon fly!”
But away she flew without a word, zigzagging back and forth across the
pool; a living gem, emerald, sapphire, and topaz, knitting the flecked
sunshine with loops of light.
“Well, well,” said the tree-toad, “this is the most astonishing thing of
all, to think of that ugly larva changing to that beautiful rainbow fly!
But the day is going and I really ought to accomplish something before
sunset. So I think I shall take a little trip over to that elm and sing
for rain,” and off he hopped, leaving the pool sparkling in the sunshine,
dappled with cloud-shadows, cool, silent, and sweet with drifting lilies.
MR. MAPLE AND MR. PINE
WARREN JUDSON BRIER
Once upon a time, many years ago, a little maple seed, with its two gauzy
wings, became lodged among the feathers of a wood pigeon, and was by
that swift flying bird carried far away into the pine forest. It fell to
the ground, and the rains soon beat it into the earth. It was not sorry
to get out of sight, for the Pine Family, into whose domain it had been
carried, seemed displeased to see it among them. Anyway, they all looked
black and threatening to the little seed.
Years afterward there stood upon the spot where the seed had fallen,
a hardy tree which we can make no mistake in calling Mr. Rock Maple.
In all that part of the forest Mr. Maple had no relatives. As he grew
stronger and stronger, the dislike of the Pines, particularly of the
Pine boys, grew likewise stronger. As he pushed his limbs farther in
every direction, the Pine boys seemed to look more darkly upon him.
They begrudged him the very ground he stood on. The younger Pine boys
spread out their arms to try to prevent Rock Maple from getting the light
and moisture which he so much needed in that sandy soil. At times they
showered great quantities of needles upon him, and at certain seasons
of the year they pelted him unmercifully with their cones, sharp rough
weapons that played havoc with Mr. Maple’s garments of green, yellow and
red.
Old Mr. Pine, who waved his green head in the air nearly a hundred and
fifty feet above the earth, did not seem to have very good control over
his boys, for though he himself did not often deign to pelt Mr. Maple
with the few cones he possessed, he never rebuked the boys for their
impoliteness.
One day the Pine boys were unusually rough, made so by the strong wind.
They knew Mr. Maple was not to blame, but there was no one else to lay
the blame on, so they pelted him with cones until he lost his temper.
He was just wondering what he would do to prevent the annoyance, when,
looking down, he saw that some little creatures had appeared upon the
scene, and were striking right and left at the Pines with a sharp tool,
against which needles and cones were of no use whatever.
“How good of those little things to take my part,” said Mr. Maple to
himself.
In a very short time hundreds of the Pines were lying prone upon the
earth. Some were formed into a house, while others were drawn away to
a small stream, rolled into its sluggish waters, and soon disappeared
forever from the gaze of Mr. Pine, who grieved for them, and of Mr.
Maple, who did not.
“Nobody here now of any consequence,” exclaimed Mr. Pine with a
contemptuous look at Mr. Maple. Mr. Maple paid no attention. “If you were
not such a dwarf, I’d talk to you sometimes, even if you _don’t_ amount
to much,” he finally said with an air of great condescension. “It makes
me hoarse to talk down so far.”
For a long time after that Mr. Maple kept silent, wondering why Mr. Pine
and himself had been spared.
But great surprises were in store for these two enemies. A family came to
live in the log house, and among them was the smallest human being that
the trees had ever seen,—a little girl named Camilla. She soon got into
the habit of coming out and playing under the two large trees.
One day her father brought home a small box, at sight of which she went
into a transport of joy, screaming, “My kit, my darling kit! I never
thought to see you again!” The box was soon opened, and she lifted a
queer-shaped little instrument from it; then, taking it by its long neck,
she drew a small wand across it, and it gave forth a sound that thrilled
every fibre of both Pine and Maple through and through.
It is too long a story to tell how both trees came to love Camilla very
dearly; how delighted Mr. Pine was when she took some resin which he held
out to her; how pleased Camilla looked, how white were her teeth, and how
she loved him for the gift; how Mr. Maple had his reward when the passing
frost touched him and gave him a beautiful garment, much to the delight
of Little Camilla, or how when the long winter was nearly done the little
violinist fairly hugged him for the sugar he had yielded her.
A fatal day came at last. Men appeared with sharp axes and heavy wagons
and attacked Mr. Maple. They had not cut into him very deeply before one
of them exclaimed to the others, “Curly Maple, as I live!”
Mr. Pine laughed, but before night he had met the same fate. The man who
felled him remarked to the others, “Well on to ten thousand feet in that
old fellow!”
Camilla looked on while the trees were loaded and drawn away, tears
filling her blue eyes. “Good-bye, old friends,” she exclaimed.
Away to a noisy place they went. Soon they were cut up into small
strips by a monster with very sharp teeth. These strips were carried in
different directions, some of the best pieces being loaded upon cars and
hurried away to a distant city. From this place they took a long journey
in the deep, dark hold of a great ship; again upon the cars, until at
last they rested in a dry house.
One day one of the Maple boards and one of the Pine boards were taken
out, carefully inspected and then made smooth and even on the outside.
Then a skilful workman cut them up into small pieces, and made them into
curious shapes. He took great pains not to leave the scratch of knife or
chisel upon any of the pieces. He finally glued them all together, and
behold, they were of the same shape as Camilla’s kit, but somewhat larger.
The workman explained to an observer, “I use pine for the front, or
sounding-board, as it is light and vibrant. The more porous it is the
better. Maple is the best wood I can get for the other parts, because it
is so dense, vibrates slowly, and holds the vibrations made by the pine
for a long time, thus prolonging the sound.”
After the slow process of finishing and varnishing was completed the
violin was placed in a dark box, and there it lay for a long time.
Pine and Maple said little to each other. They were not very comfortable
nor very happy. The strings that had been stretched over them were very
cruel and pressed upon the Pine, which pressed upon the soundpost, and
that pressed upon the Maple. Sometimes a string broke, and gave them
temporary relief, but soon some one would come and put on another.
After passing through two or three small stores the violin finally came
to rest in a large one, in a city distant from the one in which it had
been made, and all was quiet for a long time. Still Pine and Maple said
but little to each other. Shut up in their dark box they didn’t feel very
cheerful.
“A living death, this!” grumbled Pine.
“We must make the best of it,” replied Maple.
One evening a stranger came into the store and asked, “Have you a
first-class violin in stock?”
“Yes, just one. I got it several months ago by the merest chance. We
don’t keep such instruments usually,” said the dealer, taking out the
violin. “It is wonderful for an instrument not ten years old.”
“I want one for the evening, only,” said the stranger. “Madame Camilla is
here in the city, and to-night plays for the Orphans’ Home. One of her
violins is under treatment, and her Cremona has been broken.”
“Madame Camilla!” exclaimed Pine, with a quiver of delight.
“Can it be our little Camilla?” asked Maple in a trembling voice.
In a few minutes the violin was taken from its case by Camilla’s own
hand. She ran her fingers gently over the strings, looked at the varnish,
tightened the bow and rosined it carefully and finally placed the violin
against her shoulder, and drew the bow smoothly across the strings.
She played an air in which the coming of a storm was represented, and
Pine and Maple heard once more the sighing of the wind as it once had
swept through their branches.
“That’s the sound of the wind in the pine and maple that stood near my
log cabin home when I was a little girl,” said the musician to the people
standing near.
Then for the first time both Pine and Maple felt certain that this was
really their Camilla.
The curtain rose, the manager stepped to the front and in a few words
explained the accident, and stated that a new and untried violin must be
used.
“Let us lay aside all discord, and act in perfect harmony to-night,” said
the forgiving Maple.
“I’ll do it,” answered Pine, more cheerfully than he had ever spoken
before.
Pine and Maple beat and throbbed under the wonderful strokes and
long-drawn sweeps of the bow. When the piece was finished a storm of
applause burst upon them like a tempest. Again the curtain went up and
the violin found itself in the glare of the footlights once more. This
time the performer touched the strings gently, and played a tune that
many people who had come to the store had tried to play, the words to the
first line being, “Way down upon de Suwanee Ribber.”
When it was finished the people were silent, and tears glistened in many
eyes.
“Maple, forgive me,” said the now humble Pine. “I’ve learned a great
lesson, though a very simple one. The best results in life are
accomplished through harmony and not through discord.”
“We’ll live in harmony hereafter,” said Maple.
The great soul of the artist had breathed into the instrument and made it
glorious.
A GARDEN OF EASTER STORIES
My garden is a lovesome thing.
Rose plot,
Fringed grot:
The veriest school of Peace.
And yet the fool contends
That God is not in gardens.
Not in gardens—when the eve is cool?
Nay, but I have a sign:
’Tis very sure God walks in mine.
_Old English Verse._
THE EASTER RABBIT
GERMAN LEGEND
Shrill and sharp North Wind whistled through the forest where the trees
and flowers were patiently awaiting the arrival of My Lady Spring. Jack
Frost was delighted. Perched on the topmost branches of the great trees
he laughed gleefully. “Ha! ha! ha! surely Old Father Winter has forgotten
that April is almost here,” said he. “I shall not remind him, not I. They
say My Lady Spring who is waiting in Wild-Flower Hollow is growing most
impatient!”
“And so am I,” whispered Mother Maple to her neighbour Dame Oak. “I’ve
told my babies many pleasant stories about My Lady Spring and her
companion Merry Sunshine. I’m afraid I shall be unable to keep them in
their dark cradles much longer.”
“Oh! do hold them back a few days,” said Dame Oak. “You remember what
trouble that rude rollicking fellow Jack-Frost made last year. So long
as he is here he insists on playing with all the babies of the forest. I
do wish Lady Spring would come and tell him to be off.”
“He’ll never go so long as his bold brother North Wind remains,” sighed
Silver Beech.
“Never mind,” said Dame Oak. “I feel sure we shall not have to wait much
longer. Indeed I saw Merry Sunshine dancing near the edge of the forest
yesterday. I feel quite hopeful.”
“Oh, how happy I shall be to hear Thrush’s song again,” said Silver Beech.
“And the happy children’s voices! They haven’t been to the forest since
nutting season,” said Dame Oak. “I’m sure they are longing to come again.”
For some time Lady Spring had been waiting in Wild-Flower Hollow near the
edge of the forest. Only a few days ago the children had come there to
gather flowers.
“Not a bird or blossom anywhere. See how brown and bare that bank is!”
said one.
“And Easter is almost here. I wonder why Lady Spring is so late!” said
another.
“Maybe she has forgotten us,” said a tiny companion.
“I am very disappointed. Last year at this time that bank was blue with
violets. Come, let us go home!” And away ran the children.
“I shall wait no longer,” said Lady Spring. “Come, Merry Sunshine.”
Away danced Merry Sunshine and Lady Spring followed in trailing robes of
green and white.
Waving her silver wand over the bank of Wild-Flower Hollow she whispered,
“Ready, Violets; come, Starry Bluet; my sweet Anemone, you need wait no
longer. Ah, brave Arbutus, I see you were expecting me. Did you think I
was never coming, my dainty Spring Beauty?”
How graceful Lady Spring looked waving her magic wand here and there
through the forest. Wherever she stooped and touched the brown earth the
fresh grass leaped forth; when she tapped the great tree trunks the bare
branches above instantly veiled themselves in tender green. She waved at
the brooklet and away it ran over the moss and pebbles.
“Sing, Merry Sunshine, dance and sing!” Lady Spring called to her
companion.
Merry Sunshine trilled the gayest song. It rang sweetly through forest
and echoed far away over the hills to the South where the birds were
waiting patiently for the call. How gladly they came! Bluebird and
Bobolink, Cardinal and Chickadee, Blackbird and Thrush and Wren,—all the
forest warblers answered Merry Sunshine’s Song of Spring.
“At last my work is done!” said Lady Spring joyously.
“When are the children coming?” asked Dame Oak.
“Oh, to be sure! I must not forget to send them word that I am here.
Robin Redbreast, will you take a message of Spring to the children? I’m
sure they will want to see the lovely blossoms and hear the sweet birds’
songs.”
“Lady Spring,” said Robin, “I’m afraid I cannot go to-day. You see my
mate and I are building a soft warm nest in Oak-Tree. We are very late
this year.”
“To be sure, Robin. I wonder where I can find a messenger.”
“I think Red Fox would go for you,” answered Robin Redbreast. “See, here
he comes now.”
“Will you take word to the children that I have come, Reynard?” asked
Lady Spring.
“Oh, I should be glad to go, but the people might think I came to steal
their chickens. I believe Black Bear would be a better messenger than any
of us. I’ll run and ask him to go.”
But Reynard brought back the answer that Black Bear was afraid he would
frighten the children too much.
“What shall I do for a messenger,” sighed Lady Spring.
Robin cocked his head on one side and looked very thoughtful. Then he
said, “I have it, I believe Bunny Rabbit would go; I saw him hop past but
a moment ago. I’ll call him.”
At Robin’s whistle Bunny came leaping out of the bushes.
“Bunny Rabbit, I want you to take a message to the children in the city.
Please go and tell them Spring has come.”
“A message to the city, Lady Spring!” exclaimed Bunny, raising his ears
upright. “Please ask me to do anything but that! Dear me! The dogs
might catch me! They bark so fiercely! And naughty boys might chase me!
I’m sure I should never come back!” Bunny dropped his voice and looked
quickly about in all directions. Lady Spring was puzzled.
“Bunny,” said Robin, “couldn’t you go at night? You know the dogs and
boys go to sleep then and you can hop so softly that I’m sure they would
not hear you. Besides, your ears are very sharp.”
“Well, perhaps I could go at midnight,” said Bunny, thoughtfully. “But
how could I take a message to the children without wakening them?”
“Oh, I can manage that,” said Lady Spring. “Meet me in Wild-Flower Hollow
a little before twelve o’clock. Then you shall know all about my plan.”
“I will come,” said Bunny.
Lady Spring made a beautiful basket out of twigs and leaves and grasses.
She lined it with the softest moss. Around the top she placed a garland
of choicest wild flowers. And, when the birds knew that she was sending a
message to the children, each one wished to help her. So they sent lovely
little eggs of all colours—greenish blue, brown, white and spotted. How
beautiful they looked lying on the bed of moss wreathed with flowers.
A little before midnight Bunny came to Wild-Flower Hollow.
“I am ready,” said Lady Spring. “See, Bunny, here is plenty of moss. Do
be careful with these precious eggs. When you come to a house where a
little child lives take out a bit of moss and form it into a wee nest
like this,” said Lady Spring, weaving quickly a moss nest. “Then put into
each one a wild flower and an egg,—so. Leave an egg for each child in the
house.”
“Yes, yes, I understand, Lady Spring,” said Bunny. “How pretty the nest
is!”
Off he started as gaily as could be.
On Easter morning Merry Sunshine wakened the children early.
“See! see! I found this little moss nest on the door-step,” cried one
of them. “There is a wild-flower and three coloured eggs in it. How
beautiful!”
“An egg for each of us!” said another. “I wonder what it means.”
“I know, I know,” said little brother. “There are Bunny tracks on the
path. He must have brought the nest to us. Perhaps he came to tell us
Spring is here.”
“Of course he did!” cried the children, clapping their tiny hands in
glee. “Bunny was Spring’s messenger.”
Away to the woods ran the children, crying out, “Spring is here, Spring
is here. Bunny Rabbit brought us the message.”
THE BOY WHO DISCOVERED THE SPRING[15]
RAYMOND MACDONALD ALDEN
There came once a little Elf Boy to live on this earth, and he was so
much pleased with it that he stayed, never caring to go back to his
own world. I do not know where his own world was, or just how he came
to leave it. Some thought that he was dropped by accident from some
falling star, and some that he had flown away, thinking that he could
fly back again whenever he chose, because he did not know that children
always lose their wings when they come into this world. But no one knew
certainly, as he never told any one; and, after all, it did not matter,
since, as I have already said, he liked the earth so much that he did not
care to leave it.
There was a Hermit who lived in the valley where the little Boy had
first come, and, as he had a room in his house for a visitor, he took him
in, and they grew to like each other so well that again the little Boy
did not care to go away, nor did the Hermit care to have him. The Hermit
had not always been a Hermit, but he had become a sorrowful man, and
did not care to live where other people lived, or to share any of their
pleasures. The reason he had become a sorrowful man was that his only
child had died, and it seemed to him that there was nothing worth living
for after that. So he moved to the lonely valley, and I suppose would
have spent the rest of his life by himself, if it had not been for the
little Elf Boy.