THE COUNTRY SCHOOL
Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.
--_Bible._
Polly's welcome to me was most cordial. She was bright as a cricket
and full of chat about her visit. With her usual care she examined my
cage closely to see that everything was in order and petted and praised
me for a little while to my full content, then ran to Miss Kathy to
tell her of the new story book which had been presented to her while
away.
"And I am going to read you the stories some day," she added.
Her young playmates flocked in to see her and as I listened to their
glad voices my heart yearned more than ever for my comrades of the
woods, for a thought of spring was in the air.
As the days went by there were indeed signs all around that spring was
on the way. The wind no longer bellowed hoarsely in the treetops, but
had a mellow, musical sound and the raindrops that struck the window
pane trickled softly as if glad to come out of the clouds.
Just after school one bright afternoon Polly came to the door on the
side porch and called in to Miss Katharine:
"I'll be playing out in the yard awhile. Louise and Nancy have come to
stay till half-past five o'clock, so if mother needs me you'll know
where to find me."
"All right" said Miss Kathy. "Go on and have a jolly time."
And a jolly time they had, judging from the merry shouts that came in
through the open door.
"I've got your tag! I've got your tag!" I could hear Polly say, and
then there was a great scampering of feet and roars of laughter as they
chased each other up and down the walks. This was kept up for some
minutes, then a voice began:
"Intery-mintery, cutery-corn,
Apple-seed and briar-thorn,
Wire, briar, limber-lock,
Three geese in one flock;
One flew east and one flew west
And one flew over the cuckoo's nest."
"Oh, Louise, you're out! It's your turn first."
"I wonder if we are the geese?" said Nancy. Then they all giggled as
if what she had said was very funny.
"Louise, Louise, look, look! You're going to have good luck,"
presently shouted two voices. "A ladybird has lighted on your
shoulder."
"Oh, goody!" said Louise. "I wonder what my good luck is going to be?"
"Shake it off, Louise, let it light on me," said Nancy. "I want good
luck to come to me too."
"It is just the color of my new crimson dress," declared Polly.
"Only your red dress hasn't spots on it," corrected Louise.
"No, but the red is about the same shade as my dress. Oh, girls,
wouldn't a row of ladybirds for buttons be pretty on my waist?"
At this quaint conceit the three girls all giggled again.
"I do think they are the cutest little bugs. I never get tired of
looking at them," observed Polly.
"Bugs? You wouldn't call them bugs, would you?" inquired Louise. "I
think they are little beetles."
"Beetles? No, no," said Polly and Nancy both in one breath, "A beetle
is a big black thing that flies around only at dusk."
"Do you suppose your father would know?" asked Louise of Polly. "Let's
take it in the house and ask him, and so settle whether it is bug or
beetle."
And they came running into the sitting room behind the store to show
the lady-bird to Polly's father, who was there looking over his paper.
"Is it a bug or a beetle?" they asked.
He laid down the paper and looked at the pretty little insect a moment.
"It is a ladybird."
"Yes, of course, we know that, papa; but Nancy and I say it is a bug,
and Louise says it's a beetle," explained Polly.
"Louise is right," was his reply. "It is classed as a beetle. It is
one of the best friends the farmer has, and the fruit grower too."
"How is it useful to him?" asked Nancy.
"Why, it eats the lice that spoil certain plants and leaves and grain.
I notice that the Australian government is--Do you girls know where
Australia is?" he asked, interrupting himself.
"Of course we do," they all shouted with much laughing, as if it were a
great joke to ask them such a question.
"Well, I was going to tell you that the Australian government is taking
steps to encourage the ladybird on purpose to help the fruit farmers of
that country. Perhaps they have heard that it brings good luck," he
added with a smile.
"Let's show it to Dickey Downy and then put it out of the door and let
it go home," said Polly.
"Dickey Downy wouldn't know a lady-bird from a grasshopper," answered
Nancy teasingly.
Polly retorted, "Don't be too sure! Dickey is a very intelligent bird,
a very extraordinary bird."
She contented herself with paying me compliments, for instead of
bringing the crimson beetle into the store she opened the window and
let him fly away.
"Well, I'm glad I have learned something new about ladybirds," remarked
Louise, as she tied her hat strings ready to go home.
"And I too," chimed in Nancy. "I am glad the Australians prize the
pretty little creatures. It's nice to be useful and handsome too."
Then both girls said good-bye and ran home.
A few days later Polly announced to Miss Kathy that she was ready to
read the long promised tale.
"Mother says you will be in the back room sewing this afternoon, so I
will bring my little rocker and sit here and read to you. My book is
full of beautiful stories about children and birds and bees."
I too anticipated a pleasant afternoon, for my cage still hung within
the doorway where I could hear and see all that took place in both
apartments. Soon after dinner Miss Kathy appeared in the back room
with her thimble and scissors and seated herself at the work-table.
Polly drew up her chair beside her. The book she held was a pretty
little affair bound in red with a silver inscription on the covers, and
after being duly admired by both, Polly opened it and selected the
following story, which she read aloud:
THE MOUNT AIRY SCHOOL.
The breath of blossoms was in the air and spicy scents from the woods
that lined the lane on each side came floating to the delighted senses
of a little girl who drove slowly along the road leading to Mount Airy
School.
Young horses frisked in the pastures or came whinnying to the fence as
she passed. Lazy cows cropped the grass at the sides of the road,
pushing their heads into the zigzag corners of the rail fence in
pursuit of the tender clover that had crept through from the thrifty
meadows.
The school was a little brick structure standing back a short distance
from the road, with a playground on each side as enchantingly beautiful
as it was novel to Alice Glenn, the little girl who had come from town
by invitation of the teacher to visit the school. Accustomed to the
severer discipline of the graded school of which she was a member, the
unconventional ways of these children amused the young visitor greatly.
But who could study on a morning like this, with the delicious warbling
of the birds sounding in one's ears?
Who could be expected to take an interest in nouns and adverbs while
his heart was out in the woods with the bugs and bees or with the sheep
over in yonder field, whose ba-a, ba-a, was borne in distinctly through
the open door?
"I'm sure I would never have my lessons if I went to school here in the
summer time," thought Alice as she glanced over the room. "The country
is too lovely to be spoiled by school books. Why, that boy has a
wounded bird in his desk! I wonder if Miss Harper knows?" And a
moment after, Alice met the bold, defiant look of the boy himself,
which seemed to say, "Well, what are you going to do about it? That
bird belongs to me."
The history class being called at this moment the big boy got up,
shoved the little creature to the farthest corner of his desk and
giving Alice a parting scowl, went forward to recite his lesson.
Notwithstanding her desire to befriend the feathered captive she soon
became interested in the class and could scarcely refrain from laughing
outright at the answer to the teacher's question, "What happened at
Bunker Hill?"
"Old Bunker died."
This was bawled out by a freckled-faced boy, who reminded her of a
rabbit, owing to a fashion he had of twitching his nose and keeping it
in motion in some mysterious way. Even the teacher wanted to laugh,
but assuming her sternest manner she speedily restored order.
It was during the arithmetic lesson that Alice's heart went out in pity
for the youthful instructor. The majority of the pupils were bright;
but an unruly fraction, one child, refused to comprehend.
"If a family consume a barrel of flour in nine weeks, what part of a
barrel will they use in one week, Matilda?"
Matilda rolled her blue eyes up to the ceiling as if to find the answer
there, then studied a board in the floor for several minutes, then
slowly shook her head and sat down. A dozen hands were raised, and the
teacher nodded permission to a small boy who analyzed it successfully.
"Now, Matilda, you try it."
But Matilda shook her head and fidgeted with her apron string.
"Try it, and we will help you," persisted the teacher.
Thus urged, Matilda cleared her throat, folded her arms and began: "If
nine persons use a barrel of flour in nine weeks, in one week they
would use nine times nine, which is eighty-one."
"What! eighty-one barrels? But, Matilda, it makes no difference about
the number of persons. It may be one hundred or it may be twenty.
Suppose it were a bushel of potatoes they consumed in nine weeks. How
many would they use in one week?"
The girl again shook her head and resumed her upward gaze.
"Would they not use one-ninth of a bushel? Or, we'll take a peach for
instance."
Matilda's face brightened perceptibly and almost lost its look of
dejection. The teacher noted the change and smiled encouragingly as
she said:
"We'll suppose a peach will last you nine days. What part of it will
you eat in one day?"
The expectant look faded out of the poor girl's face. One peach to
last nine days! No wonder the question seemed impossible of solution.
"Well, then," said Miss Harper quite in despair and almost perspiring
in her effort to make it plain to the child, "we'll let the peach go.
Suppose instead, it were a watermelon. If you ate a carload of
watermelons in nine days, what part of a carload would you eat in one
day?"
At the mention of her favorite fruit, Matilda's eyes glistened, her
features relaxed into a broader smile, and almost before the teacher
had finished she had her answer ready and gave a correct analysis.
Watermelons had won.
At last the little clock that ticked away the hours on the teacher's
table pointed to the time for the noon intermission, and with a whoop
and halloo almost deafening, the pupils rushed out with dinner pails
and baskets to eat their luncheon in the shady woods.
Miss Harper led Alice away to her boarding-place across the fields.
Scarcely taking time to taste the different kinds of jams, jellies,
grape-butter, and other sauces set out by the hostess in special honor
of the young visitor, Alice hastily dispatched her dinner and was soon
back at the playground, where she found a bevy of girls seated on a big
grapevine which one of the larger girls was swinging backward and
forward amid shouts of glee. Nearby two gingham sunbonnets bobbed up
and down as their owners bent their heads to watch a speckled lady-bug
crawl up a twig.
"Lady-bug, lady-bug, fly away home,
Your house is on fire, your children will roam,"
repeated Esther in a low monotone.
"See, it's going now. I wonder whether it really understands us?"
"Of course it does," replied her companion positively.
"Daddy-long-legs are real smart too. I caught one last night and I
said over three times, 'Tell me which way our cow goes or I will kill
you,' and it pointed in the direction of our pasture lot every time."
"You wouldn't really have killed the poor thing, though," exclaimed
Alice, who had drawn near to look at the crimson lady-bug. "A
daddy-long-legs is such a harmless creature. It has a right to live as
well as we have."
"Oh, Caleb, did you catch it?" interrupted Matilda. "Bring it here!"
and she beckoned to a small boy who was busy near a large beech tree
some distance away. "He's been after a tree-frog," she explained.
"There's one up in that tree that sings the cutest every evening and
morning. I hear him when I am gathering bluebells."
"It's pretty near dead," said the boy bringing his trophy. "I guess I
squeezed it too hard. We might as well kill it."
"No, no! that would be cruel; the poor little thing will soon be all
right if you put it back on its tree. We'll go with you and help you
put it up," replied Alice. "Come on, girls."
"It ain't hardly worth the trouble," and the boy looked at the frog
disdainfully. "It's uglier than a toad, if anything. But I never kill
toads; I know better'n to do that."
"I am glad to hear it," said the visitor from town as they turned
toward the elm tree. "Toads enjoy life and it's wicked to molest 'em."
"Oh, I don't know about their enjoyin' life. The reason I let 'em
alone is, coz if you kill a toad, your cow'll give bad milk."
Alice did not dispute this wise statement. She could not help wishing
that the same law of retaliation protected all birds, beasts, and
insects.
After seeing the frog deposited in safety in a hole in one of the big
boughs, she with Matilda and Esther scampered back to the swing
expecting to find the others there. To their surprise the big
grapevine was unoccupied, and the shouts and screams issuing from the
schoolhouse led them too, to hurry on to see what was the matter.
"Maybe Jim Stubbs has got a mus'rat, or somethin' in there a-scarin'
the children," suggested Esther, as they entered the door.
A crowd had gathered in front of the teacher's desk on which was placed
the large dictionary, and seated on the book was the boy who winked
with his nose.
"Stand back!" he called, "I'm going to let it out, and then you'll see
fun."
With that he jumped down, removed the dictionary, raised the lid of the
desk, and out popped a red squirrel. Round and round over the floor
flew the frightened animal, dodging here and there and wildly darting
into corners to evade the books and other missiles that were thrown at
it. Not only the boys took a part in the cruel sport, but some of the
girls helped with sticks, sunbonnets, and whatever they could lay their
hands on. Two or three times the little creature was struck. At last,
helpless, it stood panting while one of its tormentors dealt it a blow
that killed it.
A cry of protest broke from Alice's lips, but her voice was lost in the
roar of applause that followed the big boy's action, as he tossed the
lifeless squirrel across the room into the face of another boy, who in
turn pitched the animal at his neighbor.
"The poor little creature! How could they abuse it and take its life?"
cried Alice, turning to those nearest her. The other girls shrank back
abashed at her reproachful tones, which were noticed by Jim Stubbs, and
that hero felt called upon to make a speech.
"Bah! boys, that girl is getting ready to cry over a dead squirrel.
What d'ye think of that?" And a heartless chorus echoed his laughter.
"No, I'm too indignant to cry," replied Alice with spirit. "I never
knew boys could be so awfully wicked, yes, and girls too. I should
think you would love these dear little creatures, and pet and protect
them. They are what make country life pleasant. I wouldn't give a fig
for your pretty woods if there were no living things to be seen there."
This was an aspect of the situation the boys had never before
considered. They did not realize that to a lover of nature the
humblest form of animal life is interesting. Did other people really
prize squirrels and frogs and lightning bugs and such things?
Just at this moment the teacher entered, and the crestfallen pupils
busied themselves in gathering up the scattered books and other
articles used in storming the squirrel.
"My young visitor is quite shocked by such an exhibition of cruelty,"
said Miss Harper, when she had learned how matters stood. "Think what
the woods would be without the song of birds and the chirp and hum of
insects. Your playground teems with happy beings that love the warmth
and sunlight as well as you do. Would not the forests be robbed of
half their beauty and interest if the squirrels and chipmunks and birds
and butterflies were killed off?"
"Wimmen folks are nice ones to talk about cruelty to birds," sneered
the big boy to his neighbor, "when they stick wings and tails and whole
birds on their hats and bonnets whenever they can raise a cent to buy
'em with. Oh, yes, wimmen are awful consistent! They are, for a fact."
Had his words reached Miss Harper's ears she might have replied that
sensible and humane "wimmen folks" regarded the fearful slaughter of
birds as little less than a crime; but unfortunately she did not hear
this and resumed:
"Yet you hunt out these harmless and beautiful creatures and wantonly
destroy them. Nearly every boy gives way to this savage, brutal
impulse to kill something. He couldn't tell why if you were to ask
him. Children, do you know there is a society whose members pledge
themselves to protect the birds? I wish we might organize one here
to-day. I am sure, from a spirit of kindness, you would like to unite
in a promise not to willfully harm any of these wonderful creatures
that God has placed around us."
When Alice Glenn drove home that evening she carried with her a glad
heart, for in her pocket was a copy of the rules and by-laws of the
"Anti-Cruelty Society, of Mount Airy School," which Miss Harper had
organized that afternoon. And it was signed not only by the girls and
all the smaller boys, but by big Jim Stubbs and the boy who winked with
his nose.