them, the Wolverene had made an unexpected attack. All had seemed
safe, and the Beavers had for a moment relaxed their guard.
Dropping from the branches of a tree into their very midst, the
Wolverene had pounced on a plump young Beaver just then engaged in
felling a willow sapling; in spite of his struggles there had been
no chance for him, and the Wolverene had eaten him then and there.
Not content with this, he had taken his stand upon the river bank,
intent on further prey. The young Beavers were trembling still, and
even the bravest of their elders were afraid to venture out from
their retreat.
When Mother Beaver heard what had happened to the Wolverene in the
early morning, she could scarcely contain herself for joy, and
Father Beaver, who had sought his family in vain in the winter
houses, where many of the colony had taken refuge, would have
embraced Phil had he known how. He straightway planned a wonderful
new dam that should put the old one to shame; and the number of
trees the Beavers felled that night was simply marvellous. Nowhere
along the river banks were more contented creatures than they; and
many a timid wood thing, unknown to them, shared their thanksgiving
that the Wolverene was dead.
Father Beaver was interested to learn from Phil of the Hackees'
narrow escape.
"We have all our foes," he said, "and must fight them as best we
can, with our wits or our teeth, the weapons Nature has given us.
That Stoat you saw will perhaps be trapped this winter; his
brownish coat will turn pure white when the snow comes, and he will
be called an 'Ermine' instead of a 'Stoat'; and then the hunters
will be after him."
"Then the Ermine and the Stoat are the same creature?" cried Phil
in amazement.
"The very same," said Father Beaver, "and Ermine fur is more
valuable than our own. All sorts of traps will be set for him, for
as his coat will be the same colour as the snow, it will be almost
impossible for the fur hunters to take him in any other way."
"I wonder _why_ his fur turns white in winter?" Phil said,
thoughtfully.
Father Beaver looked thoughtful too. "It is said to keep him much
warmer than if it were dark," he remarked: "But I should think that
it is so that he may not readily be seen against the snow. Perhaps
that is Nature's way of taking care of him. We are all her
children. But these are things that neither you nor I can
understand."
SHIPS OF THE DESERT
By Lillian M. Gask
"I wonder where I shall find a Camel," said Phil to himself. Not
even the Arab Horses, far-famed and lovely as they were, could for
him compare in interest with the "ships of the desert," without
whose aid, Nature had told him the burning sands would be more
impassable than tractless seas. He had seen a Camel once in a
travelling menagerie; a depressed and shaggy Camel, with dim,
lack-lustre eyes and a rough coat. He wondered if the Camels in
Arabia would look like that.
There was no breeze now, and the thin blue smoke that rose above
the chimneys of the distant houses hung lazily in the sky. Phil had
walked far since he left the mountain, and although a tawny
Butterfly with an oblique white bar across the tip of her forewings
had stayed her flight in passing, it had only been to wish him a
pleasant journey. The sands of the desert plains stretched far to
left and right in the broiling sunshine, looking like tracts of
gold. Phil's eyes were dazzled by the glare; he sought the shade of
a palm tree and leant against its slender trunk.
Presently he became aware that something was watching him from a
sandy bank not far away. It was a Lizard--surely the queerest
Lizard that Nature had ever made. His body was covered with shining
scales, like those of most of his kindred, but his fat tail, ringed
with thorn-like spines, was very curious, and his big teeth, set
far apart in his funny mouth, were too large for his small round
head.
He gazed at Phil in quizzical amusement, and asked him what he
wanted in Arabia.
"To see a Camel," Phil replied, and the Lizard gave a dry little
chuckle.
"You will have to go down to the plains for that," he said, "and
the wind will blow the sand into your eyes. Better stay here with
me. The shade is pleasant, and dates are sweet."
Phil shook his head.
"I have come a long way to see the Camel," he persisted. "Have I
far to go before I shall find him?"
The Thorny-tailed Lizard--for this was he--blinked several times
before he spoke again.
"Not far for you," he said at last, "for Nature has given you
invisible wings to your feet. Before you go have a look at my
burrow. It is a simple little affair, but very comfortable, and
when I tuck my head and body inside it I am quite safe. If the
Arabs, who find me as dainty eating as they do Locusts, try to pull
me out by my tail, it comes off in their hands, and I grow another.
He! he! he!"
The Lizard was quite a character in his way, and Phil spent a
pleasant half-hour with him. His burrow, though only a deep long
hole in the sand-bank, was very cosy, and Mrs. Thorny-tail was most
intelligent. She had a great deal to say to Phil about a demure Red
Locust who showed some inclination, to bite him as he bade her
farewell at the entrance to the burrow.
"He belongs to the same family as the Grasshoppers," she remarked,
as, much discomfited at what she said to him, the Locust flew away.
"But instead of leaping through the air as they do, he uses his
strong wings, which carry him very far."
"He scarcely looks large enough to do all the harm they say," said
Phil, who had heard of him from the Butterfly. "I should have
thought him quite a harmless creature if I had not known."
"A swarm of his family can make a green land desolate," returned
the Lizard. "Small things can do much mischief, as you will learn
when you grow older. There is nothing safe from Locusts. They have
even been known in the Strait of Ormuz to settle on a ship, and, by
devouring the sails and cordage, oblige the captain to stay his
course. What? You are still thinking about your Camels? Well, ask
for 'Maherry' when you reach the Arabs' dwellings. He is the
fleetest Heirie in Arabia."
"Is a 'Heirie' the same as a Camel?" Phil inquired. But the
Thorny-tailed Lizard had already tucked her head into her burrow,
and soon was lost to sight.
A Weaver Bird fluttered from the palm tree in a state of wild
alarm.
"There's a Viper under that stone," she cried, "Do send him off. He
makes my heart beat so that I can scarcely hear myself twitter."
Phil turned it over, and a Snake wriggled away as if he had no wish
that Phil should see his face. The Weaver Bird thanked Phil with
many words.
"He has been watching me all the morning," she said, "with those
dreadful eyes of his. I am thankful that he has gone, though my
young ones have flown now, and my mind is at peace. Won't you stay
and look at my nest? We made it all ourselves, I and my mate, and
it is quite worth seeing."
It hung from a fairly high branch, and could only be reached by
means of a long narrow entrance, most elaborately woven of grass
and twigs, somewhat in the shape of an old-fashioned netted purse.
This, she told him, was to keep away poisonous Snakes and
mischievous Monkeys, who would otherwise have helped themselves to
her eggs, or feasted upon her fledglings.
"We had to keep a sharp look out, their father and I," she added,
putting her small black head pensively on one side as she thought
of the troubles of married life, "for Birds have many enemies here.
Sometimes we hang our nests from the boughs of trees on the bank of
a stream or river, but then there are Water Rats as well as Snakes,
and it is wonderful how far they can jump."
And on she chattered, giving Phil her history from the day of her
birth, and confiding to him how grieved her mate had been in spring
because he could not sing.
"But when we began to build our nest," she went on happily, "he was
too busy to think about such nonsense, and there is no good in
crying for what you cannot have! If you will wait a little while
you will see him. Are you going far?--'To find Maherry?' Why, you
are almost there. Just go straight on until you come to a house
with a white mark over the lintel. He lives in the shed beside it."
Following her directions, Phil steered his course by the blue smoke
that he had seen in the distance, and presently found the house
that she had described. It was roughly built and very old; it
looked as if it had been there for centuries. The door of the shed
was open, and Phil slipped quietly in. A slender Camel, resting on
the ground in a kneeling position, looked solemnly up at him from
beneath his long thick lashes, and waited for him to speak.
"Are you Maherry?" he said, touching the reddish-grey coat that for
all its thickness was as soft as silk.
"I am Maherry," the Camel answered, stirring a little so that Phil
might find room beside him on his couch of date leaves. "I have
just come a long journey across the desert, and my limbs are weary,
or I would rise."
"Why do they call you the Heirie? You look just like the one-humped
Camel I saw in my picture book, and he was a Dromedary."
Maherry raised his head.
"I am sometimes called that too. Dromedaries or Heiries are one and
the same animal. Heiries are more slenderly built and far more
fleet than ordinary Camels, whether they are one-humped and
Arabian, or Bactrian, with two humps. To an Arab 'Fleet as the
Heirie' means 'fleet as the wind.' We are the Camels of Oman, and
can travel through the desert without stopping for several days and
nights. Thus we reach the end of our journeys quickly, and our
masters cry: 'It is well!' In days of old the Arabs said: 'When
thou shalt meet a Heirie and say to the rider 'Peace be between
us,' ere he shall have answered 'There is peace between us,' he
will be far off, for his swiftness is like the wind.'"
"Are they kind to you, these masters of yours, Maherry?"
The Heirie laughed softly.
"Ay," he said, "or we should not serve them half so well. The
service of love is swifter than the service of fear; the Turks, who
treat their Camels more as you do the Ass in England, find them
neither so willing nor so tractable, though all Camels are by
nature patient, and strong to endure. Here in Arabia a young Camel
is fondled as if it were a baby. 'A child is born to us,' cry our
master's family; and silver charms are hung on our heads and about
our necks, while we are encouraged to take our first steps by music
and song."
The Heirie paused. The tinkling of bells came softly through the
open door, and Phil, looking eagerly round it, saw a long
procession of Camels wending its way through the town. They were
heavily laden, and trod as if they were very tired. As they reached
an open space behind the market their masters called a halt.
"It is four o'clock, and the end of one stage of their journey,"
said Maherry. "Go you and watch them; and do not give too much heed
if they dispute with each other when they are unloaded. It is the
end of the day, and their burdens were heavy."
Phil drew the door of the Heirie's shed quickly behind him, and
hastened through the market place, where another time he would have
wished to linger. Pink and white sweetmeats were spread out
temptingly; luscious black figs, and grapes and peaches covered the
low stalls; sweet-smelling spices and aromatic herbs made the air
fragrant, and dark-skinned Arabs showed weapons and ornaments,
cunningly wrought in precious metals. But it was only the Camels
Phil wanted to see just then, and he did not stop until he had
reached them.
They were much larger than the Heirie; most of them were brown, but
some light grey, and one, who bore the heaviest load of all, a
snowy white. His master called him "Aleppo," and chided him gently
for his weariness. Phil made himself known to him as he knelt to be
unloaded, throwing the weight of his body on the thick elastic pads
that Nature had given him on his broad chest and on each elbow and
knee of his fore-limbs. These elastic cushions, Phil saw, were on
the front of his hind knees too, and smaller ones upon his hocks.
"This is so that in kneeling, our natural position of rest,
wherever the weight of our bodies is thrown, our shins are
protected," said Aleppo. "I am hungry and thirsty now, but
presently we will talk."
The unloading of the Camels took some time. As they were released
from their burdens they rose to their feet again, and the way in
which some of them scuffled and kicked their neighbours reminded
Phil of Maherry's words. It was strange to see them wrestling
together, now and then giving each other an apparently savage bite,
and Phil was glad when the Arabs brought them their evening
meal--date leaves and thorny shrubs, with leaves and branches of
the tamarisk tree, and some dry black beans that looked as hard as
stones. But the Camels, kneeling round the baggage, scrunched them
thankfully, their strong teeth making this an easy matter, and drew
in leaves and branches with their cleft lips. Ere long Aleppo,
declaring himself refreshed, suggested that Phil should come close
beside him, so that they could talk more easily.
As Phil leant comfortably against his hump he was struck with its
ungainliness, and asked:
"Don't you wish you hadn't a hump, Aleppo?"
Aleppo nearly upset him by the sudden start he gave.
"Why, my hump is my greatest treasure," he replied. "But for that,
I should have often dropped from starvation when provisions ran
short in the desert. When a Camel once falls it seldom rises to its
feet again, and the Vultures claim it as their own. The first thing
an Arab does when he is starting on a journey is to look to his
animal's hump, for without the nourishment stored up for him in
this, the Camel would often be in a bad way. Once our humps are
exhausted, it takes three or four months of rest and good feeding
to bring them up again."
"But _how_ do you 'feed' on them, Aleppo?"
"We absorb the fat of which they are composed into our system,"
said Aleppo, "just as, in colder regions of the earth, the Bears,
during their long winter sleep live on the thick layer of fat
stored up for them during the autumn beneath their skins."
"Is there water in your hump, too?" asked Phil. "I often used to
wonder when I heard about you how you can go as many days without
it as they say you do when you are crossing the desert."
"No," said Aleppo, with a wide grin. "We hold our stores of water
in what you might call a 'reservoir' of deep honeycomb cells inside
our paunch. These cells hold altogether as much as six quarts of
fluid, and when we have taken a long drink the mouth of each cell
contracts, so that the water is prevented from mixing with our
food.
"Some Camels can go longer without drinking than others. This is
because they can dilate these cells, and so carry a larger supply
of water. It is said"--his voice became very mournful, and he
stopped scrunching the dry jeans--"that rather than die of thirst
the Arabs have been known to kill us in the wilderness, that they
might steal the water yet remaining in our cells! But I can
scarcely, believe it!"
Phil was deeply impressed.
"Is there any other animal in the world so wonderfully made as you
are?" he asked.
Aleppo looked at him with a kind smile, for he, in common with
every living creature, was glad to be appreciated.
"There are many just as wonderful in their own way," he said, "but
the only other animal I know of who has this 'reservoir' inside him
is the Llama. In the mountainous regions of Chili and Peru he fills
our place as servant to man."
Phil waited to hear more, but Aleppo was trapped in thought.
The dusk had gathered; the sellers from the market place had gone
away, and as the brilliant stars flamed in the heavens one by one,
a hush fell over the scene. Suddenly Aleppo raised his head; from
afar off came the jangling of many bells, the sound of flutes and
flageolets, of the beating of drums and of shouts of exultation.
"It is a caravan of pilgrims," said Aleppo, "on their way to the
Holy City, where, enthroned upon a Camel, Mohammed gave the law.
The pilgrims travel by night; they started only a few hours since,
and this is not one of their halting places, so you will see them
pass."
The cavalcade came nearer. Phil could see now the lighted torches
that the pilgrims waved; their yellow flames lit up the scene, and
shone on the silver trappings of the foremost Camels. Streamers of
coloured silk floated above their heads or trailed behind them; the
saddles of the Heiries were of the richest velvet, purple and blue,
and necklaces of coral and amber hung below their bridles. The
swarthy faces of their riders shone with fervour as they played
their flutes, or sang their hymns of praise, and the satin-skinned
Arab Horses, who formed a minor part of the cavalcade, pranced and
curveted as the torch light gleamed on their polished sides.
"Poor things," said Aleppo with a pitying look. "When the fierce
rays of the sun stream down upon them, and their hoofs sink deeply
into the shifting sands, they will suffer tortures. Many die on
these pilgrimages before the journey is half over, for Nature has
not fitted them, as she has us, to cross the desert."
"Tell me about them!" entreated Phil, as the beautiful creatures
still came on, their eyes flashing with pride of race, and every
line of their slender bodies a thing of beauty.
"They are famous all the world over," said Aleppo; "so famous that
it is difficult now for even an Arab Sheik to increase his stud. To
be accounted of pure lineage, an Arab Horse must belong to one of
the five breeds which are said to be descended from King Solomon's
favourite mares! Their pedigrees are written in parchment; they are
contained in the little pouches their masters hang round their
necks. Arab Horses do not know the meaning of a blow, and because
they have never been roughly treated they are as gentle as they are
brave. They neither jib nor rear, and in spite of their small size
are full of fire and courage."
The Arab Horses passed, and yet the cavalcade streamed on. Now
there were Camels again, still more resplendent in their trappings
than those that had gone before. Embroideries of gold and silver
bedecked their saddles, and glittered beneath the robes of flowing
white which are the Arabs' native dress. One pure grey Heirie was
decked with ostrich feathers, and had his bridle studded with
rubies and emeralds, and gleaming topaz. His master was the Emir
Hadgi, the commander of the pilgrimage.
"I once took part in a pilgrimage myself," said Aleppo
reflectively, when the last of the cavalcade was out of sight.
"Even for me, trained as I was to go long distances, it was a hard
struggle to endure to the end. There was a terrible sand storm, and
water failed; the wells, when we reached them, were all dried up,
and but few of the pilgrims survived."
Aleppo paused. He was thinking of the strange fascination of the
desert in spite of all its terrors, and of the wonderful pictures
he had seen in the desert sky that men called "mirages." They were
of shady groves and flowing rivers, and many a time had Aleppo seen
them as he pressed on through the sands, with head held high, so
that he might scan the horizon for the longed-for oasis. He turned
to speak of these to Phil; but his little companion, he saw, had
meantime drifted off to dreamland.
SOME ANIMAL STORIES
THE TALE OF PETER RABBIT
By Beatrix Potter
Once upon a time there were four little Rabbits, and their names
were--Flopsy, Mopsy, Cotton-tail, and Peter.
They lived with their mother in a sand-bank, underneath the root of
a very big fir-tree.
"Now, my dears," said old Mrs. Rabbit, one morning, "you may go
into the fields or down the lane, but don't go into Mr. McGregor's
garden; your father had an accident there; he was put in a pie by
Mrs. McGregor. Now run along, and don't get into mischief. I am
going out."
Then old Mrs. Rabbit took a basket and her umbrella, and went
through the wood to the baker's. She bought a loaf of brown bread
and five currant buns.
Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cotton-tail, who were good little bunnies, went
down the lane to gather blackberries; but Peter, who was very
naughty, ran straight away to Mr. McGregor's garden, and squeezed
under the gate. First he ate some lettuces and some French beans;
and then he ate some radishes; and then, feeling rather sick, he
went to look for some parsley.
But round the end of a cucumber frame, whom should he meet but Mr.
McGregor!
Mr. McGregor was on his hands and knees planting out young
cabbages, but he jumped up and ran after Peter, waving a rake and
calling out, "Stop thief!"
Peter was most dreadfully frightened; he rushed all over the
garden, for he had forgotten the way back to the gate.
He lost one of his shoes among the cabbages, and the other shoe
among the potatoes. After losing them, he ran on four legs and went
faster, so that I think he might have got away altogether if he had
not unfortunately run into a gooseberry net, and got caught by the
large buttons on his jacket. It was a blue jacket with brass
buttons, quite new. Peter gave himself up for lost, and shed big
tears; but his sobs were overheard by some friendly Sparrows, who
flew to him in great excitement, and implored him to exert himself.
Mr. McGregor came up with a sieve, which he intended to pop upon
the top of Peter; but Peter wriggled out just in time, leaving his
jacket behind him, and rushed into the tool-shed, and jumped into a
can. It would have been a beautiful thing to hide in, if it had not
had so much water in it.
Mr. McGregor was quite sure that Peter was somewhere in the
tool-shed, perhaps hidden underneath a flower-pot. He began to turn
them over carefully, looking under each.
Presently Peter sneezed--"Kertyschoo!" Mr. McGregor was after him
in no time, and tried to put his foot upon Peter, who jumped out of
a window, upsetting three plants. The window was too small for Mr.
McGregor, and he was tired of running after Peter. He went back to
his work.
Peter sat down, to rest; he was out of breath and trembling with
fright, and he had not the least idea which way to go. Also he was
very damp with sitting in that can.
After a time he began to wander about, going lippity--lippity--not
very fast, and looking all round. He found a door in a wall; but it
was locked, and there was no room for a fat little Rabbit to
squeeze underneath.
An old Mouse was running in and out over the stone door-step,
carrying peas and beans to her family in the wood. Peter asked her
the way to the gate, but she had such a large pea in her mouth that
she could not answer. She only shook her head at him. Peter began
to cry.
Then he tried to find his way straight across the garden, but he
became more and more puzzled. Presently, he came to a pond where
Mr. McGregor filled his water-cans. A white Cat was staring at some
Gold-fish; she sat very, very still, but now and then the tip of
her tail twitched as if it were alive. Peter thought it best to go
away without speaking to her, he had heard about Cats from his
cousin, little Benjamin Bunny.
He went back towards the tool-shed, but suddenly, quite close to
him, he heard the noise of a hoe--scr-r-ritch, scratch, scratch,
scritch. Peter scuttered underneath the bushes. But presently, as
nothing happened, he came out, and climbed upon a wheelbarrow, and
peeped over. The first thing he saw was Mr. McGregor hoeing onions.
His back was turned towards Peter, and beyond him was the gate!
Peter got down very quietly off the wheelbarrow, and started
running as fast as he could go, along a straight walk behind some
black-currant bushes.
Mr. McGregor caught sight of him at the corner, but Peter did not
care. He slipped underneath the gate, and was safe at last in the
wood outside the garden.
Mr. McGregor hung up the little jacket and the shoes for a
scare-crow to frighten the Blackbirds.
Peter never stopped running or looked behind him till he got home
to the big fir-tree.
He was so tired that he flopped down upon the nice soft sand on the
floor of the rabbit-hole, and shut his eyes. His mother was busy
cooking; she wondered what he had done with his clothes. It was the
second little jacket and pair of shoes that Peter had lost in a
fortnight!
I am sorry to say that Peter was not very well during the evening.
His mother put him to bed, and made some camomile tea; and she gave
a dose of it to Peter!
"One tablespoonful to be taken at bed-time."
But Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cotton-tail had bread and milk and
blackberries, for supper.
LIONS AND TIGERS
Anonymous
The Lioness was wide awake, but two of the little Lion Cubs were
rather sleepy. The third one however, who had perched himself on
his mother's back, was quite livety: he had not had quite so much
for dinner as the others.
"Mother," he began, "what do all these two-legged things come and
look at us for? And why have they got such funny skins? Do they
ever have anything to eat, mother--bones, and things like that?"