At the death of his dear mother little Willis went from his western farm
home to stay for a few years with his Aunt Jennie in an eastern seaport
town.
One day she had oysters in the shell for dinner. As his parents had
wisely tried to keep his eyes and ears keen in regard to common things,
he was full of questions.
His aunt told him that the next time she bought live oysters she would
give him some to watch and study. Only a few weeks later she was
expecting company to dinner and had a chance to keep her word.
“Fill this with water,” said she, giving him a plain glass fruit dish,
“and put your oyster in it.”
“But,” said Willis, “oysters live in sea water, which is salty.”
“Yes; they do live in sea water. In order to grow and thrive they must
have vegetable and mineral substances found in sea water. But they can
live in fresh water. Oystermen make a practice of moving them from their
banks to spots near the mouth of a river where the water is not nearly
so salty or even quite fresh. Here they get washed out and freshened.
They look plumper and some of the strong, salty taste being taken away,
they have a more delicate flavor. All the largest oysters in the market
are fattened in that way.”
Willis did as directed.
“Do you notice how the oyster is covered?” asked his aunt.
“Yes, it has two shells which are joined like a hinge at the smaller
end.”
“Do you notice that they are different?”
“One shell is larger and deeper near the hinge. The outside of it is
white and pretty. The shelly matter is laid in rings, some of which seem
full, making me think of a tucked and ruffled skirt. The other shell is
smaller, darker and nearly flat.”
“Ask Bridget if she has some small crackers to give you one. Powder it
and throw it on top of the water. If she has none a spoonful of corn
meal will do for food. Animals which are deprived of natural ways of
getting a living must be supplied with suitable food.”
When he had done that she handed him a pair of shells, in one of which
lay an oyster. “Here is another one which I had opened for you. I am
very busy to-day. While the company is here you can amuse yourself by
watching what happens. Examine the dead oyster and find out what you can
about it.”
Willis was delighted with his odd pet. He watched the live creature for
some time. At first its two shells were tightly closed. After being
quiet for some time it cautiously opened its shell a little way as
though it was peeping at him. He was so pleased that he grabbed his hat
and ran to fetch his neighbor schoolmate, Joseph. Once in a while a bit
of cracker would be drawn between the shells and, in time, disappear.
The two boys were very much interested.
“Let us look at the dead oyster, Willis.”
“All right.”
Taking a toothpick in his hand he tried to turn over the oyster in the
shell. He found that a thickened muscle near the middle part was
fastened to the half shell. Tearing it loose he saw at this place a
dark, purplish spot just like one on the other half shell.
“I wonder what makes that hard spot?”
“Oh, see, Joseph! Its body has two sides. The side lying in the deeper
piece of shell is larger. Down the middle is a division and the edges
come together something like the cover of a book. Over all is a white
covering with such pretty frilled edges. See, I can roll it back quite a
little way.”
“That is so. How pretty it is. It has no head. Does it eat? I wonder if
it has a mouth.”
Willis searched carefully for an opening. At last he found one near the
hinge.
“What is this?” asked Willis, handing his playmate a little doubled-up
thing about as large as a pea.
After examining it carefully for a moment Joseph exclaimed: “You must
have found its mouth. This is surely a baby crab which has been
swallowed. See its little legs drawn up to its body.”
Both agreed that they had found a crab. They again turned their
attention to the oyster’s mouth.
“What a large mouth for such a little animal! See how far I can put the
point of my knife into it. It must have some bowels. I wonder if its
bowels are here at the larger end. It looks puffy and dark inside. The
thing is so slippery that I can scarcely handle it.”
“Can it see, Willis?”
“I can find no eyes.”
The boys took the oyster out of the water several times that they might
see how it looked tucked so snugly between its shells. Every time they
touched it the opening was closed tight. Thus the boys spent the
afternoon.
When Joseph went home Willis said: “Come over to-morrow and we will get
auntie to tell us more about the oyster.”
After dinner Willis went to his room and watched his oyster again until
his eyes drooped.
Presently there was a thump-thump-thumping across the floor behind him.
What was Willis’s surprise to see a big library book come near and with
one leap place himself on the table. He was again surprised to see the
oyster reach a long arm out of the water and the book another long arm
from between its leaves. They two then shook hands. Both raised
themselves to a vertical position and made a bow to Willis.
“We will try to tell you what you wish to know. Then you can surprise
Aunt Jennie by telling her some things.” As he spoke Mrs. Oyster swelled
herself up so large that the soft white matter protruded from the shell;
for she had never before had the high honor of talking to a real boy.
Willis was so pleased that he clapped his hands.
Mrs. Oyster crawled up and nicely balanced herself on the edge of the
dish. Willis was speechless with surprise.
Book spoke: “This is Mrs. Oyster. She belongs to the subkingdom of
shellfish called Mollusca. All of her folks have soft bodies. As she is
protected by a shell of two parts, she is said to be a bi-valve. Her
relative, Snail,” said he, motioning with his hand, “having a single
shell is called a uni-valve.”
Looking in the direction of the movement of Book’s hand, what was his
surprise to see a snail with a shell on his back crawling across the
table. Where he came from, Willis could not tell.
“When looking at that oyster this afternoon you noticed a thickened
portion fastened to a dark spot on the valve,” said Book.
“I remember,” said Willis.
“There is a muscle,” continued Book, “fastened at the dark spot on each
valve. It becomes very strong by use. An oyster knows how to let it
stretch, thus opening the valves to allow water to enter his chamber. It
also knows how to draw it up so as to close them to keep out intruders.
The white covering over the body is called the ‘mantle’. If you notice
the inside of an oyster valve, you can see a mark showing how near to
the edge the mantle came. That is called the pallial line.
“If you will keep on looking you will succeed in finding that besides a
mouth an oyster has a stomach, liver and intestines, a nervous system,
and a heart that pumps blood, though it is not red but white blood.
“When you breathe, you take in your lungs from air what is called
oxygen. Without oxygen there can be no life. Anything that can not in
some way take in oxygen can not have life. Water as well as air contains
it. Oysters have no lungs, but they have leaf-like gills on each side of
the body. By means of these they get oxygen.”
“Can an oyster see?” asked Willis.
“It has organs of sight, hearing, smelling, touch.”
“Where are his eyes? We could not find them.”
“Hunt them again,” laughed Book. “I think that I will not tell you that.
Since an oyster has no head you must not be surprised to find them in an
odd place. The dark part which you noticed this afternoon and which
shows so plainly in a cooked oyster is its great liver.”
“To-morrow I will again try to find eyes. Perhaps auntie will let me
take her glass.”
Stepping near and pointing as he talked, Book continued:
“To protect her soft body, friend Mrs. Oyster’s mantle produces a shell
of lime which grows by being enlarged around the edge. The high point on
the left valve is called the beak. If you will scrub her shell with a
brush to-morrow you will see lines running around the beak in the same
direction as the margin. These are called ‘lines of growth.’ By them
oystermen can tell the age of the shellfish.”
“How strange!” said Willis thoughtfully. “Tree trunks also show lines of
growth.”
“Where did you come from?” asked Willis of Mrs. Oyster.
“As I have lived most of my life within this narrow shell,” she answered
with a cast-down air, “I have no idea where I came from nor where I now
am. Shall I tell you the story of my life?”
“Yes, do, please. It must be interesting. You are such an odd creature.”
“The first thing I remember,” said Mrs. Oyster after she had drawn a
full breath, “is that I was a tiny bit of white mucus, or egg, as people
say, swimming gayly around with my brothers and sisters in my mother’s
shell. It was worse than in the case of the old woman who lived in a
shoe. There were two or three thousand of us—maybe more. At any rate
there were so many of us that our poor mother never had time to count
us. But she was one who never worried. To keep us from getting lost she
kept us in by closing her shell tight. That let her get no food. With a
true mother’s spirit she fed us on the substance of her own body until
she became very poor.”
“Beg pardon,” said Book. “Let me explain to our friend. At that time the
mucus within the shell in which the young oysters swim looks milky. The
old oyster, who is said to be in the milk, is then unfit to eat.”
“By the time two weeks had rolled around,” went on Mrs. Oyster, “things
in our house began to turn very dark in color and our mother received a
prompt message from Dame Nature saying that she must turn us out of her
house and home. Poor mother! She knew that Dame Nature’s orders must be
obeyed or death to the whole family would come. So she bade us good-bye,
gave us a bit of advice, and opened the door. Knowing nothing of the
size of the world and the things which happen outside of a shell, and
thinking that we were going out only for a little romp, we in one voice
assured her that we would not go very far.
“Eagerly we rushed out, to find that thousands of mothers on that same
oyster bank were also just expelling their little ones. I became lost
from my brothers and sisters. The water was so full of myriads of babies
like myself that it took all of my attention to simply keep out of the
way of the crowd. The oyster babies all looked so much alike that I lost
hope of ever knowing one of my brothers again. Indeed, I could scarcely
tell which was myself. Our mothers were down deep, but we rose near the
surface where we could see the beautiful blue sky.”
“Did you find anything to eat?” asked Willis with great concern.
“Oh, yes. We found plenty of tiny animals and specks of vegetables that
eased our hunger and helped us to grow. After swimming freely for a few
days our shells began to form and we found ourselves unable to swim long
distances. They soon weighted us down and we began to sink. I heard a
mother oyster pitifully calling, ‘Baby, baby, come to mamma.’ I wondered
if it were my mamma, but I could not get to her. I came along by a piece
of tile. Being tired and worn out, as that was the first clean thing I
had seen I clutched to it, thinking that after I had rested a few
moments I could go on. But I found that I could not loosen myself.
Looking around, I could see tile after tile looking like they had just
been scrubbed. Just like my piece, every one was soon thickly covered
with ‘spat,’ as the oystermen called us. As fretting has no part in an
oyster’s life we contented ourselves thinking that we might in some way
again get loose.
“‘Perhaps,’ said one, ‘some of those big things we saw may come along
and brush some of us off.’ ‘Perhaps,’ said another, ‘the owner may take
up his tile and clean it off for other use some day; it certainly is of
no use with us crowding on it.’ So we lived in hope.”
“How large were you?” asked Willis.
“I can not tell how fast I grew.”
Book again made himself useful. “Men who have watched and measured their
growth claim that at two weeks of age a young oyster is as large as a
pinhead; at that of three months as large as a pea. Its shell grows
about an inch in diameter each year for the first three years. After
that its size does not increase so fast.”
Mrs. Oyster again resumed her story. “At last one day they said that we
would soon be large enough for ‘seed.’ A few days later we found
ourselves broken off from our clutching places and shut up in some dark
place. The next thing we knew we were being lowered on a sandy bottom
not so deep down as our old home. Now, when we catch and grow on
something we like a vertical position. At first our two valves are
alike, but in time the left one becomes more convex. If the shell of one
of us becomes so heavy that it breaks off, the convex side, in dropping,
goes to the bottom. When they planted us the men were kind enough to lay
us in that position.
“When I was about a year old I began to spawn. It is needless to say
that I lived over again the sad experiences of my poor mother. Some of
the spat attached themselves to my shell and I gladly adopted them. For
a while we were very happy. Then one day, those great iron tongs again
disturbed us. The ‘seed’ were broken off and I was replaced childless.
Next time I spawned I understood what it all meant. I begged my second
set of adopted children if one of them ever had a chance to do so to
send me a message. I lived with the great hope that I might be allowed
to remain there until I had heard from some of them.”
“Did you ever hear from any of them?”
“From only two of my great family, but other oyster mothers have not had
even that much good luck. One day a diving bird came along hunting me.
He said that another bird with great strong wings had a message for me
from one of my children.
“How excited I became! One of my stolen children had been seen at the
New York harbor.
“About two years later,” continued Mrs. Oyster, “a fish brought me a
letter.” Taking a crumpled paper from out of her pocket and wiping her
watery eyes on her mantle frill she read:
Dear Mamma:
I have begged one of the students to write this. When he goes fishing
again he will try to find a fish who will promise to take it to you.
Since I was torn away from you I have been in several places. I am now
a fine oyster—a “beauty,” I heard some one say. I am at present in a
great building called a college. Another of those wise men who look at
you through glasses and whom they call “professor” is making plans to
analyze several of us raised in different places. People want to know,
it is said, of what value we are as food. It breaks my heart to think
of what we must come to.
Farewell,
Your Child.
While Mrs. Oyster again wiped her eyes Book said, “It is too late for me
to tell you much about this Prof. Atwater. I will only tell that he says
that one quart of oysters contains about as much nutriment as one quart
of milk. As food, oysters form flesh and make heat and force in the
human body. You can at any time consult the books farther.”
“Finally,” said Mrs. Oyster, “I was taken away from my sea home and
lived in a place where the water was nearly fresh for a little while.
After ‘floating’ here for a couple of days I was sent to the market and
sold as an extra fine oyster. They called me a ‘blue point.’”
Just then Aunt Jennie shook Willis and asked him why he had not gone to
bed. He rubbed his eyes and looked around, surprised to see his oyster
lying quietly in its dish, with no snail nor book in sight.
The next morning he told Joseph and his aunt about his dream. “After
this,” said he, “when I wish to know things which I cannot notice and
understand, I will ask the books. They know so much. Mrs. Oyster did not
get to tell me about her cousins who make pearls. I mean to consult some
books about them this very day.”
Loveday Almira Nelson.
[Illustration: CALIFORNIAN THRASHER.
(Harporhynchus redivivus.)
⅗ Life-size.
FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES.]
THE CALIFORNIAN THRASHER.
(_Harporhynchus redivivus._)
One of the finest songsters among birds is the California Thrasher.
Though confined to the coast regions of California, it is quite abundant
and seems to bear to that locality the same relation that the brown
thrush, or thrasher, does to the thickets further east. The song of this
Western Thrasher is exquisitely sweet, and by some it is considered far
superior to that of any of the numerous songsters that frequent the
woods and brush of the Pacific coast. These lines, written by Mr. Wasson
regarding the song of the brown thrasher, apply equally well to the bird
of our illustration:
O, hark to the brown thrush! Hear how he sings!
Now he pours the dear pain of his gladness!
What a gush! And from out what golden springs!
What a rage of how sweet madness!
It is in the morning and in the evening that this Thrasher pours forth
its song from some prominent and exposed perch. Then, as it were, with
all care dismissed from its mind, all the energy of its being is thrown
into a hymn of nature. By some this song is considered richer than that
of the mockingbirds, though the Thrasher has but one air.
As a rule the California Thrasher frequents wooded thickets, though it
is often found in shrubby fields and hedges, and the dense thickets
bordering streams are especially attractive, for here it finds the quiet
that its nature seems to crave. Unusually shy and distrustful of man, it
generally avoids his habitations, and, like the brown thrasher, resents
intrusion with a peculiar and complaining note. Yet the female is
inclined to remain on her nest and allow close inspection.
Because of its short wings the movements of this Thrasher are rather
heavy. Its flights are short and usually from bush to bush, while
constantly opening and shutting its tail. Its life is not confined to
trees and shrubs, for it moves easily on the ground, hopping rapidly
with accompanying jerks of its tail. It is said that it will scratch in
the layer of old leaves under trees, like a domestic fowl when hunting
for its food. It prefers insect food and seldom eats fruit of any kind,
except when food of its choice is scarce.
Its favorite haunts seem to be the regions of scrubby oak and greasewood
brush of the deep mountain gorges. Here it builds its home, which “is a
coarse, widely constructed platform of sticks, coarse grass and mosses,
with but a very slight depression. Occasionally, however, nests of this
bird are more carefully and elaborately made. It is always well hid in
the low scrub bushes.”
Both the sexes assist in the care of the eggs, though the male, as
befits the father of a family, usually stands guard over the nest,
giving a quiet note of warning on the approach of danger. Both sexes are
said to be adepts at misleading an intruder, for they will fly away from
the nest to the ground or to some thicket at a distance from their home,
and there by plaintive notes soon attract the intruder, especially if he
is a nest hunter. In this, as well as in all its habits, it so resembles
the brown thrasher that it may be considered its representative on the
Pacific Coast.