A GROUP OF WORKERS
ROBERT'S DREAM.
One hot afternoon Robert was playing under the maple tree. He was tired
of his wagon and his train of cars, and he looked about for something
else to play with. "Come here, Prince!" he said to his dog. "Let me put
my hat on your head and play that you are a little boy."
Prince was sleepy and tired. He did not feel like playing that he was a
little boy. He shook his head until the hat fell off, and Robert struck
him with a stick. Then the poor dog ran away.
Under the rose-bush was Snowball, the cat, having a good nap.
"Oh, Snowball!" said Robert, "I will give you a ride." And he tried to
put her into the tiny wagon.
Snowball did not care to ride. She scratched Robert and ran off as fast
as she could go.
"What a naughty cat!" said Robert angrily.
"What a naughty boy!" said Robert's mamma, who had been watching him
from the porch. "It was unkind to disturb Prince and Snowball as you
did. I think you must go and stay by yourself a little while."
Robert ran upstairs, shut his door very hard, and threw himself upon his
bed.
It seemed to him that he had been there only a minute when he heard
voices. He looked up and found himself in the garden again. Near him
several dogs and cats were talking. To his surprise he understood what
they said.
Prince was speaking. "I am tired of living here," he said. "My little
master does not treat me very well. This morning he took me with him
when he went on his bicycle. I was tired out and very hot and thirsty
when we came home, but he would not take the trouble to fill my pan of
water. I asked him plainly for a drink of water, but he laughed at me
and said he was busy."
"I scratched him to-day," said Snowball. "Perhaps that may teach him not
to hurt me so often. He lifts me by one paw, and yesterday he swung me
about by the tail. I am sure he doesn't know how much he hurts me."
"You are a brave cat to dare to scratch him," said a sober little
kitten. "We have a baby at our house, and of course I can't scratch a
baby. She pulls my fur and puts her fingers in my eyes. The other
children catch me when I run away, and give me back to her."
"That is very unfair," said a dog who was walking about. "You must
excuse me for walking while I talk, but I have been chained so long that
I am quite stiff. Of course I run away when the chain is taken off. Who
wouldn't?"
"But you have enough to eat," said a thin cat who sat under the tree and
who was looking up longingly at the birds. "No one gives me anything to
eat until I cry for it. Then I am scolded for making such a noise. I
should be glad to catch mice, if there were any to be found in our
house."
"Still, you have a home," said a faint voice. "It is something to be
thankful for, if you have a place to sleep."
All turned to see where the voice came from. A forlorn cat came out
timidly from the currant bushes. It made Robert's heart ache to look at
her.
"You had a good home a few weeks ago," said Prince, "though I must say I
hardly knew you when you came up. Do have some of my dinner. I am not
hungry myself."
"Thank you," said the newcomer gratefully. "Yes, I had a good home, and
the children were kind to me. They have gone to the seashore now, and
the house is shut up. They are not coming back for weeks. I don't
believe I can live till then. I wish I were dead. I should be thankful
if somebody would be kind enough to kill me."
Her voice died out in a wail of despair.
Robert's eyes were full of tears, and he began to sob. Then he heard his
mother say:
"Why, my boy, what are you dreaming about? Wake up, dear. It is almost
supper time, and papa is coming up the street."
"Oh, mother!" said Robert, "I have had such a bad dream! I am sure I
shall never be cruel to poor Snowball again."
[Illustration: A FARM YARD]
ROBERT ON A FARM.
When Robert was ten years old, he spent several weeks on a farm. He had
always lived in the city, and he was eager to know something of country
life.
The farmer, Mr. Spencer, promised to teach Robert all that he could
about the animals on the farm. The boy had not been long in his new home
before he ran to the barn. There were three cows in the barn and two
horses. They looked very comfortable and happy.
"What wide stalls they have!" said Robert, "and I never saw a cow in a
box stall before."
"Yes," said James, who was milking the cows, "all these stalls are wide
enough for the cows and horses to lie down whenever they like. Do you
see, too, that the animals face the barn, instead of staring at a blank
wall all day?"
"It must be more fun to look into the barn than at a few boards," said
Robert, "but I never thought of it before."
"They like to watch what is going on," said James, "and they have better
air than they would in a close stall."
"What delicious milk we had last night!" said Robert, stooping to rub
Clover's head, to her great delight.
"Our cows give good milk," said James. "Mr. Spencer makes his cows
happy, and he finds that it pays. Only last week he sent off a boy
because he made the cows run on the way to the pasture. You know that
injures the cows and spoils the milk."
"Do they go to pasture every day?" asked Robert.
"Yes," said Mr. Spencer, who came into the barn just then. "They go
every day in summer, unless there is a heavy rain. Some cows take cold
easily, and should never be out in a long storm. In winter, when it is
not too cold, they have an hour or two in the cow-yard at noon. The barn
is warm, and they have a good bedding of straw. In a cold barn, cows
should be blanketed in freezing weather."
"Do cows eat anything but hay and grass?" asked Robert.
"Oh, yes!" said Mr. Spencer. "Cows need a variety in their food, and
plenty of water to drink. My cows eat corn-stalks, carrots, mangel-
wurzels, and sometimes bran and corn-meal mixed."
"How sleek they look!" said Robert.
"James cards and brushes them every day, to keep them in good
condition."
"They seem very friendly," Robert went on. "Clover is not at all afraid
of me."
"They have never been frightened or hurt," said Mr. Spencer, "and they
are affectionate creatures. Cows are often homesick in a new home with a
strange master, and they grow to love those who are kind to them. I knew
a little boy who tried to comfort a cow for the loss of her calf. She
was very unhappy and the boy did all that he could to show how much he
pitied her. Soon the cow would follow him about the place. When he went
away she was lonely, and when he came back she greeted him with evident
delight."
"Is it easy to milk a cow?" asked Robert. "It looks easy."
Mr. Spencer laughed. "It is not so simple as it looks," he said, "but
James will teach you, if you like. My cows never kick, but if you ever
try to milk a cow that kicks, you must be very gentle with her. I have
heard that a cloth wrung out in cold water and laid over her loins will
keep her quiet when other methods fail."
"I will try to remember that," said Robert.
"Cows, like most animals, are kind to one another," said Mr. Spencer,
seeing that Robert was interested in the pretty creatures. "I was at
work in the barnyard one day when two cows came up the road to the gate.
They seemed to be looking for something.
[Illustration: A GROUP OF FRIENDS.]
"It was a hot, dusty day, and suddenly the thought came to me that they
were looking for some water. I opened the gate, and they went at once to
the trough by the pump. When I had filled the trough they drank as if
they were nearly choked with thirst.
"As soon as they were satisfied they went away, but in less than an hour
they came back again, bringing three other cows with them. During all
the hot weather these cows came to me every day for water. When I found
out who their owner was I told him the story.
"'I am ashamed to think that my cows had to go away from home to find
water to drink,' he said. 'In future I will see that they have fresh
water in their own pasture.'"
ROBERT FEEDS THE POULTRY
On his way back to the house Robert met Mrs. Spencer carrying a large
tin dish full of something which looked like hasty pudding. She turned
as she saw Robert, and said pleasantly, "Do you want to help me feed the
chickens?"
"I should like it very much, thank you," said Robert, and he followed
Mrs. Spencer down behind the barn, where he saw several little houses
opening into small hen-yards enclosed with wire netting.
"Why do you have all these little houses besides your large hen-house?"
asked Robert.
"These little yards give the hens a chance to move about and scratch for
their chickens. The old slat-coops were not half so comfortable as
these. It is better, too, that the little chickens should be kept by
themselves. They need to be fed often, and they cannot eat what the
older ones like. In this way each brood is kept with its mother."
"Will you let me feed them?" asked Robert.
[Illustration: HEN AND CHICKENS.]
"Yes," said Mrs. Spencer. "You may put a large spoonful into every yard.
It is better to give them a little at a time; then the food does not
stay on the ground and get dirty and sour."
"What is this I am giving them?" asked Robert as the chickens ran and
clustered round the food. "They seem to like it."
"It is Indian meal, thoroughly scalded," said Mrs. Spencer. "Raw or
slightly scalded meal is likely to do them harm."
"Isn't it fun to watch them!" said Robert. "What else do chickens eat?"
"They eat a variety of things. The first food I gave these little chicks
was stale bread-crumbs wet in warm water, and I mixed with that the yolk
of one hard-boiled egg. Oatmeal would have been just as good as the
bread-crumbs. I always keep a dish of fresh water, too, in their yard."
"What nice little houses you have for them!"
"They are good little houses, tight enough to keep out the rain and
draughts, for hens and chickens must be kept warm and dry. It is
important, too, that their houses and yards and nests should be very
clean."
"My uncle said it was too much trouble to keep hens, and he sold his
because they did not lay many eggs," said Robert.
"It is a great mistake to think that we can keep animals of any kind
without some trouble. The horse, the cow, the dog, the cat, the pigs and
hens, all need patient, thoughtful attention.
"If they are to be well and happy, and do the work for us that we demand
of them, we must feed them well and wisely, keep them clean, give them
fresh water every day, and a comfortable place to sleep in.
"Unless we are willing to do this, we have no right to keep for our
pleasure any living creature. It is selfish to expect them to do all
they can for us, when we give them as little as we can in return."
While Mrs. Spencer was saying this, Robert had finished feeding the
chickens, and he was sitting on the grass in front of one yard admiring
a white hen with ten lovely white chickens. "I think these are the
prettiest little chickens I ever saw," he said, "and their mother seems
very proud of them. Is the mother hen always fond of her chickens?"
"Almost always," Mrs. Spencer replied, "but this white hen you admire so
much is a queer creature. If her chickens are not all white, she will
not own them.
"We found it out in a strange way. In her last brood all the chickens
were white but one. She was not kind to this one when it was little, and
as it grew older she seemed to like it less and less.
"One day James saw her drive it away when the other chickens were going
to bed under her wings at night, but he thought she would let it in to
its shelter when the chickens she liked best were safe. The next morning
when James went out to milk the cows, he had a great surprise.
"A half-grown kitten, which had come to us, was waiting to go into the
barn with him and get the breakfast which James always gave it when he
had milked. In company with this kitten was the poor little chicken that
had been driven away by the hen."
"That was very strange!" said Robert.
"We thought so," answered Mrs. Spencer. "After this the kitten and the
chicken became fast friends. They ate together, and slept together in
the barn, and seemed very fond of each other."
"Did you ever know of another cat that was friendly with a hen or a
chicken?" asked Robert.
"Yes. I remember that a cat which had been deserted, and had grown very
wild, made friends with our hens. He often used to be seen feeding with
them in the barnyard."
"I wonder the hens were not afraid of him."
"They seemed really to pity him and never tried to drive him away. At
first, and for a long time, the cat was so wild he would not let any of
the family come near him. I think he had been ill-treated. At last he
learned that we were his friends, and he became very fond of us. We kept
him until he died of old age."
"That speckled hen with eleven chickens looks gentle," said Robert.
"She is brave, too," said Mrs. Spencer. "Last summer, when she was
roaming about with a brood of chickens, a large dog came into the yard
through the gate, which happened to be open.
"The brave mother hen flew at him and came down on his back. She clung
to him and pecked him with her sharp bill, until he ran howling out of
the yard with the hen on his back."
"How far did she go with him?"
"She flew off as soon as he was fairly out of the yard and came clucking
back to her chickens, her feathers all bristled up, as proud a hen as I
ever saw. She is very fond of me. Just see this!"
Mrs. Spencer opened the door of the little house and called the speckled
hen, who ran out clucking and calling her chickens after her. The whole
brood crowded themselves into Mrs. Spencer's lap, as she sat on the
grass beside the house.
Robert laughed merrily. "That is the funniest thing I ever saw a hen
do!"
"I never before had one that would get into my lap," said Mrs. Spencer,
"though my hens often eat out of my hand."
"I thought hens were too stupid to care for any one," said Robert.
"I believe it is possible to win the affection of any creature we have
under our care," said Mrs. Spencer.
[Illustration: A HAPPY FAMILY.]
HOW TO FEED AND CARE FOR HENS.
"Do you give meat to the hens?" asked Robert.
"They do not need meat in summer," said Mrs. Spencer, "because they
catch bugs and grasshoppers. In the winter, if it seems to be necessary,
it is possible to buy animal food that is prepared for the purpose.
"I give them potato peelings, or small potatoes mixed with some kind of
meal, and in winter I always warm their food before I give it to them. A
very good supper is whole grain, but in the morning it is better to give
them soft food.
"They must have lime in some shape to form the eggshells. I give my hens
burnt oyster shells, pounded fine, or clam shells. All the year they
need some kind of green food; if they do not have this they are very
likely to be sick."
"What do you mean by giving them green food?" asked Robert. "You cannot
get grass in winter."
"That is true," said Mrs. Spencer, "but you can give them cabbage, which
they like very much, or cooked vegetables. In the spring and summer they
will enjoy the fresh clover. When they are allowed to have free range,
they eat grasshoppers and crickets and do not need meat.
"All fowls must have some kind of grit with their grain food. Crushed
stone, which can be bought, will supply this need. Fowls must have clean
straw for their nests, and dry earth and plaster or lime must be put on
the floor of the hen-house under the roosts. It is important also to
sprinkle dry sulphur in the nests once in a while, to keep insects away.
"They like dry earth for their dust bath. Did you ever see a hen lying
down in the dust, and throwing it all over herself? She enjoys this just
as much as you enjoy going into the salt water, and she needs it as much
as you need your bath."
"I should think a hen would find it hard to know her own chickens."
"Oh, no! The youngest chicken knows the voice of its mother, and the
mother can tell the difference between the cry of her chickens and the
voices of those which do not belong to her.
"It is interesting, also, to watch the rooster care for the hens. When
he finds something particularly good, he calls them all around him, and
often he will not eat a morsel until he sees that they are satisfied.
"Of course there are greedy roosters sometimes, as well as greedy boys
and girls, but usually the rooster is good to the hens.
"Some thoughtless farmers carry live fowls with their heads hanging
down. This is very cruel. Think how you would like being carried in that
way. It is cruel also to crowd them into little hampers when they have
to be carried to market.
"Fowls cannot be healthy if kept on the same ground year after year, for
the earth becomes poisoned. They should be moved to new ground every
year, and the soil occupied the year before used to grow grain, grass,
and vegetables; then the fowls could be returned. Unless a movable coop
is used it is a good plan to move the yard from one side of the hen-
house to the other. If the fowls are diseased either through being kept
on poisoned ground or as a result of crowding in taking them to market,
their flesh cannot be wholesome for food.
"Fowls are sensitive, timid creatures, and should be treated with
kindness. If one cannot take good care of them, it is far better to give
up keeping hens and chickens."
ROBERT VISITS THE PIGS.
"Can I help you about anything this morning?" asked Robert of James, as
he strolled out into the barnyard after breakfast.
"I am going to feed the pigs," said James. "You may go with me if you
like."
Robert did not seem very much pleased with this invitation, and, as
James looked surprised, he said:
"I do not like pigs, they are so dirty. Besides, they are always
squealing, and they live in such a disagreeable place under the barn."
James smiled. "Come with me and see our pigs," he said; "perhaps you
will like them better than you think."
James had a large wheelbarrow with him, and on the way he stopped in a
fine field of clover and cut enough of it to fill the wheelbarrow to the
very top. Robert helped him pile up the clover, and he would have liked
to wheel the barrow, but it was too heavy for him.
They passed on into another field where Robert saw a row of little
houses. Each little house had a yard inclosed by a board fence, which
was not too high for Robert to look over.
In the first yard was a fine, large sow and six clean little pigs, four
of them white, and the other two black and white. They were frisking
around their mother and playing almost as prettily as young puppies.
There was space enough in the yard to give them plenty of room for their
frolic.
Robert was so delighted with them that he wanted to feed them, and James
let him put an armful of the sweet clover into the yard. "I have fed
them once this morning," said James. "They had their regular breakfast
before I had mine, which was very early."
Robert went on to the next yard where a large hog was lying contentedly
in the sun. He gave a cheerful grunt as if to say "thank you," when
James threw some clover over the fence.
"Here, old fellow, are some acorns!" said James, as he took a handful
from his pocket and flung them over into the clover pile. "That's right.
Hunt them up!"
Robert laughed to see what a good time the hog was having. As he went on
he saw that all the yards were clean and so were the pigs. There was a
trough of fresh water in each yard, and another trough for the food.
"I thought all pigs were dirty," said Robert.
"No, indeed!" said James. "They like to be clean and to have room to run
about. They need to root in the earth and roll in the mud, but they
prefer clean earth and clean mud to the filthy stuff they often get."
"There's a great difference in mud," said Robert, in such a wise way
that James laughed. "Pigs like sunshine, too," said he, "and when you
have seen me give them a bath you will never say again that they like to
be dirty. We wash them and brush them with a stiff brush, and they think
it great fun."
"Do they eat anything but scraps from the kitchen?" was Robert's next
question.
"Of course," said James. "They have milk, beets, potatoes, a little
grain, with plenty of hay, and green or dry clover. I don't give them
much corn because it makes them too fat. In those small troughs I keep a
mixture of clay, salt, ashes, and charcoal so that the pigs can reach it
easily. In winter I always warm their food for them and take great pains
to keep their bedding warm and dry. I am not allowed to give them any
food which isn't sweet and fresh. If I were careless about it I should
lose my place directly. Mr. Spencer made me understand that when I came.
He said that a dirty pig-pen was a disgrace to a farmer and a danger to
the neighborhood."
"These pigs look as if they knew you," said Robert. "Do you think they
do?"
"I know they do," said James. "They are as bright as any of the other
animals I take care of. Don't you know the old Welsh saying, 'Happy is
the man who is as wise as a pig'? When they are stupid it is because
they have been ill-treated. If we lived in a dark, damp hole under a
barn we might look a little dull, sometimes. Don't you think so,
Robert?"
A MORNING'S DRIVE.
One beautiful morning, when Robert had been at the farm nearly a week,
Mr. Spencer invited him to take a drive to the sheep-pasture. There was
a large basket in the buggy. "I am taking a little treat to my sheep,"
said Mr. Spencer. "Once a week I carry them some chopped carrots and
turnips."
It was only a short drive to the sheep-pasture. As Robert and Mr.
Spencer went through the gate the sheep came running to meet their
master. They were fine, fat creatures, and so tame that Robert could
stroke their woolly heads and soft noses.
The pasture was well fenced in, and four horses were near the fence,
under a large tree. Three of them came up to share the carrots and to
hunt in Mr. Spencer's pockets for lumps of sugar. The fourth horse did
not move from where he was lying.
"Are these your horses?" asked Robert.
"Only one is mine," said Mr. Spencer. "The others belong to a wise
friend of ours who gives his horses a vacation in the summer. Did you
ever think how many horses work all their lives without any rest worth
mentioning?"
"No," said Robert slowly. "I never thought of it before. It does seem
hard that they shouldn't have a vacation sometimes."
"It seems hard that they cannot be sure of a rest on Sunday, at least,"
said Mr. Spencer. "Some horses work all the week, and are then driven
for miles on Sunday."
"Yes," said Robert. "We often see tired horses taking heavy wagonloads
of people to the beach."
"Horses need to rest one day in seven," said Mr. Spencer. "When horse-
cars were used in New York, it was found that no horse could do good
work unless he had a day of rest once a week. A horse is not a machine.
He suffers just as we do with hunger, thirst, and fatigue. Sometimes he
needs a dentist or a doctor, just as we do."
As Mr. Spencer talked he was walking toward the white horse under the
tree. The horse got up stiffly and slowly, and rubbed his nose against
Mr. Spencer's shoulder.
"Oh, what a wretched-looking old horse!" said Robert. "He doesn't belong
to you, does he?"
Mr. Spencer patted the horse's neck and gave him a few lumps of sugar.
"This horse isn't old," he said, "but he is worn out with hard work and
abuse. He doesn't look like my other horses, does he?"
"No, indeed!" said Robert. "How did you happen to own him?"
"A few years ago," said Mr. Spencer, "he was a fine young horse. He
belonged to a man I knew who thought little of the comfort of the
animals in his care. I doubt very much if this poor horse ever wore
a blanket in cold weather, and I know that many a time a frosty bit
was put into his mouth."
"Does a bit need to be warmed?" asked Robert.
"Oh, no!" said Mr. Spencer. "If it is held in cold water a few minutes
the frost will come out of it, and there will be no danger of making the
horse's mouth sore. The owner of this horse would never have taken the
trouble to do that. His one thought was to be in the fashion. So he had
poor Whitey's coat clipped, bought a curb-bit for him, and cut off his
long tail."
"What a cruel man!" said Robert warmly.
"There are many others like him," said Mr. Spencer. "They do not see how
helpless a horse is when his head is drawn back with an over-check or
hurt by a curb-bit and when he has no chance to drive away the flies
that torment him. To cut off a horse's tail not only hurts him very much
at the time, but makes him miserable afterwards."
"If I were a horse and were treated like that, I'd run away," said
Robert.
"That is just what old Whitey did," said Mr. Spencer. "He ran away. Then
his owner sold him to a grocer."
"Our grocer is very good to his horses," said Robert. "I hope this one
was, too."
"No," said Mr. Spencer. "Poor Whitey grew more and more miserable. The
boys who drove the wagon whipped him and teased him. They cared little
whether or not he had a good dinner, and water to drink, and time to
rest at noon. At night they often forgot to rub him down, and sometimes,
after a long, hard day's work, he went without his supper."
"That was mean!" Robert's voice quivered with indignation.
"One day last March," went on Mr. Spencer, "I saw the poor fellow
standing in the cold wind and rain, with no blanket on. His head was
down and he was shivering with cold. I could hardly believe that it was
the same horse I had known a few years ago. To make a long story short,
I bought him for a small sum and took him to a stable near by. There I
saw him well rubbed down and fed with warm bran-mash. After a few days I
brought him out here. He is very happy and comfortable, but it will take
him all summer to get well. He can do only light work for the rest of
his life."
"Does he need any food but hay and grass?" Robert asked, as he held out
a handful of sweet clover to Whitey.
"If he were working, he should have plenty of oats," said the farmer;
"and all horses need a bran-mash once a week, at least."
"Will his tail ever grow again?" asked Robert.
"No," said Mr. Spencer," but I rub him with an ointment which the flies
do not like. I use it for all my horses and cows."
"I wish I could buy all the worn-out horses in the world and send them
here," said Robert.
Mr. Spencer laughed. "I should need a big pasture," he said. "See the
sheep in the brook, Robert! They enjoy running water as much as the cows
and horses do."
"Do sheep need much care?" asked Robert, who found farm life very
interesting.
"They need to be protected from stray dogs and to have a shelter from
the cold and storms. Otherwise they give very little trouble. They
should always keep their warm wool coats until the cold spring winds are
over. Some farmers are very thoughtless about this, and their sheep and
lambs suffer and die from cold. It would make your heart ache to see, as
I have often seen, the little dead lambs in the bleak pastures."
"I'll remember that, when I have my farm," said Robert, with ready
sympathy. "I'll have my sheep keep their coats on, just as I wear my
reefer, until it is warm."
THE AIR-GUN
On the way home from the sheep-pasture, Mr. Spencer saw a boy by the
side of the road with an air-gun in his hands.
"There is Frank Weston shooting birds," he said, stopping his horse.
"What are you shooting, Frank?"
"English sparrows, Mr. Spencer," said the boy, coming forward. "My
father said I might shoot all I could find. There's one, now."
"You are mistaken," said Mr. Spencer quietly. "That is a song sparrow
and a native of our fields."
"Oh, yes, so it is!" said the boy carelessly. "But there are plenty of
English sparrows. I shot five yesterday. They do ever so much harm, Mr.
Spencer."
"They certainly do some good, also," said the farmer. "They eat
cankerworms and other harmful insects. They are said to devour that
troublesome pest, the tree caterpillar, which no other bird will touch."
Frank looked thoughtful for a minute. Then he said: "A boy wants to have
some fun with his gun."
"It seems to me," said the farmer, "that it would be more fun to shoot
at a mark than to give pain to some living creature. But a gun is a poor
toy, at the best, Frank. Ask your father for a good pair of opera-
glasses, and study the birds instead of killing them. We know very
little yet about any of them. See if you can't bring me a bit of news
about some of our feathered neighbors before the summer is over. I'm a
real bird-gossip, you know, and I'm always anxious to hear of what is
going on in their homes."
"All right, sir," said Frank, smiling into his friend's kindly eyes.
"I'm afraid it will be hard work to find out anything that you don't
know already, but I'll try."
Mr. Spencer drove on for a few minutes in silence.
"I never could understand why boys are always trying to hit something,"
he said at last. "When they haven't an air-gun, they throw stones and
snowballs. I could tell you of some serious accidents from stone-
throwing. A little friend of mine was killed by falling from a horse
which had been frightened by a snowball. It is disgraceful that there
should be no strict laws to forbid that kind of play."
Robert's cheeks and ears were beginning to burn.
"Father won't give me an air-gun," he said, presently. "He says it will
make me hard-hearted to kill anything--even English sparrows. But I
thought all boys threw snowballs."
"Perhaps they do," said Mr. Spencer. "I wish they could know some of the
risks they run and the pain they give. I have seen little girls come
home from school, crying and hurt, and I knew they had been snowballed."
"They were pretty mean boys who did that," began Robert. "We don't throw
snowballs at girls."
"Tired old men and hard-working horses and other busy workers are not
much better targets," said Mr. Spencer, and again Robert's cheeks
flamed. "Perhaps, however, your snowballs always go just where you
intend to have them. That makes it safer, of course."
The farmer's tone was so polite that Robert looked up suspiciously.
There was a twinkle in the kind, gray eyes.
"Now, Robert," said Mr. Spencer, good-humoredly, "you have heard me
preach a good many sermons since you came. Let me tell you just one
thing to remember. Don't do anything, to any living creature, which you
wouldn't enjoy if you were in its place."
"Why, that's the Golden Rule," said Robert.
"I know it," said the farmer, as he drove into the clean, pleasant yard,
"but I never heard that the Golden Rule wouldn't work wherever it was
tried."
APRIL SONG.
Now willows have their pussies,
Now ferns in meadow lands
Hold little downy leaflets,
Like clinging baby hands.
Like rosy baby fingers
Show oak-leaves 'gainst the blue;
The little ones of nature
Are ev'rywhere in view.
There's purring in a sunbeam
Where Tabby's babies play.
The hen is softly brooding,
Her chickens came to-day.
Up in the crimson maple
The mother robin sings;
The world is full of caring
For little helpless things.
MARY E. WILKINS.
From "Songs of Happy Life," by permission of publishers.
EARTHWORMS AND SNAKES.
The little earthworm, crawling across the garden path or burrowing its
way into the loose soil, seems very common and insignificant, but it is
a most useful servant to man.
Without the earthworms it would be difficult for us to live. It is by
their help that grass grows for the cattle, and the garden yields food
for our own use.
Long before any one thought of making a plough, the hard lumps of earth
were broken up by the slender bodies of the earthworms. These worms have
no eyes or feelers or feet, but they have, on each ring of their bodies,
four pairs of bristles, which aid them in making their way through the
earth.
Air is let into the soil through the holes that the worms make, and the
moisture is drained away. Thus the roots of the plants are kept in good
condition.
Worms are useful in another way. They can make poor soil into rich
mould. This they do by swallowing earth and dried leaves.
After passing through the body of the worm, the earth is cast up in
little heaps, which are soon scattered by the wind and rain. Hundreds of
these "casts" may be seen in any large garden, and thus the whole
surface is constantly changing.
In this way fields which were unfit for crops of any kind are made ready
for the farmer's use. In some places it has been found that ten tons of
dry earth on every acre are made into good soil each year by the worms.
No gardener can prepare fine mould for plants so well as the worms can
do it, and no farmer can so carefully make ready his fields.
There are some creatures which are commonly disliked and avoided because
they are not attractive to look at. Often this is a mere prejudice
against them, and careful study reveals a beauty not noticed before.
There is a very general and absurd feeling against snakes which is the
cause of much unnecessary suffering. This fear is so common that for
many children and grown people a walk in the woods and fields loses half
its pleasure.
Most of our common snakes are harmless and are useful in destroying
insects. Instead of shuddering with horror at the little green snake,
watch him as carefully as you can. Soon you will begin to wonder how he
can go so fast, what he eats, and where he makes his home. You will find
that he is not at all like the earthworm. He belongs to a very different
class of animals, but he is as innocent as the worm of any wish to do
you harm. He prefers to be left to himself in the long grass, but you
may be sure if he should glide over your feet, or across your hand, he
would not hurt you at all.
HUMANITY.
Turn, turn thy hasty foot aside,
Nor crush that helpless worm!
The frame thy wayward looks deride
Required a God to form.
The common Lord of all that move,
From whom thy being flowed,
A portion of his boundless love
On that poor worm bestowed.
Let them enjoy their little day,
Their humble bliss receive;
Oh! do not lightly take away
The life thou canst not give!
T. GISBORNE.
ANTS, BEES, AND WASPS.
Ants, bees, and wasps belong to the same family of insects. The ant, to
begin with the smallest, is a good proof that size has little to do with
intelligence.
These little people, as King Solomon said of them long ago, "are
exceeding wise." A long chapter might be filled with an account of the
wonderful things they do. In this country there are ants who are
farmers. They plant their fields, keep them carefully weeded, and gather
each year the seed for the new crops. They make roads, build bridges,
and fashion wonderful houses with underground storerooms and galleries.
If their harvest gets wet, it is brought out to dry on the first sunny
day, and then carried back again with the greatest pains.
Other ants are master-builders and make elaborate houses of more than
forty stories. These houses are made of bits of stick and straw. Some
ants are soldiers, others are gardeners, while still others are famous
bridge-builders. The red ants make slaves of black ants and become very
dependent upon the faithfulness and industry of their servants. Many
ants keep as cows the small green plant-lice on the rose-bushes. These
tiny green cows fill themselves full of a sweet juice which they make
from the plant-leaf. The little people like the sweet juice and have
found out that they can get it by stroking the cows. So they keep herds
of fat cattle and often mount guard round the branch or tree where their
cows are feeding.
Ants have a keen sense of smell and a wonderful way of talking to each
other by touching their antennae. They must have a complete set of
signals, for they are able to carry on a long conversation.
How do we know so much about them? Wise men have spent years in studying
their ways. There was a blind Swiss naturalist, named Huber, who, with
the aid of his servant, was able to learn more of ants and their doings
than any one had dreamed of before. It was Huber who found out that ants
go to war and make slaves. In England another famous observer noticed
that ants knew and welcomed each other after ten and twelve months of
separation.
It would be interesting to know what the ants think of us, who in some
ways are no wiser than themselves. How blundering and clumsy we must
seem when with careless feet we crush millions of the innocent dwellers
in their underground cities! Surely we might try not to disturb the
little people in the wonderful homes they have made.
Bees and wasps are cousins of the ants. They have four wings, the front
pair being the larger. In flight the two wings on each side are hooked
together so as to form one broad wing.
We all know how helpful bees are to us. They lay up enough honey to feed
themselves through the winter, and we think this a very desirable
addition to our own table. The wax they make for their houses is useful
to us in more ways than one. But they help us in another way, which is
still more curious and interesting. While the bee is burrowing for honey
in the heart of some deep blossom, the yellow flower-dust, or pollen,
sticks to its hairy body and legs. When it flies to the next flower,
some of this dust is brushed off and falls in the right place to make
the seeds in that flower grow. So, without knowing it, the bee is
helping us in our gardening. Some plants would never bear fruit if the
bees did not carry the pollen from one flower to another.
Next to the ants, the bees are the most intelligent insects we know.
They make wax houses of beautiful shapeliness, and they rear their
little ones with great wisdom and care. There is always a queen bee, and
no real princess is more royally tended than are the princess bees. They
are fed on different food from that of the other babies, and the royal
cradles are of the finest quality. Should all the princesses die, one of
the common bees is put into the royal cradle and fed upon the dainty
food, and she often makes quite as good a queen as if she were born in
the purple.
Bees seldom sting if they are let alone. They are easily frightened by a
sudden movement and will try to defend themselves. If a bee alights by
mistake on your hand or face, it will soon fly away without hurting you
if you can keep quite still. As a rule, they are good-tempered and
harmless.
Wasps have not earned for themselves a reputation for good-nature or
thrift. They have never learned to store up honey, and every winter many
of them freeze to death in their elegant paper houses. It is considered
wise not to handle a wasp, lest his feelings, which are easily ruffled,
get the better of him. But there is room to admire his good looks, his
skill in house-building, and his sturdy pluck and courage.
[Illustration: PAPER-MAKERS.]
Wasps do much good in the garden by destroying grubs and caterpillars,
and they are quite willing to take their wages in overripe fruit at the
end of the season.
A LITTLE BLACK SLAVE.
I am going to tell you about a little slave who lived in France. Her
name was Alerta, and she was a tiny black ant.
Not far from Paris there lived a colony of red ants--great lazy fellows
who would not work and who would hardly find food for themselves. They
thought that a set of slaves would help them very much.
"If we had slaves," they said, "we should not have to milk our cows or
take care of our children."
So one fine morning they set out to conquer some weaker colony and make
slaves of the prisoners of war.
It was not long before they came upon a nest of black ants.
"These are good workers," said the lazy red ants. "They will make good
servants." So they fell upon the nests and carried off all the baby
ants.
"We could never carry the older ones so far," said the red ants, "but
these children will grow up before long."
This was true. Soon Alerta was a fine, strong young ant. One morning her
mistress tapped her on the shoulder.
"Do get me some food, please," said she.
"What would you like, and where shall I get it?" asked Alerta briskly.
She was glad to have something to do.
"Oh, run outside," said the red ant, "and you will find our cows grazing
on a rose-bush near the door."
Alerta ran up the narrow winding passage-way and came out in the warm
sunlight. Numbers of slaves were running about, but they were all so
busy that Alerta did not like to stop them. At last, however, she saw
one of them approach a small green insect which was clinging to a leaf,
and tap it gently. A big drop of honey came out of the little insect,
and the ant passed on to another.
"Those must be the cows," thought Alerta, and she hastened to follow her
companion's example. She found that the honey was very sweet and
delicious. Soon she had a good supply for her hungry mistress and was
about to return to the nest, when she met another servant.
"Where are you going?" asked Alerta.
"I am head-nurse in a large family of children," said the other slave.
"They need all my time and attention. I mustn't stop to talk, thank
you," and she hurried on.
"I wonder," thought Alerta, "what would become of the red ants if it
were not for us. They seem to be a very helpless people." Then she went
back to her mistress.
"Now," said the red ant, when she had eaten all she wanted, "please
carry me to bed."
"I wonder if I can lift her," thought Alerta doubtfully, as she looked
at her heavy companion. "Still, I can try." So, with many stumbles and
stops, and a great deal of panting, she bore the large ant to the place
she pointed out as her bedroom.
"That will do," said the sleepy lady. "Now go and give the children a
bath, and as soon as the sun is warmer, carry them up into the air."
Alerta ran off to find the nursery. The soldiers were on guard at the
door, but they let her go by when she told them her errand. Some of the
babies were being fed, while others were already on their way upstairs.
Alerta was about to pick up one of the children when a cry came from
above.
"Take the children down at once. It is going to rain!"
Down the passage-way swarmed a crowd of nurses with their charges.
"No," cried another voice, "it is not rain. Some one is flooding our
house."
Great was the terror of the hard-working nurses. "Can we get the
children to a safe place?" was their first thought.
"What shall I do?" cried Alerta. She was thoroughly frightened.
"Your first duty is to the children," said an older ant. "You see that
not one of us is looking out for herself. But I think we shall be able
to stay here after all. See! the water is going down."
At this moment a stern voice was heard outside. It was the first time
that Alerta had heard human speech, but she understood every word.
"What a mean, cruel thing to do!" it said. "Were the ants doing any harm
to you? In future, remember that you are never to hurt or frighten any
creature, even the smallest of them, for your own poor pleasure or
amusement. I am ashamed of you, my son."
"Now we are safe," said the ants joyfully. "Let us go on with our work.
This is a great day for us. That boy will not harm us again."
Adapted from an English story.
A BUTTERFLY'S WING.
When a great green worm crawls across our path, we shrink with disgust
because we are too ignorant to see its real beauty. But when, after a
few weeks, a gorgeous creature is seen waving its exquisite wings in the
summer twilight, we all are ready to admire the caterpillar in its new
dress.
Moths and butterflies are among the loveliest things living. Moths fly
at night, spread their wings when resting, and have no knobs at the ends
of their antennae. Butterflies love the sunshine and fold their wings
over their backs when at rest. Their antennae are thickened at the ends.
To some people, catching butterflies seems a harmless sport, especially
if the pretty creature is soon released and allowed to flutter away in
the sunshine. Those who have studied them, however, say that much
suffering is caused in this way.
On the surface of the wing are soft, tiny feathers, set row upon row
like shingles on a house. There are over two million feathers on each
wing. When the butterfly is held in hot, hasty hands, these feathers are
rubbed off and do not grow again. It is very much as if we should have
our teeth pulled out, or our hair torn out by the roots. When we think
of the shock and pain, and of the helplessness that will surely follow,
catching butterflies no longer seems an innocent pleasure.
TO A BUTTERFLY.
Poor harmless insect, thither fly,
And life's short hour enjoy;
'Tis all thou hast, and why should I
That little all destroy?
Why should my tyrant will suspend
A life by wisdom giv'n,
Or sooner bid thy being end
Than was designed by Heav'n?
To bask upon the sunny bed,
The damask flowers to kiss,
To range along the bending shade
Is all thy life of bliss.
Then flutter still thy silken wings,
In rich embroidery drest,
And sport upon the gale that flings
Sweet odors from his vest.
JANE TAYLOR.
CUNNING BEE.
Said a little wandering maiden
To a bee with honey laden,
"Bee, at all the flowers you work,
Yet in some does poison lurk."
"That I know, my little maiden,"
Said the bee with honey laden;
"But the poison I forsake,
And the honey only take."
"Cunning bee with honey laden,
That is right," replied the maiden;
"So will I, from all I meet,
Only draw the good and sweet."
ANON.
GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET.
The poetry of earth is never dead!
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;
That is the grasshopper's, he takes the lead
In summer luxury; he has never done
With his delights, for when tired out with fun
He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.
The poetry of earth is ceasing never:
On a lone winter evening, when the frost
Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills
The cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever;
And seems to one in drowsiness half lost
The grasshopper's among some grassy hills
JOHN KEATS
PATIENT WEAVERS.
Is a spider an insect? If you have thought so, you have been
mistaken. Insects are made up of three distinct parts; they
always have six legs, and they breathe through air-tubes along
the sides of their bodies.
Spiders breathe through lungs as we do. Their bodies are in
two sections, and instead of six legs they have eight. They have
six or eight eyes on the top of the head. The spider spins from
her body a silk so fine that we can scarcely see it, of which
she makes a web as carefully measured as if she had a foot
rule. In fact, she has a useful pair of compasses in the shape
of claws at the ends of her fore legs.
The spider is one of the most industrious, cleanly, and patient workers
in the world. More than six hundred separate strands go to make one
slender thread of her web. She can choose, moreover, whether she will
spin a fine or coarse, a dry or spangled thread for the particular work
she has in hand.
In an hour a spider will make a web more than half a yard across, and of
a strength wonderful in proportion to its size. Steel wire of the same
thickness as a spider's thread would be less than two-thirds as strong.
The spider is a devoted mother, and will die with her little ones rather
than leave them. Some kinds of spiders carry their babies about with
them, while others fasten their cradles to a crevice in the wall.
Spiders are very useful to us in destroying the flies and troublesome
insects that annoy us. Though spiders are often called cruel, they never
torture their victims, but kill them at once by means of a poisonous
fluid which is said to deaden pain.
One day when the Scotch king, Robert Bruce, lay sick and discouraged in
a lonely shed, he watched the patient efforts of a spider to repair its
web. Six times she tried to throw the frail thread from one beam to
another, and six times she failed.
"Six times have I been beaten in battle," said Bruce. "I know how to
pity that poor spider."
But the spider was not discouraged. A seventh time she flung her thread,
and this time she succeeded in fastening it to the beam.
Bruce sprang to his feet. "I will try once more," he said, and went
forth to victory. Since that day, the story goes, no member of the
family of Bruce will injure a spider.
THE WOODMOUSE.
Do you know the little woodmouse,
That pretty little thing,
That sits among the forest leaves,
Or by the forest spring?
Its fur is red like the chestnut,
And it is small and slim,
It leads a life most innocent,
Within the forest dim.
It makes a bed of the soft, dry moss,
In a hole that's deep and strong,
And there it sleeps secure and warm,
The dreary winter long;
And though it keeps no calendar,
It knows when flowers are springing,
And it waketh to its summer life,
When nightingales are singing.
MARY HOWITT.
A MOUSE'S STORY.
Men call me a thief. I wonder if they are right. I used to live in the
fields, and I found nuts and acorns in the woods for my little family.
Then a man came. He dug up my field and planted his own crops. He
destroyed my home and killed my little children. He said that the nuts
were his, and the field, too, was his. I thought they were mine.
Now I have to live on what I can find near his house. I am sure I eat a
great deal that he would not care for. Usually I am half-starved. It
seems to me as if the world were big enough for me to have a corner of
it in peace.
I dare say the man thinks that he is wholly in the right. He says I am
very troublesome, and he sets a trap every night to catch me. One night
I was caught by the paw, and held for hours in an agony of fright and
pain. I have been lame ever since. He would have been kinder if he had
killed me outright.
There is another dreadful trap which does not hurt at all at first, and
it is often used for this reason. There is a little door which opens
easily, and you find yourself in a wire house. There you starve to
death, unless some one comes to drown you. If we are to be caught in
traps, I wish that we might be put out of pain at once.
WISE RATS.
Rats are clever and intelligent, and in their way are very useful. In
large cities they eat the garbage which collects in harbors and at the
mouths of drains. This would cause sickness if it were not removed.
Although the rat's work takes him into the foulest places, he always
keeps himself neat and tidy. To wash his coat he uses his tongue and
paws in the same way that a cat uses hers, and he invariably takes such
a bath after he has been eating or working.
Rats are disliked and hunted by men, yet they often shield our homes
from the danger of disease. When rats infest a place it is proof that
there is work for them to do, and though they may easily become a
plague, we should remember that it was probably our own carelessness
which first brought them.
The intelligence shown by rats is remarkable. They have frequently been
known to carry eggs up and down stairs in their paws; one rat pushing
the egg and others receiving it. It happened, one day, that a trap was
set and carefully watched. A young rat was about to step upon the fatal
spring, when the watcher saw an old rat rush to the rescue. The little
one was seized by the tail and promptly dragged off to his hole.
Probably he was told to be less reckless in future.
Rats have great courage and devotion, as many stories prove. Once, when
some rats were being driven from a ship, a young rat was seen carefully
making its way along a rope, with an old and feeble rat upon its back.
It shrank from the stick in a seaman's hand, and it might easily have
saved its own life if it had been willing to leave its companion.
Instead of running away, however, it went on bravely and carefully in
the face of danger. The gallant animal was allowed to reach a place of
safety, amid the cheers of the crew, who knew how to appreciate such
devotion and sacrifice.
Rats are said to become warmly attached to the friends who care for
them. A minister had a pet rat which liked to sit on his desk. One day,
having poked its nose into the ink-bottle, the rat was in evident
discomfort in consequence. The minister went for a saucer of water,
saying, "There, wash your face!" The neat little fellow carefully
scrubbed its inky nose, first with one paw and then with the other,
holding up at last a clean and satisfied face for its friend's
inspection.
While rats may be useful and brave and wise, they are not good
housemates. Cleanliness and care, however, are usually sufficient to
keep them out of houses and storerooms, and a good cat makes an
excellent policeman. In our wish to be rid of the company of the rats
there is no excuse for treating them with cruelty.
THE SQUIRREL'S STORY.
Do you know who planted that little butternut tree in the field? I
planted it; I, a tiny gray squirrel.
To tell the truth, I did not think of setting out a tree when I dropped
my nut in the ground. I meant to leave it in a safe place until I was
ready to eat it, and I forgot where it was. The first thing I knew it
was sending up a fine green shoot through the loose earth.
I suppose you think I steal your nuts. Please remember that I plant nut
trees, too. That ought to be put down to my credit.
I have a very pleasant home, high up in a large elm tree. It is
carefully hidden so that the boys may not see it. That is the most
important thing to think of in building a house.
My house is made of the smallest twigs, of dry grass, and of straw that
I found in the field. I built it near a house where all the family are
kind to me. The children feed me with apples and nuts.
I have had some happy days in my life, but I have had some sad ones,
too. The saddest days were when I lost my two little children.
The brightest child I ever had was Chippy. He liked to ask questions and
look at every new thing he saw. This was all very well if he had been a
little more careful. One day when I was away, Chippy saw a box under the
tree. Down he went to see what was in the box. Of course you know what
happened. Chippy was caught in a trap.
[Illustration: LITTLE FREEHOLD. By S. J. Carter.]
The boy who had set the trap carried Chippy home and put him in a cage.
He was kind to the little fellow and gave him fruit and nuts to eat.
Still Chippy was not happy. He longed for the green trees and a frolic
in the open fields.
For several days after Chippy was caught, I was very unhappy, but I
tried to be cheerful for the sake of my dear little Bushy Tail. Then I
lost this little one in a way that is almost too sad to think of.
Bushy Tail was playing in a tree one day, running up and down and
jumping from limb to limb, when some boys saw him among the green
leaves.
They began at once to stone him. Poor little Bushy Tail ran up the tree
as far as he could, but at last a stone hit him. For a minute he clung
trembling to the branch, and I hoped he was not hurt, but another stone
struck him and he fell.
The boys shouted when they saw him fall, but a little girl ran and
picked him up so gently that I have loved her ever since that day. I was
his mother, but I could not help him.
She carried him to a house near by and put him in a box filled with soft
grass, but the little fellow was badly hurt. Three days later I saw her
bury him in her little garden, and I knew his pain was over.
I went home feeling that I could never be happy again, but a great
surprise was in store for me. When I had climbed up to my nest, there
sat Chippy, safe and sound.
"My dearest Chippy, how did you get out of the cage?" I asked.
"Frank let me out," said the joyful Chippy. "He was watching me this
morning, and at last he said, 'Chippy, I don't believe I should like
to run in a wheel if I had been used to running in trees. I think
those wires must make your feet sore. I am sure I should like my own
home better than this dull cage. Chippy, old fellow, I am going to
let you out.'
"Didn't I run! I forgot to say 'Thank you,' I was so happy, but I think
he knew how glad I was."
FORBEARANCE.
Hast thou named all the birds without a gun?
Loved the wood-rose, and left it on its stalk?
At rich men's tables eaten bread and pulse?
Unarmed, faced danger with a heart of trust?
And loved so well a high behavior,
In man or maid, that thou from speech refrained,
Nobility more nobly to repay?
O, be my friend, and teach me to be thine!
RALPH WALDO EMERSON.
THE STEEL TRAP.
In a little village in the northwestern part of America there once lived
a boy named Amos Hunt. In that part of the country the trade in furs is
extensively carried on, and Amos frequently caught some of the smaller
wild animals in his steel traps.
One morning, early in the winter, Amos went into the woods to look at
two of his traps. As he came near the first one, he saw that a fine
mountain mink was caught in it. The poor creature was struggling to
escape, but the teeth of the trap held its leg so firmly that the more
it tried to get away, the more cruelly its flesh was torn.
Amos ran toward the trap, when suddenly his foot slipped, and he was
thrown violently to the ground. He felt a sharp pain in his ankle, which
was held fast so that he could not move. He was caught in the other
trap, which, in his excitement, he had forgotten.
He was not frightened at first, for he thought he could easily set
himself free, but the chain would not yield an inch. Soon his ankle
began to swell, causing him the most intense pain when he tried to move.
The teeth of the trap pressed closer and closer into the aching flesh,
and he knew that he could only wait for help to come to him.
Not far from where he lay was the mink, suffering similar agony, and
after struggling in vain to set himself free Amos watched the
frightened, trembling little creature. It panted with terror, uttering
now and then low moans of pain.
For the first time, Amos realized how cruel he had been, and as he
thought of the long hours which would pass before any one came to look
for him, he wished that he might at least set his fellow-sufferer free.
"Poor little creature!" he said. "This may be a punishment for my
cruelty. I know now how much pain my traps have given."
No one came and the long day went by. Night darkened, and the woods were
cold and dreary. Amos was chilled through, and thought with longing of
the warm fire at home. The little mink was still now. Amos hoped its
sufferings were over. He almost wished that his own might end in the
same way.
Suddenly, very early in the morning, there was a noise in the bushes,
and a man came towards the traps. He saw at once what was the matter and
ran to set the boy free.
"Now," said he, "you must get on my back and I will try to carry you
home."
"Wait a minute," said Amos. "I have a fellow-prisoner there in that
other trap. If he is dead, I wish you would bury him. No one shall ever
have his fur to sell, and I will never catch another animal in that
fashion."
The hunter walked over to the other trap and looked at the mink closely.
"I think it is still alive," he said.
"Put my comforter round it," said Amos. "I am going to take it home."
So the mink was carefully wrapped in the comforter and laid in the
hunter's bag. Then they started homewards. There was great rejoicing
when the missing lad appeared, and the little mink was taken out of the
bag by gentle hands and kindly cared for. It became tame and
affectionate, and when it was quite well again Amos took it to the
mountains and let it go free.
As for the boy trapper, that was the last time that he ever set a trap
for any of the creatures of the woods. "Even a cage-trap must cause much
suffering from fright," Amos would say. "I shall not soon forget how
terrible it is to be a prisoner."
Adapted from a story by Mrs. C. Fairchild Allen.
One lesson, shepherd, let us two divide,
Never to blend our pleasure or our pride
With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.
WORDSWORTH.
THE RABBIT.
Rabbits are such gentle, pretty, furry little creatures that boys and
girls like to make pets of them. A caged pet needs much more care and
intelligent kindness than one that can run free, and the poor little
rabbit is often made very miserable.
A boy or girl who is truly kind can take little pleasure in playing
jailer to some unhappy prisoner who longs for the sunshine and green
grass. Sometimes, however, the care of such a pet is forced upon one,
and it is well to know how to make imprisonment as easy as possible.
The rabbit lives on vegetable food, cropping leaves and grass, and
gnawing the young shoots of trees. Its teeth are beautifully adapted to
the purpose. In the front of both jaws are two long, flat teeth, with,
sharp edges like a chisel. As so much filing and scraping wear away the
teeth very fast, these keep on growing from the root. Each upper front
tooth meets one in the lower jaw, so that the constant rubbing against
each other keeps both the right length. Sometimes one tooth is broken
and the other goes on growing till it stands out like the tusk of an
elephant. Then the poor rabbit, unable to gnaw its food, dies of
starvation.
A tame rabbit should have carrots and turnips to gnaw, and sometimes
young tree-twigs and cabbage stalks. If it has nothing hard to rub its
teeth against, they will grow too fast, and the rabbit will be unable to
bite anything.
[Illustration: AN INTERESTING FAMILY. By S. J. Carter.]
In feeding tame rabbits, try to give them their green food with the dew
upon it. A sprinkling of fresh water will answer the same purpose. They
need plenty of water, and both food and drink must be kept fresh and
sweet. Rabbits love the sunshine. They were made to live in warm, sunny
lands, and they are too often shut up in cold, damp places.
A rabbit is the most timid creature in the world, but the devoted little
mother will fight for her babies if she sees them in any danger. When
she burrows in the warm, sandy earth to make a snug home for her family,
she strips the soft fur from her own breast to line the beds of grass
for her little ones to sleep in. Sometimes a mother rabbit's chest is
raw and bleeding for days after making her nest. She is timid because
she is so defenseless, but no one can call her a coward. Timid folk are
often braver in times of real danger than the strong and daring ones.
Rabbits require variety in their food as much as we do. In summer there
are many weeds which are a great treat to them. Dandelion, plantain,
clover, grass and hay, with an occasional sprig of parsley, will give
them much pleasure. In winter they may have carrots, turnips, and
parsnips with barley meal and some oats. Too much green food is likely
to make them ill, and too much grain is equally harmful. If we prevent
them from finding their own food, we ought to give them the best we can,
so that they may be well and happy.
DAVID'S STORY.
A man was fishing by the river. Splashes near by, round the bend,
sounded now and then. David grumbled mildly to himself. Voices rose
suddenly, and the splashing ceased. Presently a small boy came breaking
through the bushes.
"Well, Sammy?" said David inquiringly.
"It's mean," said Sammy, in an explosive fashion. "A boy came and
spoiled all my fun. Now I haven't anything to do."
"Too bad," said David. "How was it?"
"I was throwing stones at the biggest bullfrog you ever saw. That boy
came along and made him jump."
"Anything else?" asked David. His voice was calmly indifferent.
"He said I was a coward," added the small boy.
"So you are!" said David. "The meanest kind of coward I know."
Sammy sat down on a flat rock to consider this astonishing remark. David
drew up a lively fish, which he killed with a sharp blow on the back of
its head.
"What did you do that for?" asked Sammy, glad to change the subject.
"To save his feelings," was the brief answer.
"Ho!" said Sammy contemptuously. "He hasn't any feelings."
"Nonsense!" said David in sudden wrath. "Does he wriggle? Yes. Why?
Because he suffers out of water. I've caught him to eat, and I owe it to
him not to make him suffer any more than is necessary. What did that boy
say to you about the frogs?"
"He said frogs were good for something in the pond."
"So they are," said David. "When they are growing up they live on the
decaying weeds and the rubbish which would be dangerous if left in
stagnant water. What else did he say?"
"He said they were pretty," said Sammy scornfully.
"That's true, too," said David. "That boy knew a good deal. They are as
handsome as they are harmless. Did you ever know of a frog's doing any
harm? Well, that's more than can be said of boys."
Sammy was silent for a minute.
"They don't know much," he said at last.
David looked round quickly.
"Now who told you that?" said he. "In the first place, if ignorance were
any excuse for tormenting a poor creature, I might make you wretched for
an hour or two. Fortunately for you, it isn't. We don't have to stop and
ask what you know before we can be kind to you. But you make a mistake
if you think frogs are stupid. See how well they dive and swim! I have
been trying all summer, and I can't dive like that. They don't ever go
down on their shoulders and stick their heads in the mud. I taught a
frog to come and eat out of my hand. That was a brave thing for him to
do. He knew as well as you know what some boys would have done to him."
Sammy was beginning to look ashamed.
"There's just one thing more," said David. "When you have to kill
anything, kill it as quickly as you can. Don't let it suffer pain. There
isn't any excuse for half the suffering there is in this world. Did you
ever hear the story of Theodore Parker and the frogs?"
"No," said Sammy; "I should like to."
"When he was a little boy, perhaps less than four years old, he had to
go home alone by a frog-pond where he had seen boys stoning frogs. He
raised his hand to throw a stone at a frog, when he heard a voice say,
'Don't.' He looked all around but could see no one, and he raised his
hand again to stone the frog. Again he heard a voice say, 'Don't.' Still
he could see no one. He was frightened, and running, home to his mother
he told her about it, and asked who it was that said, 'Don't.' She took
him on her knee and told him that it was the voice of God speaking in
his heart, and that if he would always listen to it he would grow up to
be a good man."
"Will you take me fishing this afternoon?" said Sammy, after a long
pause.
"No, I will not," said David with emphasis. "I don't go fishing for fun,
and I have here all that I need."
"May I go swimming with you then?" persisted Sammy.
"Of course you may," said David cordially. "We'll see if we can swim
any better than the frogs. I haven't much hope of it, but we can try."
"All right," said Sammy as he rose to go. He had gone not more than
thirty feet before he stopped. "I won't stone them any more, David,"
he called back over his shoulder. Then he went on into the woods.
I would not enter on my list of friends,
Though graced with polished manners and fine sense
Yet wanting sensibility, the man
Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm.
COWPER.
SOME READY HELPERS.
We often fail to understand some of our best friends in the animal
world. We know so little about them that we think they are useless and
uninteresting. Frogs, and especially toads, are often the objects of
unjust dislike, yet their lives are very useful and full of interest.
The toad and frog are somewhat alike. Both come from eggs laid in the
water, and both begin life as little swimming tadpoles.
The young toad, when he is a tadpole, is sprinkled all over with very
fine spots, which look like gold-dust, while the frog tadpole is dark.
The first few weeks of a toad's life are spent in a ditch or a pond.
Here he lives on water-weeds and dead leaves. After a while he eats
water-insects and small grubs.
While living in the water the little toad looks very much like a fish.
He has a large head and a long tail. He breathes through two branches,
like feathers, which are called gills. These gills grow on each side of
his head.
The toad changes very much before he is ready to live on land. In the
water he has no legs, but soon he has four. His gills are gone and he
draws in air through his throat. He is going to begin a new life. In the
spring the toads go back to the shore of the pond. Mrs. Toad knows that
her eggs must be hatched in the water, although she prefers to live on
the land.
Frogs must live near the water, for they will die if their skins are not
kept moist and cool. Yet they cannot live long in the water, and a
drowned frog is no uncommon sight. Kind-hearted boys and girls should
remember this, and be ready to lend a helping hand to some poor frog
that finds the sides of his swimming-place too steep for him to climb.
Young toads are very sensitive to heat, and secrete themselves in cool
places during the day. A summer shower will bring them out by the
dozens, so that many ignorant people think that the thirsty creatures
have "rained down." Mr. Toad carries under his skin a great many small
sacs full of liquid. This keeps him cool and comfortable, no matter how
dusty his home may be. If he is frightened he can defend himself with
this liquid, which is harmless to the hands, but probably bitter and
disagreeable to the taste, since dogs and cats show signs of discomfort
after taking toads in their mouths. Care should be taken to wash one's
hands after touching a toad, as this liquid is also very irritating to
the eyes, and might be rubbed into them.
The most curious thing about a toad is its tongue. This is very long,
and its tip is turned backward into the mouth. It can dart out and snap
up a fly or a beetle so quickly that it is almost impossible to see the
motion.
Toads are not only harmless, but they are our very good friends. If they
are not disturbed they will live a long time in one place, and destroy
many bugs and insects that injure our gardens.
It has been estimated that every year in this country property to the
amount of $400,000,000 is destroyed by insects. If this is true all
creatures which feed upon insects are entitled to our care and
gratitude.
The United States Department of Agriculture has published a paper on the
toad. It estimates that he saves to the farmer, by eating the cutworms
which destroy the crops, about twenty dollars every season.
Toads eat the common house-fly, which is such an annoyance to us. A toad
has been seen to snap up eighty-six flies in less than ten minutes.
Toads are sometimes kept for pets, and they are not lacking in
intelligence. Once a toad lived in a garden, and every day at the dinner
hour he came to be fed. It happened that the dinner hour was changed,
and when the toad came there was nothing for him to eat. Mr. Toad made
up his mind that he would not lose his dinner twice. On the second day
he came at the new hour, and after this he was as punctual as the rest
of the family. No one could tell how he knew that in the future his
dinner would be served two hours earlier.
The toad is often the victim of thoughtless cruelty. He can do no one
any harm. He cannot even run away when he is stoned and tormented. The
fun of teasing him must be like that of beating a baby or a helpless
cripple. No one but a coward could ever think it an amusing thing to do.
Perhaps no animal is so misunderstood as the bat. He seems such a queer
compound of mouse and bird, and to most of us he is such a stranger,
that we do not have a very friendly feeling for him.
Of course you know that he is not a bird at all. Birds have feathers and
the bat has soft, smooth fur. He is absolutely harmless, unless
frightened or hurt, and he is a very useful little fellow. He eats
mosquitoes and house-flies and the insects that cause most of the worm-
eaten apples.
Bats fly only at night. They soon become friendly with any one who is
kind to them, and will come to be fed or stroked. One who has studied
them says that the good they do is very great and that the value of one
of the little animals might easily amount to fifty dollars a year.
Are we not unjust to any living creature when we shrink from it because
to us it does not seem beautiful? It may well be that our eyes are too
dull to see its real beauty. But whether we can see the beauty or not,
it is only fair that we should recognize the service which we are so
willing to accept.
A TRIUMPH.
Little Roger up the long slope rushing
Through the rustling corn,
Showers of dew-drops from the broad leaves brushing,
In the early morn,
At his sturdy little shoulder bearing,
For a banner gay,
Stem of fir with one long shaving flaring
In the wind away!
Up he goes, the summer sunrise flushing
O'er him in his race,
Sweeter dawn of rosy childhood blushing
On his radiant face;
If he can but set his standard glorious
On the hill-top low,
Ere the sun climbs the clear sky victorious,
All the world aglow!
So he presses on with childish ardor,
Almost at the top!
Hasten, Roger! Does the way grow harder?
Wherefore do you stop?
From below the corn-stalks tall and slender
Comes a plaintive cry;
Turns he for an instant from the splendor
Of the crimson sky,
Wavers, then goes flying toward the hollow,
Calling loud and clear,
"Coming, Jenny! Oh, why did you follow?
Don't you cry, my dear!"
Small Janet sits weeping 'mid the daisies;
"Little sister sweet,
Must you follow Roger?" Then he raises
Baby on her feet,
Guides her tiny steps with kindness tender,
Cheerfully and gay,
All his courage and his strength would lend her
Up the uneven way,
Till they front the blazing east together;
But the sun has rolled
Up the sky in the still summer weather,
Flooding them with gold.
All forgotten is the boy's ambition,
Low the standard lies,
Still they stand, and gaze--a sweeter vision
Ne'er met mortal eyes.
That was splendid, Roger, that was glorious,
Thus to help the weak;
Better than to plant your flag victorious
On earth's highest peak!
CELIA THAXTER.