TURTLE.
You remember Minnie was a restless little soul; and will not be
surprised to learn that she had not lived with the turtle long before
his slow ways tired her.
He was stubborn and disobliging, too. If he started for a place, she
couldn't make him turn one inch aside; but on, on, on he crept at the
same slow pace,--no matter whether Minnie were wet, and half-frozen with
rain, or parched with sunshine,--on, on, till he reached his goal.
Still he was always quiet and dignified, had no quarrels with his
neighbors, and seemed to treat his little guest as well as he knew how.
It is true he surprised her in disagreeable ways sometimes. If he saw a
pool of deep mud by the road-side he would wallow through it, sadly
soiling Minnie's fine cloak of humming-bird feathers. She knew he was
partial to mud, and would not have blamed him so much had this excursion
been all; but, instead of going back to the grass, where she might wipe
herself clean, he would mount some slanting log that rose out of the
water, and stand there sunning himself for hours.
One day, a gentleman, who was driving past in a chaise, saw Minnie and
the turtle perched thus on a log, and stopped to examine the curious
object.
Turtle drew his head inside of his shell at once, and left poor Minnie
to her fate.
Now it happened that the traveller was a great naturalist, and
especially fond of collecting turtles. He had hundreds of them, snapping
at each other, and scrambling over each others' backs, in his yard at
home.
Still he was always on the watch for a new specimen; and here was a
famous one, he thought. Springing from his chaise, the gentleman ran to
the other side of the brook, and was walking cautiously toward them,
when turtle thought it time to look out for his own safety. So, dropping
from the log, he disappeared in the thick, muddy bottom of the brook.
The naturalist went back, disappointed, to his chaise. Minnie, in
passing, caught at some iris-leaves, and clung to them. As soon as she
could wipe the water from her mouth, she called out, "Allow me to bid
you good-by, Mr. Turtle. I think I can take as good care of myself as
you've taken of me thus far, and henceforth I will save you the
trouble."
"What's that? I'm rather thick of hearing," said turtle, from under the
mud.
"Good-by, that's all!" And, by the time he had reached the end of his
log once more, Minnie was floating down the brook on a pond-lily leaf,
diving every now and then to cleanse herself from the mud which turtle
had dragged her through.
"Why shouldn't I live by myself? Where's the use in giving others so
much trouble?" she said now. "Why cannot I play with the flowers and
butterflies, run races with the ripples, and bright little fishes, in
the brook; or sleep on any bank of moss, or in any empty bird's nest
that I can find? At least, let me try; and, if I grow hungry or
lonesome, there are enough good people to take me in."