saw, in a sort of paddock, another ostrich, and stayed behind to say
something to her.
[Illustration: "OSRA AND HIS WIVES TOOK UP THE CHICKENS, ONE BY ONE,
AND SWALLOWED THEM WHOLE."]
In some curious way the gate of the paddock opened, and Osra--proving,
with all his high opinion of himself, how extremely stupid he could be
on occasion--walked gravely in. As soon as he was in, the gate of the
paddock closed in the same mysterious way, and it was not until he had
been talking to the strange ostrich for some little time that he
realized, with an awful shock, that his wives and children had gone,
and that he was a prisoner.
Now, he had liked the strange ostrich very much, and, although she had
told him that she was not an African ostrich, he thought her very
beautiful; at the same time, he did not wish to stay with her
altogether, away from his wives and children, and, as soon as he found
that he was a prisoner and that they had gone, he did his very best to
make his escape.
But the paddock was strong, and, although Osra could run round and
round it in a few minutes, he could neither jump nor fly over the
fence.
And so, in spite of his great strength, in spite of his huge body and
wonderfully muscular legs, he could do nothing, for he could not fly.
And so he had to suffer the punishment for the wrong-doing of his
predecessors.
He was as savage and dangerous as he could be for a long time, and his
captors were extremely careful to keep out of the reach of his hard,
straight bill and strong, powerful legs.
For a little while he would not even eat, but this did not last long,
and it was by the persuasion of his new friend that he began to take
his food again.
Once having done this, he grew more reconciled, and, as he found that
his new companion was very beautiful, he began to forget his wives and
children, and in time--although not without many struggles to get out
and many savage onslaughts at the fences--he settled down into an
ordinary African farm ostrich, and was perhaps just as contented as
any of his companions.
He never saw his wives and children again; for the matter of that, he
did not want to. In time he had six wives of his own at the farm, and
strutted about in his grave, dignified and conceited way, proving
himself a fairly good husband, but always ready for and somewhat
greedy about meals. And, although he was never allowed out on the
farm, as some of the American ostriches were, he grew in time to be
quite contented, and even fairly happy.
SEELA, THE SEAL
There had been a terrible storm on the Pacific coast--such a storm as
even the oldest fisherman, who had lived in the same little fishing
village on the North American shore all his life, never remembered to
have seen before.
For days sulky, smoke-like clouds had been gathering in the sky, while
the sea grew darker and darker in hue, until its darkness was
accentuated into an inky appearance by the white-capped waves, which
grew bigger and fiercer as each hour drew on. And at last the storm
had burst after a deadly silence that could almost be felt--burst with
such vindictive fury that houses and buildings, which had stood
steadfast for years, toppled and fell down like a house of cards,
while the stately vessels which had braved many a storm were tossed
about and wrecked upon the rocks.
Even the fish in the sea were surprised, and after a little
consultation decided to swim nearer the shore and keep quiet until the
storm had spent itself. The fish were not the only ones that came to
the conclusion that the shore was the best place.
Seela, a full-grown seal, who thought a great deal of himself and all
belonging to him, liked the sea to be a little rough at times. He knew
perfectly well that roughness always meant a good meal of fish
afterwards, but so much roughness as all this he did not care about.
Therefore, when he had stood it for some time, and found that he could
hardly keep himself from being dashed against the rocks, and the big
pieces of ice which came floating along on the top of the waves, he
spoke to his wives and told them to follow him to the shore.
And when they arrived there and scrambled up in their awkward,
shambling manner, their sleek, lithe bodies looking as though there
were no bones in them, but only soft, flexible muscles, the fishermen
on the shore looked at one another in despair. For they knew only too
well what the advent of seals meant. It meant that, instead of their
catching the fish and so feeding their wives and families, the seals
would do both for themselves.
It was not often that seals visited that part of the land, but they
had been there before, and a bad time they made for the poor
fishermen, who had nearly been ruined the last time, and had made up
their minds that, should the seals ever come there again, they would
not rest until they had destroyed them. Not that they were of much
value, except for the fat of their oily bodies, for they were neither
hair seals nor fur seals, but just common seals, with nothing to speak
of but the habits, traits and characteristics of all other families of
seals and sea lions.
"There's that old rascal that was here last year," one of the
fishermen exclaimed, pointing at Seela. "I know him because he has
only one eye, a part of one of his front flippers has been torn off,
and he is covered with scars and wounds."
Seela was certainly not handsome, and as he shambled up to a place of
safety he looked a very sorry object indeed. As a rule he never went
on shore when the fishermen were there, but he was sure of two things
at that time, and one was that the shore was the best place for the
time being, and the second was that it was far too dangerous and
treacherous a spot where he had landed for the fishermen to venture
close enough to harm him.
So, cunning old rogue as he was, he shambled up and settled himself as
well as the still terrific wind would let him, taking very good care,
however, to keep close enough to the water to be able to slip in at a
moment's notice. His wives followed him obediently, and seemed gentle
and meek enough for anything. In his curious, hoarse voice he told
them it was pretty safe, and that they need not be concerned about the
fishermen.
Accordingly, they stayed where they were until the storm began to
subside, and then, seeing the fishermen prepare to come closer, Seela
gave the alarm, and, shambling down to the water with peculiar, little
jumpy movements, they all, with one turn of their slim, lithe bodies,
slipped into the water as though they had been oiled.
Then they had a fine time. As it happened, they met a large shoal of
fish just making for the shore, and, being tremendously hungry--and
all seals have enormous appetites, being able to easily eat ten pounds
of fish a day, and it takes about forty herrings to make ten pounds--
they caught and swallowed as many as ever they could eat. Not only
that. When they had gorged themselves, and their jaws ached with the
constant gulping, they amused themselves by chasing the fish for
miles--so many miles that the shoal returned no more to that
particular place, and the poor fishermen suffered again, and their
wives and babies went hungry.
But Seela cared nothing for the fishermen or their wives and children.
He had his own wives to think of, and, as he liked that particular
part of the shore in stormy weather, he determined to visit it again
after a while.
So, for a time, he and his wives enjoyed themselves. They swam and
dived, turned and twisted about in the water, went down to the bottom
of the sea and up again, snorting, puffing, panting, and just making
as much fuss as only seals can. Sometimes Seela would take a good,
long breath and disappear for some time, and, while his wives were
looking out for him to appear in one direction, he would suddenly pop
up in another, and this he seemed to think was great fun.
When they had led this sort of life for some months, and had made
occasional visits to the land on various parts of the coast, one or
two of his wives told Seela they wanted to go to some nice, quiet,
sunny place, where there were plenty of fish to be had, and then it
was that Seela decided to pay another visit to the shore where the
fishermen lived.
It seemed ages since they had last been there; the storms were nearly
over now, for it was May and getting nice and warm. The coast by the
fishermen's village was not only a nice place in stormy weather, but
nice and sunny in fine weather, and Seela thought those even banks by
the shore would be the very place for his wives just now. So he led
the way, and the fishermen found them all one morning comfortably
settled on the shore close to the water, basking lazily in the sun.
At first there was general alarm among the fisher folk, and plans and
schemes were set afloat to either capture or kill the seals, for there
was every probability that a whole herd would shortly appear if Seela
and his wives were allowed to remain. But, by the time they were ready
to carry out the scheme they had adopted, an event happened on the
beach which made the fishermen decide to wait awhile, and this was the
appearance of two or three little baby seals. Such funny-looking,
little things they were, only about twelve inches long and each
weighing about three or four pounds apiece.
Unlike most newly-born animals, their bright, quick little eyes were
wide open, and they looked around in the most inquisitive manner, and
were just as curious as seals always are, even in their infancy. They
were wonderfully active, too, and began moving about within a few
minutes of their birth, uttering soft little "bahs" for their mother,
and making themselves quite at home.
The mothers were very devoted to the calves, and tended and fed them
in the same way that all mammals feed their young. They had all been
very quiet and docile before the birth of the calves, but, as soon as
they became mothers, the wonderful mother-love made them alert and
fierce in defence of their children. Seela looked on at it all with
great satisfaction. It was just what he had expected, and, having seen
that the mothers and babies were happy and comfortable, he proceeded
to enjoy himself by sliding into the water at every opportunity, and
gorging himself with fish to his heart's content.
For some time the mother-seals and their young made the rocks their
home, basking in the warm sun by day, and taking short excursions into
the sea in order to get a little exercise and food for the mothers.
The calves had not been allowed to go into the water until their first
coats of very thick, soft and greyish fur had dropped off, and then,
as some of them seemed a little reluctant, their mothers pushed them
in, and, once having found how enjoyable swimming and diving were,
they were only too ready to follow afterwards.
Indeed, sometimes they wanted to go in too often, and, as the mothers
did not always like them to go in alone, there were some fine
scoldings and grumblings occasionally. But, on the whole, they were
very happy. They had been joined by other seals now, and their numbers
had increased to nearly a hundred, and, although there were a few
terrific fights every now and then among the fathers of the various
families, the herd behaved well and appeared to have quite settled
down.
By this time the fisher folk had got so interested in the little seal
calves that they gave up all thoughts of killing their fathers and
mothers, and just let them alone. They were kindly, warm-hearted
people, and, had it not been that they had been obliged to face so
many hardships and difficulties caused by the seals chasing away the
fish, they would never have so much as thought of lifting a finger to
hurt them. As long as they behaved themselves, they resolved not to
molest them.
And so things went on until there came one unfortunate day when Seela,
going out for his usual feast and frolic, discovered a beautiful array
of fishing nets, arranged in such a manner that any fish would be
tempted just to go in and see what they were. But Seela resolved to do
a little bit of mischief himself, and, taking the lead, got adroitly
between the shoal of fish and the nets, and so drove the fish exactly
in the opposite direction. Not content with this, he chased them until
he could chase them no longer, and then found that he had left all the
other seals behind.
It took him until the next day to find his way back, and when he got
home he found everything in confusion and uproar. Two of his wives had
been killed, and one was a favorite, for it had taken several
desperate fights to win her, and he therefore, naturally, valued her
more than the others.[Footnote: It is a well-known fact that no seal
cares for a wife unless he has had a good fight for her. The fiercer
the fight, the more valuable the wife.--_Author_.] Some of his
children, too, had disappeared, and only a few seals were on the
shore.
The fact was, the fisher folk, driven wild by this last crafty and
treacherous act of Seela's, resolved to have no more pity, but just to
destroy as many of the intruders as they could. So, as soon as the
seals returned and settled themselves down again, the fishermen, armed
with clubs and knives, surrounded the animals and dispatched a good
many, by first giving them a good blow on the nose with a club, and
then finishing them with knives.
They did not mind killing the adult seals, but there was something
very pathetic about killing the calves. The poor, awkward little
things did their very best to run away, and kept uttering their
peculiar little "bahs" all the time, but their walk or shamble was
very tiring, and required a great effort, and only too soon they sank
down utterly exhausted, asking, in their poor, dumb way, that their
lives might be spared.
But the only lives which were spared were those of the seals who were
quick and fortunate enough to slide into the water, and so swim out of
danger. The others were all killed, and this was the reason Seela
found such uproar and confusion on his return. In vain he looked for
his favorite wife--in vain he called his other wives and children. No
one answered, and the few remaining seals seemed subdued and
frightened.
The only effect the sound of Seela's hoarse, harsh voice had was to
bring out the fisher folk again, and these, armed with their clubs and
knives, were overjoyed to find Seela himself, for whom they had been
on the lookout. They made straight for him, but Seela was too old a
hand. With one turn of his flexible body and limbs, he was in the
water again, and no weapon could touch him but a harpoon, and this
they did not possess.
He took care not to go on land again, and would have kept away
altogether, but that, as he was swimming and diving, he came up once
to breathe, and, as he was puffing and panting, he suddenly heard some
very enticing sounds, which made him stop and listen. It was only one
of the fishermen playing a simple tune on a little whistle, but Seela
loved music of all kinds, and was always attracted by it.
In this case he promptly left the water, and although he knew there
were enemies and danger about, he went recklessly on, his harsh,
hoarse bark or grunt giving place to a plaintive bleat. He scrambled
up to his old spot, and the farther he went the farther off the music
seemed to be, and although he was getting very tired, he could not
resist the charm and fascination of the music, and so shambled on
until he was quite a distance from the water.
So taken up was he with the sweet sounds, and partly because of his
blind eye, that he never noticed a fisherman coming up on one side of
him--never realized that anyone was near him until he felt a sharp,
stinging sensation on his nose, and then a much sharper, far deeper
pain in his side. He knew well enough then what it was, and with a
loud, harsh cry he turned fiercely round to find the fisherman had
crept round to his other side and stabbed him again.
Seela thought no more of the fisherman after this; he only thought of
the agonizing pain all over him and of the water--the cool sea water,
where he would not only be eased and comforted, but where he would be
safe. But alas! he had gone so far from the water in his eagerness to
get near that treacherous music that it was now impossible to get
back. It was always a great effort for him to walk on land and very
exhausting, but now he was getting so weak that he could scarcely move
at all.
In vain he looked round for that fisherman, but the fisherman took
very good care to keep on the blind side of him, for a wounded seal is
a dangerous animal to face. In vain he tried over and over again to
turn round and make his way back to the sea, all the time sending
forth harsh cries, which filled the air with curious echoes.
His voice grew hoarser and fainter after a few minutes, and his
flabby, soft body was now lying in a pool of thick, dark blood, which
trickled down the banks and crept in between the grass, stones and
pebbles as though to hide itself.
Presently there was a convulsive struggle, a faint sound like a soft,
hoarse whisper, and Seela was dead. He had been a real old rascal in
his time, and had scarcely ever thought of any one but himself:
moreover, he had robbed the fishermen time after time of their food,
and yet he had died at last, not from any fresh treachery or meanness,
but simply from a love of music, which had drawn him on and led him to
his death.
BRUNIE, THE BEAR
Brunie was feeling very lonely and sad, and sat, with her brown body
all huddled up, sucking the soles of her feet in a subdued,
disconsolate manner.
For the summer was over; October had come with its autumnal chills and
cloudy days, and Brunie's husband had already betaken himself to his
winter quarters to commence his long sleep, utterly regardless, and
supremely indifferent, as to what became of his wife.
He had fattened himself well before retiring by eating large
quantities of honey, nice ripe cranberries, blueberries, raspberries,
strawberries, cloudberries, and all sorts of other berries which grow
so plentifully in the Scandinavian forests; not to speak of some
beautiful, ripe corn, which he had eaten in a luxurious manner--
seating himself on his wide haunches, and collecting with his
outstretched arms great sheaves at a time, the ears of which he picked
off and consumed at his leisure.
Then he had laid in a good stock of ants and ants' eggs, together with
the remains of pine leaves, and other substances which he had
scratched out of the ants' nests.
Old Bruin knew perfectly well that this matter, composed of pine
leaves and other substances, was absolutely essential to him for the
winter, for this is what makes the "_tappen_." And as the bear sleeps
the whole of the winter without food, nature has provided this
wonderful contrivance by which he can go on sleeping and remain as fat
as ever.
As his stomach receives no food, it naturally becomes empty, and, when
empty, subsides into a very small space. Then the "_tappen_" comes
forward, blocks up a passage in the stomach, so that no food can pass
through the system, and stays there until the bear wakes up in the
spring. Then, as soon as he begins to take food, everything goes on as
before.
Brunie knew perfectly well, as she sat there sucking her feet--for she
changed the thick, hard skin which covered the soles of her feet every
winter, and the sucking helped the new growth--that it was quite time
she also looked out for and prepared her winter home.
And so when she had sucked them a little while longer, she hunted
round for some nice convenient cave or hollow, and chose one which was
hidden so cunningly that no one but a bear would have guessed at its
existence.
Some bears make a big hillock of moss, and crawl into the middle of
it, but Brunie preferred a cave; it was warmer, more private, and not
so likely to be discovered, for she was looking forward to an
important domestic event, and wished for privacy.
Having selected her winter home, she collected as many branches of the
pine tree as she could find, and with some dry leaves, grass and twigs
nearly filled up the cave, only leaving just enough room for herself
to crawl in.
She, also, had been feeding well, and had become tremendously fat, for
some of her feasts had been enormous.
But it was the end of October before she had completed her house and
prepared to settle herself for her winter nap. The last thing she did
before she went in was to have a big feed of honey, and a lot of
bother and trouble she had to take to obtain it. For the little bees
resented the big, brown animal coming and deliberately, eating up the
whole of their winter stock which had taken them one long, long summer
to collect.
But Brunie cared nothing about their anger, and their tiny stings
could not penetrate her long, thick coat, and a good feed of honey was
always worth a little trouble.
So, after patting the hives with her big paws in order to make the
bees fly away, she lifted up the beautifully made honeycombs and
devoured them ravenously.
Having eaten as much as she possibly could, she then betook herself,
feeling very subdued and lonely, and very, very sleepy, to her nice,
comfortable cave, and in a short time was fast asleep.
She remembered nothing more and never knew--and indeed was far too
sleepy to care--that one of those horrible hunters had passed by the
very mouth of her cave without knowing she was there.
But he had found Mr. Bruin, however, a little further on. He also was
so dreadfully sleepy that he could not rouse himself, and the hunter
could hardly get him even to turn over so that he could get a good
shot at him.
But he was able to manage the deed very comfortably, as Bruin showed
no signs of waking up; and having killed him, dragged him out with the
help of some other hunters, stripped off his nice warm coat, and then
had a good meal of bear steak, of which hunters are very fond.
But Brunie never even heard the shots which killed her husband,
although they were so close by, and the vibrations made the very
leaves and twigs on which she was lying quiver again.
She slept heavily on and on, in her snug home, but about the beginning
of February woke up, gave one big yawn, and then bustled about.
For she was a very important bear that day.
The next day she was a more important bear still, for she was a mother
bear, and had four pretty little children--very small, only about six
or eight inches in length, but finely made little animals, and all
healthy and strong.
Very, very pleased and proud Brunie was of them, and very tender and
careful.
She had forgotten all about Bruin, her husband, now, her only thought
being for her little ones.
She kept them carefully in the nice warm cave until the cold weather
had passed, and the little bears knew that all they had to do if they
felt chilly was to creep up to their mother, and nestle in among her
nice warm fur.
And, oh, how proud Brunie felt when she had them all nestling up to
her like that! And, oh, how happy she was! Surely no bear ever had
such beautiful cubs as hers! And so well had she chosen her home that
no one--not even a hunter--ever found the mother bear and her little
ones.
Her naturally affectionate nature glowed with love, and not once did
she leave her children until the spring had fairly set in, and she
began to think it was time to set about finding a little food for
herself.
It was, however, very scarce. There were no nice berries or corn, and
very little honey left. But she found some winter vegetables and
several kinds of roots, nuts, snails, small limbs of aspen trees, and
plenty of acorns; so that she was able to make a good meal, and then
lumber heavily back to her cave.
It was April now, and the other mother-bears began to make their
appearance with their various families, and the male bears, too, began
to wake up and come out.
Once having got over their long winter sleep, bears begin to be
sociable again, and take an interest in their fellow-creatures.
The mother-bears were particularly busy, for they had to teach and
educate their little ones, and there is no quainter sight on the earth
than a heavy, lumbering, brown mother-bear followed by her funny
little woolly cubs.
Brunie commenced to take her children now for daily walks, showed them
the most likely places to find dainty bits of food, taught them to
climb and dig, and, as they grew older, to swim; and, by way of
amusement when resting occasionally, told them about their many
relations who existed in all parts of the world.