So, my dear little friend, you wish for an answer to your letter, and
could not understand that the little feather brush I sent you was a
reply to your loving remembrance, just as if I had written one with
pen and ink. But you were a kind and loving child to transfer the gift
to little Julia, in your pity for her tears. I hope it soothed her
troubled heart, and dried her blue eyes; and you now shall have,
instead, the story which those soft feathers were sent to tell.
One evening last summer, Miss L---- came home from one of her rides,
with a large basket closely covered; and what do you think it
contained? Why, a great anxious mother-hen, all tawny-colored and
white, with thirteen downy little chickens, who were frightened
enough, and wondering where in the wide world they were. We made a
house for them in the green meadow, of a barrel turned upside down;
and they all crept under their mother's wing, and went to sleep. But,
lo! a great storm came in the night, such a pouring rain, such a
blowing gale,--we really feared the tiny things would be drowned! But
a kind neighbor put on his big coat, and went to their rescue. He put
them all together in the basket again, and brought it into the
kitchen, where they got thoroughly warm and dry; after which, they
were taken out to the barn, where they lived a few days very
comfortably. Then one of them disappeared, we never knew where; and
another lamed herself in some way, and, notwithstanding all our care,
she died. But the rest grew up, a healthy and obedient little family,
always ready to eat, and so quick to run with their tiny feet, when
any one appeared at the door, that it was very funny to see them.
Another day, Miss L---- brought home two large chickens; one of them
with a long neck, and a beautiful black crest upon her head, and a
dress of black feathers softer than velvet. Her we named Donna:
sometimes we call her Bella Donna. The other was dressed in white
feathers, some of them tipped with glossy black and brown, but many of
them pure white. She was named Luca. They were shut together for a few
days, until they began to feel at home; then they were set free to
scratch in the barn-yard, and get acquainted with the neighbors'
fowls, when we began to see how different they were in character as
well as dress. Donna holds her head very high, and pays no attention
to any other hens; runs away from us, when we invite her to dinner, no
matter how nice it is; and never will get acquainted, all we can do.
But Luca we love as we should a gentle, timid little girl. Sometimes,
when we open the door, there she stands patiently waiting, and looks
up at us with her bright eye so pleasantly, that we must stop, if ever
so busy, and feed her. Occasionally we hear a gentle sound on the
door-step, which we all know; then some one is sure to exclaim,
"There's Luca," and run to get her something nice to eat. The little
chickens, with Mater their mother, all come rushing, tapping,
perching, chirping at the door, and tease and tap-tap and "yip-p
yip-p" until we quite weary of them. If the door stands open, they fly
up the steps, walk in, look round the room, and pick up any thing they
can find, until we send them away. The moment their tin pan appears,
they are all in a flying huddle, tumble over each other, fly to the
pan, to our shoulders, or anywhere, to get the first mouthful. Old
Mater is ravenous and impolite as the rest, except that she always
waits for her children to get a few mouthfuls first; but not another
hen or chicken must come near them. Luca, patient gentle Luca, often
stands and waits modestly behind; and, if she gets nothing, makes a
little mournful sound,--that is all.
Some _flocks_ of russet, black and brown hens, crowers, and chickens,
who live close by, are a great annoyance to Mater, and to all of us.
They come shooting into the yard like little steam-engines, and snatch
all they can of the dinner to which they were not invited; and, if
driven away a dozen times, rush back, the first chance, to get and
devour all they can. Why, they have been into the house, and eaten a
pie which was set to cool, pecked at the apples, Pony's oats, and any
thing they could find to eat! What would you have said then? Even
Mater's _children_ never did such impertinent things, hungry as they
always are. One white chicken about their size, a naughty-looking
little thing, with her head always down, left her own mother, and
would come dashing in as if she belonged among them; but Mater and her
little ones always found her out, and sent her away.
One day we thought we would name the eleven chickens, as Mater could
not name them herself; and, since then, we know them each and all, and
just how they behave. Annie and Mary are two sober-looking little
creatures, in quakerish feathers of drab and grey. Nat is a white
crower, with beautiful soft feathers, and a long graceful black tail.
Louise has a shaded dress of grey and white, and is almost as modest
and gentle as Luca. Hannah is a little bantam, with tufted head and
large eyes, the smallest but the sprightliest of the family: she
always tumbles in amongst the rest, and gets the first taste of every
thing; and her mother allows her to do it. One of them, named Lise, a
white one, came in the other morning, just as we had finished
breakfast; and, seeing many things spread out to eat, she flew up to
the back of a chair, and, perching herself there, surveyed the whole
table, and was very unwilling to get down. At length, getting a little
alarmed at our efforts to teach her better, she pounced directly down
amidst the cups and dishes, putting her foot into a saucer of tea, and
making a great commotion in her fright. Two, named George and John,
are trying to learn to crow. Little Mary hears the large hens cackle,
and you would laugh loud to hear her try to imitate them. They are
having warm, new dresses made for them; so they let the summer ones
blow about in the breeze for any little girls who want them,
particularly kind and neat and useful little maidens, who love to dust
their mother's books, picture frames, and flower baskets.
If I can send you another brush, my little friend, you must imagine
neat little Louise, Annie and Mary, gentle Luca and handsome Donna,
sending their best love and kind wishes, and inviting you to come some
summer's day, to see them eat their dinner, and run about with them in
the green meadows. So, my darling, good bye. Perhaps, before you come
to see us, Luca may be a little mother, with a brood of pretty downy
children, following all around her.
Kisses and love from your friend,
F. E. H.
(From the "Child's Friend.")
* * * * *
If any child wishes to know how to be neat and orderly, here, to teach
them, is the example of