Chapter XI: Part 11

“Then they telephoned about to the neighbors and others, and asked questions about any missing dogs that had been reported, and they found out I belonged to my master, and they helped me to come home.

“In fact, I should say they brought me home, and it would have been a hard job by myself. But, oh dogs! It’s good to be home!”

SEPTEMBER 1: The Whippoorwills

In the deep and dark woods, where there are many rocks, and where people seldom go, live the Whippoorwills.

The Whippoorwills guard their young if danger is near, but when they are little eggs they are not sheltered by a home-nest—the ground does well enough for them.

Perhaps Mother Whippoorwill thinks it is a mistake to begin by spoiling her children, but she is not a hard-hearted mother as this would seem to show. No, she is always ready to defend them from enemies.

Now, Mr. Whippoorwill is about the size of a robin, but he looks longer because he has great, long wings. He is covered with reddish-brown feathers, and sometimes grayish-white. He has a fine white collar and his quills are decorated with white. He has bristles all about his beak, which is very large.

Mrs. Whippoorwill is just about the same in looks, except she has a tan collar instead of a white one, and her tail is tan, too.

One night—for the whippoorwills love the night-time—a boy thought he would like to catch a whippoorwill and have him for a pet. He loved the wonderful song of the whippoorwill—which is a beautiful, rather sad note. The whippoorwills only sing when away from people, and they love to be by themselves. That is why they choose their homes where people will not come.

And he caught Mr. Whippoorwill. “Ah,” he said. “I will be very good to you. You may have a big place to fly about in, for I have made it with wire in the yard. And you will have a little home of your own. I will not keep you in a small cage. That would be cruel.”

The little boy hadn’t thought that it would be cruel to keep the whippoorwill in any way—the bird who loves solitude—or being alone.

Every night after this he listened to hear his whippoorwill sing, but never a sound did he make. Then he thought is was because Mr. Whippoorwill was without his mate, and after a long time he caught Mrs. Whippoorwill.

Now he would surely have the glorious Whippoorwill singing every evening, he thought.

But not a sound did he hear. In fact, they seemed to have forgotten their note—they had left it behind in the woods.

You see, the Whippoorwill will not sing in captivity. He is utterly miserable then, and he longs to be back where he can be alone and away from creatures. Then, at night, when it is quiet and dark, we can sometimes hear his glorious note.

The boy did not know what to make of it, but at last he let them go. Oh! The joy of spreading their wings toward the dark woods! How wonderful it was! And to see the Whippoorwill children! To feel the dark cool woods, to sleep all day, to work all night!

“Ah,” said Mr. Whippoorwill, when he was back in the woods, “I must see if I can find my note. I left it in the woods behind me.”

“So did I,” said Mrs. Whippoorwill. And to their great delight they found their notes again—they had just been quiet deep down in their throats, for they had left the woods, and their little bird hearts had been too sad for singing. The children joined in too. And the boy heard them all.

“They sing now,” he said. “They don’t like to be caught.” And how glad the Whippoorwills were that the boy understood.

SEPTEMBER 2: The Monkey

“A hurdy-gurdy, or hand organ,” said daddy, “came to town one day when it was very, very hot. No summer day had been so sultry. Down the village street the old man played tune after tune as he stopped in front of different shops and houses.

“A monkey was with him and the monkey took off his cap and put the pennies which were given to him into his cap and then into his little pocket of the red coat he wore. He was all in red and he looked rather hot and uncomfortable.

“The man would make the monkey do tricks and the people who watched gave the monkey money. Later on the man took the money. For what could the monkey do with pennies! He could not go out and buy food. No, he had to take just what was given to him. And sometimes he did not get quite enough.

“And yet the old man was always greeted with smiles. No one asked him if he was good to his monkey. No one said that he ought not to be making the monkey work on such a hot day.

“They all just watched! Lots of people who had not been able to do any work to speak of all day—so hot had it been—now watched the monkey work.

“Trick after trick he went through, and his little hand clutched the pennies that were given to him in a sort of way, as if he wanted to say:

“‘I must hold on to these. I have to work so hard for them.’

“The hurdy-gurdy played pieces in front of the different places until at last they stopped before a little gray house.

“‘We won’t stay here long,’ said the man to himself. ‘I don’t believe we will get many pennies here.’

“Out of a window appeared the head of a little boy. His name was Bobbie and he loved animals of all sorts.

“He smiled when he saw the cunning little monkey with the red hat and jacket and the tune of the hurdy-gurdy sounded so bright and jolly and full of fun.

“He hurried down the stairs and ran out of the front door. What joy on a horrid, hot day to have a hurdy-gurdy and monkey in the village! What a treat! What a very great treat! He had three pennies ready!

“The monkey began to do some tricks, urged on by the man who had seen the pennies shining from Bobbie’s hand.

“‘Show the little gentleman your fine tricks,’ said the man.

“Bobbie was feeling so happy when suddenly he noticed the face of the little monkey. Oh, how pleading were his eyes, and Bobbie put his hand underneath the red jacket. The body of the little monkey was so hot.

“‘Aren’t you ashamed!’ said Bobbie. ‘The very idea of making a monkey wear a hot suit on a day like this just because you think it looks fine!’

“The man pulled at the monkey’s chain. ‘Come along,’ he said. ‘We’ll not show this gentleman fine tricks.’

“‘I don’t want to see them,’ said Bobbie. ‘On a day when grown men don’t feel like work, to make a little dumb animal go through trick after trick to get you money! Aren’t you ashamed!’

“Somehow the man did not go away. He was so surprised at being talked to in such a way. He really did not know just what to make of it.

“‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do,’ said Bobbie, who was half sobbing now with anger. ‘I’ll give you all the pennies from my bank. I have 63 pennies in all. Only, promise me to take off the monkey’s red hat and jacket and give him a rest to-day and other hot days? To think of a man making money out of a little monkey when it’s so hot his little back is burning and his eyes are begging to be allowed rest and a cool place!’

“‘I’ll promise you,’ said the man, as he took off the monkey’s jacket and cap. ‘But I won’t take your 63 cents. You and my monkey have made me ashamed. I’m ashamed enough—I don’t want the 63 cents.’ But Bobbie did give the man and the monkey a nice, cool drink.”

SEPTEMBER 3: Paper Dolls

“A little girl named Milly,” said daddy, “was very fond of paper dolls. Now one day when she had had three of her dolls a year she thought she would give them a birthday party and her mother told her to start off at once to ask her friends.

“‘You must bring your paper dolls too, and all their clothes, so we can pretend they are going to lots of things,’ said Milly as she went to the houses of her friends. ‘Bring them first dressed in their best as my dollies are dressed up now waiting for them.’

“And Milly told them to come in one hour. In just that time they arrived and brought with them their boxes of paper dolls.

“‘Come right along,’ said Milly. ‘The dolls are waiting for their party in the nursery.’

“‘We have brought them presents,’ said Milly’s little friends. ‘Our dolls are giving them birthday gifts of new paper shawls and hats which we have made.’

“Of course Milly was delighted, but the greatest surprise of all was when they entered the door of the nursery.

“There around the neck of each paper doll was a pink piece of crinkly paper which reached out to the little table. In the center of this was a pink and white birthday cake, with three candles—one for each paper doll!

“‘Oh mother!’ shouted Milly, ‘what a gorgeous surprise!’”

SEPTEMBER 4: Larry’s Labor Day

Larry was five years old and he loved holidays. But the coming holiday—it was not Larry’s. Nor had it anything to do with Larry. The thought of that bothered him. He wished somehow it could be different.

He had asked his father what Labor Day meant and his father had told him that it was a holiday set apart as a day of recognition of the laboring class. He had not quite understood what that meant but his father had explained that it meant a day set aside in honor of there being such a class as a laboring class, showing that to belong to the laboring class was something dignified and to be respected.

Larry knew then that it was useless for him to have a share in this holiday—a real, real share in it at least. This was different from Xmas and Thanksgiving and the Fourth of July.

But then a happy thought came to him. For the next few days Larry was very, very busy. Every one thought he was busily playing and making mud-pies and such, but not at all.

And on the morning of Labor Day they knew what Larry had been doing. He led his father and his mother and his grown-up sister and his fourteen-year-old brother to the very far corner of the garden which had always been set aside as Larry’s mud-pie playground.

There he showed them a tiny garden set out with paths and borders of pretty pebbles. Growing in the garden were ferns which Larry had transplanted from the woods and a tiny red geranium stood proudly in a little bed by itself. It had come from Larry’s nursery flower pot.

“You see,” he said, “I wanted to have a holiday to-day—I mean I wanted to have a right to the holiday, as daddy talked about laborers having, so I’ve labor-ed too.” It was rather a hard word to say but he managed it well.

“And now,” he turned to his family, “don’t you think I can have a little share in Labor Day too—a real little share?”

And his family said “Yes,” and I think you’ll agree with them too!

SEPTEMBER 5: In the Barnyard

“Quack, quack,” said Mrs. Duck, “these warm days do make me feel like swimming.”

“They don’t make me feel like swimming, grunt, grunt,” said Grandfather Porky Pig. “They make me feel like lying down in the mud and resting and dreaming sweet pig dreams.”

“What in the world are sweet pig dreams?” asked Mrs. Duck. “Yes, quack, quack, what in the world are they? I’ve never heard of sweet pig dreams though I have heard of sweet dreams.”

“Sweet pig dreams and sweet dreams are the same,” said Grandfather Porky Pig, “except that sweet pig dreams are the sweet dreams which a pig has. Do you see? I dream of being given too much to eat for I’m never given enough to satisfy my pig heart, and so I always pick up some more myself.”

“I wouldn’t speak of my pig heart, if I were you, quack, quack,” said Mrs. Duck. “I’d speak of my pig tummy.”

“Oh, very well,” said Grandfather Porky, “I do not object. But I must be off for my rest as I want to feel fit for my next meal.”

“Don’t you always feel fit for your meals?” asked Mrs. Duck.

“Always,” said Grandfather Porky, “but I like to talk that way. It amuses me,” he ended with a laughing squeal and a twist to his tail.

SEPTEMBER 6: The Animals’ Talk

“Of course it is true we do not speak the language people speak. We have our own way of talking, but that doesn’t mean that we don’t talk,” said Larry, the monkey.

“It is just as absurd, I think, for people to say that of animals as it would be for the animals to tell American people that they can’t talk because they don’t speak like all the other people in the world, or to tell the French people that they can’t talk because there are people who speak quite differently from them.

“When we are unhappy we make certain sounds and words of our own.

“When we are frightened we have other sounds to make. When we are pleased we have still others. When we are playing we have others again.

“And so have all the animals. The Bears have different kinds of growls for different things they mean to say.

“The Deer can talk, oh so well!

“The Chimpanzees and the Orang-utans are great talkers and they know a lot, too. Don’t people know that? Haven’t they ever seen and heard a Chimpanzee and his keeper talking?

“Then if they haven’t, I just wish they would! And I wish they’d come and hear me when I chat with my keeper. He understands me.

“He knows what I want and why I want it, and when I want it. He knows whether I feel well or sick. He understands me perfectly, and I understand him.

“Dogs talk, as every one surely must know! And Mr. Siberian Tiger talks. He told the keeper how pleased he was the other day when the keeper rubbed his back through the side of the cage.

“He actually purred like a pussy cat!

“And the Wolves! How they talk whether they are here in the zoo or whether they are free!

“The Bears all talk. And the Rabbits talk. Their thumping sounds are words, oh yes, indeed.

“Mother Rabbit thumps the ground when danger is near; instead of saying ‘Danger,’ as people do, Rabbits thump their word ‘Danger.’

“Beavers talk. Prairie Dogs talk, and one of them always guards when the rest are playing above ground and the one who is guarding certainly knows how to say ‘Danger’ when danger is near.

“The Striped Chipmunk talks, too. He can tell you that he is happy living about the rocky ground where he makes his home. He knows how to warn of danger, and he talks of the things he likes to eat.

“Dear me, all animals talk! Of course they do! And every sound they make means something. Our talks must be translated into the language of people if they’re to understand what we’re saying, but if they study us and our talk they’ll be able to translate what we have to say.”

SEPTEMBER 7: Doctor Birds

“A little boy named Peter,” said daddy, “had been very ill. His mother and daddy had been so worried about him that they had decided he needed a change of air. So his mother had taken him north, far, far from his home.

“Poor Peter! How long the days did seem sometimes.

“‘If he could only get interested in something,’ said the doctor. ‘He would then get well twice as quickly. Doesn’t he like to read?’

“‘Yes,’ said his mother, ‘but he is lonely for his friends.’

“But one day on the ledge of the little sleeping porch Peter had, came a small bird.

“‘What a beautiful voice,’ said Peter, after the little bird had given a glorious song.

“‘Twit, twit,’ answered the little bird. ‘Chirp, chirp, tweet,’ which was his way of saying he was so glad Peter liked it.

“‘Mother,’ called Peter, ‘may I have some crumbs for this little bird? He has sung for me and has been here to call on me.’

“Peter’s mother came rushing out with a bowl of bread crumbs and then she brought out some clear, cool water. The little bird looked so grateful and pleased, and he went off singing gaily. That morning seemed very short to Peter, and that afternoon the doctor said that Peter seemed very much better. The next day seven birds came and sang and had a delicious repast. And the following day a flock of birds came—all of many colors and they all had lovely voices. Peter grew steadily better.

“Peter suddenly thought that the birds would leave him, for the autumn would take these birds south. Sure enough, they began to grow fewer and fewer, but his first little friend was the last to leave.

“‘Oh,’ said Peter, ‘you’ve made me well. How I hate to see you go.’ Peter was walking around now, but he always spent his mornings in the sleeping porch where the birds came. And Peter waved a beautiful blue silk handkerchief he had. ‘Good-by little bird friend,’ he called.

“But that afternoon when the doctor came he told Peter’s mother that Peter was well enough to go back home, so Peter went back with his friends, ‘The Doctor Birds,’ as he called them.”

SEPTEMBER 8: Nine Years Old

“I’m nine years old to-day,” chirped the canary bird. “That is a pretty good age for a canary bird, too. I believe I am to have a special piece of crisp lettuce and a new piece of cuttle fish bone as birthday presents.

“Then, too, I’ve heard that I am to have a bite of an apple, also. Ah, yes, it is fine to be nine years old.

“My mistress has been saying for some time that when to-day came it would be my ninth birthday.

“How good she is to me. I haven’t been able to see for the past year or so. I found myself seeing things less clearly and less clearly.

“Finally I couldn’t see anything. I can feel my way about my cage of course, and sometimes my mistress takes me out and pets me, and I sit on her finger and she kisses the top of my head.

“Then I give her little love pecks, too—my little bird kind of kisses.

“I have an idea when it is night because my mistress says ‘Hush’ to me several times over and kisses me several times, one time right after another for several moments, and then I’m put back on my perch.

“Then I put my head under my wing, which, of course, is the way I sleep. And next I put my head out for a moment and I hear her say: ‘Good, Dicky. That’s right.’

“Yes, I’m nine years old, and I’ve had nine happy years of bird life, so far.”

SEPTEMBER 9: Evelyn’s Story

“Yes, I know,” said daddy, “I promised Evelyn I would tell her about the dolls I saw in the Old Natural History Museum in Washington the other day. There were dolls which belonged to the great-granddaughter of Major Bradford, who was an aide-de-camp to Washington.

“There were dolls and toys which belonged to children at different periods of time, years ago.

“Some of the dolls had blue eyes, and some had brown eyes. Many of them wore real lace and looked very fine and wonderful. There were toys too, and there were some sets of dolls’ china which didn’t look unlike the china Evelyn owns. There were many dolls and toys which belonged to children in 1870.

“So that any little girl who ever goes to Washington should go to see the dolls which used to be played with many years ago.”

SEPTEMBER 10: The Gallant Rooster

“Ah,” said Mr. Red Crown Rooster, “I have found a worm. First come, first served,” he added.

Then Miss Gray Hen looked at the worm and said:

“May I have it? I didn’t eat much breakfast this morning, and I’d enjoy an extra meal.”

“Indeed, it is a pleasure to give it to you, cock-a-doodle-do,” said Mr. Red Crown Rooster, who was a gallant, mannerly young rooster.

SEPTEMBER 11: The Fairy Queen Story

“The little chicks were still half-way out of their shells and half-way in their shells,” said daddy.

“‘See the broken shells we are leaving behind us,’ said one little chick to his brother.

“‘Will we ever be able to get back in again?’

“‘I don’t believe we will,’ said another little chick. ‘Oh, dear, there we have gone and broken our shells and we won’t be able to go back when we want to. And we may want to, very much indeed. For we may feel very shy in the great barnyard world. And we may want to crawl back into our little dark hiding places.’

“‘Little chicks,’ said a sweet voice, ‘I am the Fairy Queen. I won’t come too near to you so you can see me, but I am going to tell you something. You are growing out of your shells just as boys and girls grow out of their shoes and their suits and their dresses. They can’t get back into them again, either, any more than you can get back into your shells, for that is growth, little chicks, and when you grow to get bigger and stronger you can’t go back to your babyhood.

“‘A grown-up man can’t go back into a little boy, a little boy can’t go back to the way he was when he was a baby and had to be wheeled in a carriage, and neither can you go back into your shells. None of us can do such things, because it isn’t Mother Nature’s way, and Mother Nature’s way is always the best.

“‘So don’t feel sad, little chicks, because you are leaving your shells for good. It only means you are growing up into big chickens.’ And they all felt happy again.”

SEPTEMBER 12: The White Oak

“We have sturdy, strong trunks and arms,” said Old Mother White Oak, “and we have such good roots that we can stand storms.”

“We are very popular with the men who gather lumber and the people who care for trees. And we live to a very great age. Oh, we become so old!”

“Then we’ve a long, long, time to live, eh, Mother Oak?” asked the little Oaks.

“You may live to be more than two hundred years old,” said Mother Oak. “Yes, you will probably live to be far older than that.”

“How wonderful,” the young Oaks whispered.

“We belong to a very great and mighty family of Oaks. By that I mean that there are many different kinds of oaks; like us in many ways and again unlike us in a good many ways.”

“They say that there are three hundred different kinds of Oak trees!”

“Oh dear, what lots of Oaks,” said one of the young Oaks. “How thrilling to belong to such a very big family.”

SEPTEMBER 13: Wasted Moments

The gold watch was talking to the silver watch and the gun-metal watch.

“Well, I’m bright in a way,” said the gold watch, “because I am of gold. But I will tell you first of all why I have done dreadful things—such as to lose and gain time in a reckless way.

“I was made to look expensive. I cost a lot of money—that is, I cost a good deal of money. The creature who made me, and the one who had me made were more anxious to make me look well than to have me act well.

“They didn’t care what happened to me once I was sold and they sold me for less than they usually would sell a gold watch for because I was so cheaply made inside.

“Of course in truth I was very expensive, for I wasn’t worth my price and that makes an object most tremendously expensive.

“Well, you see, my works were very poor. I was nervous and not well and strong and so I couldn’t go steadily. One day I’d feel very fine and I’d go dashing ahead, trying to make up for lost time. That, of course, a poor watch can never do. It has never been expected of a watch and so a watch shouldn’t try to do it.

“Time goes right on no matter what we may do. But you see I would be so silly. I would go ahead so fast that it was as bad as though I lost time.

“Many were the times when I felt so down-hearted that I just dragged the hours away—and lost lots of time. The whole trouble was that I was trying to pretend that I was something I wasn’t. And that never does. If a creature is what it is and isn’t trying to be something else, then it is all right.

“I was trying to act like a fine gold watch and I was really a poor gold watch. I was a humbug, but it wasn’t my fault. It was the fault of the people who made me. Anyway, now I am here to be fixed up so I can be what I pretend to be—a timekeeper. But there are people who don’t appreciate moments! Oh, wasted moments are such a pity when people could make so much use of them in working or playing—anything but wasting them! That is what I think is the greatest pity of all.”

SEPTEMBER 14: Welcome, the Dog

“There was once an old, old lady who lived all alone,” said daddy. “Her only companion was a big dog whose name was Fred.

“But one day Fred got sick. Oh, he was such a sick doggie. He could scarcely wag his tail when his mistress asked him how he was. He just looked at her out of his big eyes and made queer little sounds in his throat, which in dog language meant, ‘Don’t worry, kind mistress. It makes me sad to see you so unhappy.’

“But Fred only grew worse and worse. The dog doctor came, and said Fred was dying of old age. Poor faithful Fred! How he did hate to leave his mistress. He seemed to know how much she would miss him.

“A week passed by and at the end of a long night when Fred had dozed off and on with his head in his mistress’ lap, his breathing stopped. And over his shaggy fur the old lady’s tears fell hour after hour.

“Now one day, some little while after Fred had died, the old lady was sitting by her window looking out on the village street. There at her door was a big dog—he looked very much like Fred but he was young and he jumped and bounded.

“‘Scratch! Scratch,’ went his paws on the door, and the old lady slowly got up and let him in.

“‘Whose doggie are you?’ she asked.

“The dog looked at her for a moment, jumped about and then licked her hand, as if to say, ‘I am yours, if you will have me.’

“She brought him some milk to drink, and gave him a bone. While he was playing with his bone, she put on her bonnet and shawl.

“‘Come with me,’ said the old lady. ‘But you mustn’t go too fast.’

“And along the village street they went—the dog going off on short runs, but always coming back to join his new mistress.

“From house to house, from store to store, they went, and the old lady’s question was always the same, ‘Do you know from where this dog came?’

“And always she got the same answer, ‘We have never seen the dog before. But he looks like Fred. Maybe he is one of Fred’s grandchildren—you had better keep him.’

“‘I shall name you Welcome,’ she said to the dog, ‘for you were very, very welcome to me. I was so lonely.’ And several tears fell from the old lady’s eyes—but now they fell from joy.”

SEPTEMBER 15: The Children’s Museum

“The other day,” said daddy, “when I had to be in Washington on business, I found a little spare time in which to visit the children’s miniature museum in a building known as the Smithsonian Institution. Now, in this museum, where there were different kinds of birds and insects and trees, there was a description of the bird or of the insect, and of its ways. Among the insects and spiders were some scorpions and the thousand legged creature. Mr. Thousand Legs is very long and has lots of little legs underneath him.

“Of course he must have lots and lots of little legs when he is called Mr. Thousand Legs.

“Then I saw Mr. Tarantula from South America. Mr. Tarantula can catch birds. Then Mr. Giant Walking Stick was there with long feelers coming from his head. He, too, had been brought from South America.

“He had some little feelers, too, and three pairs of legs which are almost enough for any creature.

“He was grayish white in color.

“Then,” daddy continued, “there were examples of different kinds of trees and of the different creatures who lived in the trees, and of how they could protect themselves by the color of the nests they made, and by the safety habits they had.

“For example, the Brown Creeper creeps over the bark of trees which have much the same coloring as his feathers.

“The Wood Pewee has a nest, bending down, in the tree, shaped and fixed so that it almost looks like a part of the tree.

“Then the bird called the Least Tern always lays its eggs among the pebbles on the beach and the eggs and the babies are much the same color as the pebbles.

“In that way the Least Tern can protect the eggs from the Sea Gulls who would steal them if they thought they were eggs instead of pebbles.

“Mrs. Night-hawk’s ground nest is made to look like dead leaves and just like the ground. It is hidden that way. And it made me think yet again how clever the birds are.”

SEPTEMBER 16: Prince, the Horse

“I have a true story to tell you,” commenced daddy, “of a horse who wouldn’t be sold!

“The horse’s name was Prince, and he belonged to a farmer who had six nice little children.

“One day along the road came a man in a big wagon, driving two horses. The children didn’t like the looks of the man though they didn’t quite know why, until he said: ‘That’s a fine horse you drove to town yesterday. I’ll buy him from you for three hundred dollars.’ Now the farmer was not rich—he was really poor, and he needed three hundred dollars more than he needed Prince.

“‘Well,’ he said at last, ‘I’ll sell him to you.’

“The next morning when the farmer got up—very early—for the children had said their good-bys to Prince, and none of them could bear to see him go—he went over to the stable and hitched Prince to the wagon.

“Prince gave a low ‘Whinny-whinny,’ and licked his master’s hand.

“‘Oh Prince, Prince, don’t do that,’ said his master half choking with tears. And Prince neighed softly.

“They started off, the farmer holding the reins loosely, as if he couldn’t bear to guide Prince to the town. Prince knew where he was going and went ahead. But every few minutes he would turn around, and look at his master, and there were real tears in his big eyes. ‘Prince,’ shouted his master, ‘you’re worth more to us than that money! Turn around!’ And Prince neighed joyfully this time, as his master turned him around, and said, ‘Home, Prince, we’re going home!’”

SEPTEMBER 17: The Deer

“Far away,” said daddy, “some men went hunting.”

“‘We hope to get a couple of deer,’ they said. ‘And of course, we’d like it better if we could get more.’

“They thought they were going out for a great deal of fun and they planned what they should take to eat and what a glorious grown-up picnic they would have.

“They went hunting on the first day of their trip, and there, sure enough, was a deer. Oh, such a lovely deer! His eyes were soft brown in color and very large and beautiful.

“He had left his mate to go hunting for food and here he was caught by the men. He could not run. He just stood there for one awful moment, his great eyes looking at the men.

“‘Oh men,’ he was trying to say, ‘oh great, big men with guns, don’t shoot me down. I do no harm. I am gentle. I have a mate. I don’t want to be shot. Oh men, you men with guns! You are so powerful, so strong. What can I do? But have pity on me. Think of me killed and enjoyed by you as food, and my poor mate crying away by herself in the woods.’

“‘Sometimes,’ said one of the men, ‘I cannot bear to shoot one of these lovely creatures. They look so sad. And this one is struck still with fear.’

“‘Oh, nonsense,’ said one of the other men, ‘you always get this way on the first day of our hunting trip. Think what good venison we will have.’ For venison is the meat of the deer.

“And the man’s kindness fled from him and a loud bang-bang ended the beautiful deer’s life—the deer with the big brown eyes which begged and pleaded for kindness—not for gunshot.

“The next day the men were off shooting again. They had what they called a great deal of luck. In truth it means that they killed some of the woodland animals and could feed on some of the meat.

“They saw deer in great numbers but none of the family of the poor deer they had killed on the first day.

“On the fifth day of their trip they saw the doe who was the mate of the deer. She, too, had beautiful soft brown eyes and with her a lovely fawn child.

“‘Oh look,’ said the men, ‘there is a doe. And a fawn with her.’

“‘There is a fine against us if we kill a mother deer,’ said one.

“‘Who will know?’ said another.

“Now the man who had shown a little bit of kindness on the first day by feeling badly to kill the deer was the one who spoke next. To be sure, he had not felt badly enough to have prevented the killing of the deer, nor had he gone home and given up hunting. But he was like those people who haven’t the courage to say they don’t want to do a thing when they know and feel it is cruel and wrong. They just go on doing it to be thought fine and manly.

“But to continue with the story. The man spoke and this time he meant what he said.

“‘I cannot bear to kill that mother doe and her lovely fawn. She is running from us, and I, for one, won’t try to get her.’

“The mother doe and fawn had vanished and were safe back in the woods. Oh, how her heart was beating. ‘It was those men who killed my mate,’ she was saying to her fawn child.

“And the fawn nestled close to her mother and licked her head to tell her how much she was still loved by her child.

“‘Yes,’ said the mother deer, ‘I am all alone without my mate, but I have you safe with me.’

“But for days and days the mother had great trouble in keeping her child safe from harm. For it was the time when the men were around with the big guns and the look in their eyes to kill the creatures of the woods and forests.

“And when the men from the hunting trip I have told you about went home, one man vowed he would never join them again. And he kept his word. Neither did he eat any of the venison, for he could not get from his mind the thought of those great brown eyes begging for pity from the strong men with the guns. And something deep within him must have told him of the lonely mate left in the woods, for never again did he go hunting.”

SEPTEMBER 18: A Black Cat

“A little girl,” said daddy, “owned a beautiful big black cat. The little girl’s name was Carrie and the cat’s name was Mrs. Coal. One day Mrs. Coal’s eyes were shining very brightly and she rubbed up against Carrie as if to say:

“‘I am so happy,’ and how she purred.

“From the look in Mrs. Coal’s green eyes Carrie knew that she wanted her to follow somewhere.

“Way back in a storeroom lying on an old worn-out mattress were five little bits of fuzz.

“Mrs. Coal looked at Carrie and then licked the tiny little bits of fuzz with her big tongue. ‘My little kittens, my babies,’ was what she was saying in cat talk.”

SEPTEMBER 19: The Oysters

“Fellow Oysters,” said a little oyster, “it was cold last winter. What is more, it was freezing cold. And what is still more, the water was frozen over, oh so strongly, and so securely.

“I have heard that our relatives were so hard to get that they were very, very expensive. They cost too much and so very few went into people’s mouths.”

“Great, great, great,” all the oysters shouted with glee.

SEPTEMBER 20: The Elevator

“The elevator,” said daddy, “had stopped at the ground floor of a building and as it was during a time of the day when the people were not using it very much, it had plenty of time to rest.

“‘Yes,’ it said to the ground floor, ‘pretty soon the rush will begin. Very few people get down to their business before this, very few indeed, and very few come just around this time.

“‘But in a very short time they will be coming. They’ll rush and they’ll be so affectionate with me.’

“‘My dear elevator,’ said the ground floor, ‘when people rush at you in the morning it is not because they love you so but because they are almost late to business or are afraid they will be.’

“‘Oh dear,’ said the elevator, ‘I thought they loved me so. Still it makes no difference. I am but an elevator and I haven’t feelings, so I shall recover from what you have told me. Anyway I never get so high up people can’t reach me.

“‘Now there are some creatures who, when they reach high and lofty positions won’t notice those who are down below them. But not your friend the elevator.

“‘No, no matter how high I go, up to the highest floor of this high building, I never fail to think of the people down below on you, ground floor, and down I come for them. I never forget the people down below even if I do go up high in life!’”

SEPTEMBER 21: The Fog

“I want a change,” said one of the drops of water in a river.

“And so do I,” said one of the drops of water in a near-by lake.

“I want a change to the air,” said a little brook, and a tiny stream said, “I want to be up in the world for a little while.”

A few drops in the big ocean not far away heard the murmurings of the river, lake, brook and stream and said in roaring, rumbling tones: “Let’s have a change. One, two, three, now all together go!”

Then up in the air went the drops from the ocean, river, brook and stream that had wanted a change and a great fog was over all.

SEPTEMBER 22: The Land of Nod

“You must go off to the Land of Nod,” said a mother to her little boy whose name was Douglas, and before long Douglas saw a Goblin standing before him.

“We must visit the circus of the Land of Nod,” said the Goblin. And off they went to see the circus.

It was just like a regular circus. There were clowns, a band, ladies in pink and yellow and blue who rode on white horses and little black ponies. There were bicycle riders and trapeze performers, and there was even popcorn!

“What does it all mean?” asked Douglas. “The Land of Nod has everything.”

“Of course,” said the Goblin. “For the Land of Nod is the land of wonderful dreams—dreams of things that really happen in this wonderful world. And come again,” added the Goblin, for Douglas was opening his sleepy eyes as it was bright daylight.

SEPTEMBER 23: The Homesick Chicken

“Now one of Mrs. Turkey’s children,” commenced daddy, “had been stolen by a great big rat. So Mrs. Turkey said to herself: ‘I think I will take a chicken and look after it. Mrs. Hen won’t mind. She has so many to look after as it is. It will probably be a great relief to her to have one less.’

“Mrs. Turkey talked on in this way and she called the chicken she liked best.

“‘Come here to me,’ she said, and she tried to make her voice sound as a Mother Hen’s would sound.

“The little chicken came running to the side of the turkey and seemed to be quite happy and contented. The turkey fed the chicken when she fed her own children and she looked after him all day long.

“But when evening came and the turkeys were ready to go up to the tree to roost as they always do when night-time comes, the poor little chicken wished he had not left his own mother.

“‘I was very bad to leave my mother,’ he whispered in a fretful little voice.

“‘Come on up the tree,’ said Mrs. Turkey, who had reached the topmost branch. ‘I am ready to go to sleep and all the turkeys are. We want to put our heads under our wings. We are very sleepy.’

“‘But I can’t get up there,’ said the chicken.

“‘Try,’ said Mrs. Turkey.

“The turkey children began to laugh at the poor little chicken who couldn’t fly to a branch of the tree.

“‘Gobble, gobble, gobble,’ they said. ‘Can’t you fly?’

“And the little chicken stayed on the ground below looking very unhappy.

“‘We can’t keep awake any longer,’ said the turkey children.

“‘Go to sleep, my loves,’ said their mother. ‘You are good children and know how to roost in a tree and have a good night’s rest.’

“‘I could roost and have a sleep too,’ moaned the chicken, ‘if you’d come down low.’

“‘Now this is annoying,’ said the Mother Turkey. ‘Didn’t I give you good things to eat and look after you all day?’

“‘Yes,’ said the chicken.

“‘And didn’t I let you play with my splendid children?’

“‘Yes,’ said the chicken again.

“‘Well, can’t you be grateful and come to bed like a good chicken. Show you are fine enough to belong to a turkey family.’

“‘But I don’t want to belong to a turkey family! I am a chicken and I am used to the ways of chickens. I wish I were back home.’

“‘Well, go home then, you little silly,’ said Mrs. Turkey. ‘It’s the last time I pay a compliment to a chicken by asking to bring him up as one of my own. You’re not able to fly up to this branch. Shame!’

“‘I’m very thankful for the pleasant day you gave me,’ said the chicken politely, ‘but I really must be going now. For I’m just a little bit homesick and I want my Mother Hen.’

“Here the chicken began to cry, and from a short distance away the turkeys heard a ‘cackle, cackle!’

“Along the ground half walking and half flying as best she could, came the Mother Hen.

“‘Ah, here you are, my naughty chicken,’ she said, but so happy was she to find her child that she didn’t scold any more.

“‘Oh, take me home to the chicken roost,’ said the little chicken.

“‘Yes,’ said the Mother Turkey. ‘I do not care for your child.’

“‘You had no right to take him away,’ said Mother Hen. ‘If you weren’t so high up I’d thrash you with my wings.’

“‘I’m afraid you couldn’t in the first place,’ said Mrs. Turkey politely, ‘and in the second place you should be glad I’m ’way up here, because your child couldn’t fly this far and so got homesick.’

“‘Oh, I’ll never leave home again,’ said the chicken as he reached the chicken roost, which was just right for him. And the Mother Hen cackled a happy ‘Good Night.’”

SEPTEMBER 24: Mrs. Duck’s Dinner

The Ducks settled themselves comfortably for Mrs. Duck’s dinner party. Mrs. Duck’s husband came forth from one end of the pond with an enormous tray and his tray was filled with bugs which the ducks love.

Oh, no, Mr. Duck didn’t carry the water-lily-leaf tray. He pushed it ahead of him through the pond with his long bill. And then all the Ducks gathered around and picked out the bug they liked the best. So altogether it was a most successful dinner party.

SEPTEMBER 25: Doll Children

“A little girl named Helen,” said daddy, “gave her dolls a wonderful tea party.

“She asked her four best friends to come and bring their dolls. Altogether there were twelve dolls at the party.

“The dolls had stiff little chairs to sit upon and they behaved very well indeed. In fact none of them fell on their faces as sometimes dolls are apt to do.

“And the little girls stood behind them and gave them make-believe things to eat on little dishes. Then when the dolls had finished their tea the little girls had cambric tea, bread and butter and sponge cake. And that was the best of all!”

SEPTEMBER 26: The Leaves

“The reason we are so glorious,” said the autumn leaves which had just turned into lovely colors, “is because we want to make a beautiful going-away bow of farewell.”

SEPTEMBER 27: The Dawn Fairies

“Once a little boy had heard of the dawn fairies,” said daddy, “and was so eager to see them that he got up long before day-break—in fact, before the fairies themselves were up, for they sleep when it is really dark. This little boy hid in the trunk of a tree. After what seemed a long time to him the lovely gray dawn fairies came out from their sleeping places, and he heard them laugh their low bell-like laughs. Suddenly one of them realized that some one was around and caught sight of the little boy. ‘Oh dear,’ shrieked the fairy; ‘there’s a huge person near us!’ at which all the fairies scattered.

“From that day the fairy queen has been careful that no one else should see the dawn fairies, and so they all dress in invisible costumes.”

SEPTEMBER 28: The Dream

“One night,” said daddy, “a little boy named Julius had a dream in which he joined a circus and so successful was he as a bareback rider that when he awoke he said, ‘When I grow up I shall join a circus. I’ll be a great rider.’ For his dream had seemed very real!”

SEPTEMBER 29: The Monkey’s Collar

“Gyp, the monkey,” said daddy, “was ill. He had hurt his right foot and it had been bandaged by the doctor.

“Gyp had been very good while this was done and had taken his medicine like a little man, or rather, I should say, like a little monkey.

“But how the bandage did annoy him! He had to stay quite still and not move his leg at all. That was so hard! He tried to keep still and yet he longed to play, for the nice liniment which had been put on the bandage quickly made the horrid foot feel so much better.

“Yes, he was quite sure that if he hadn’t the bandage on he would be better. And so he tugged at the bandage and got it off.

“Then how the foot did hurt! No longer was it protected by the soft rags and the soothing liniment! Whew, how it did hurt! And Gyp did not know what to make of it.

“He felt very sad to think that his foot was really no better, and there, he had thought it was just about well. He cried a little, for even though he was a very brave monkey the pain was so hard to bear.

“Now, his master came along and saw what had happened.

“‘You have taken off your bandage,’ he said.

“The monkey did not say anything, but he curled up by his master and tried with his eyes to say:

“‘The foot aches, the pain is very bad, master.’

“‘I understand,’ said the master. ‘But we must have a fresh bandage.’

“The master sent for the doctor again, and once more a bandage was put on Gyp’s foot, and once more the foot began to feel much much better.

“After a little while Gyp said to himself: ‘I am sure it must be really well this time. It feels better than ever. In fact, there is no horrid pain there now.’

“So he yanked off the bandage and once more the pain set in. This time he howled, and quickly his master came to him.

“‘Oh, Gyp,’ he said, ‘you’ve worked off that bandage again. Oh, Gyp, why did you do such a thing?’ And Gyp looked very sad. For he felt he had been naughty from the tone of his master’s voice, and yet he hadn’t meant to be. He just had thought his foot was all well, and the bandage did get in his way and made him stay so still—so awfully still for a monkey to stay.

“‘We’ll have to have another bandage,’ said his master.

“Pretty soon the doctor came again.

“‘What!’ he exclaimed. ‘You don’t mean to tell me that the monkey has taken off his bandage again? What a bad monkey.’

“Gyp hung his head in shame, but his master understood. ‘Gyp didn’t mean to be naughty,’ he said. ‘We must be patient with him, for he wants to get well.’

“And Gyp, who was watching the other monkey, his chief friend and companion, playing and jumping and swinging, would have told the master and doctor if he had known how, that he certainly did not want to be ill.

“‘Once more, doctor, just once more,’ said the master. ‘This time the bandage won’t come off.’

“‘How do you know it won’t?’ asked the doctor. ‘In fact, I don’t see why you don’t say that you know it is bound to come off.’

“‘You bandage it nicely, doctor,’ said the master, ‘and in a moment I will come back.’

“The doctor bandaged the foot and the monkey was very patient. The doctor was really kind and talked in gentle tones to Gyp while he was caring for the foot. That kept Gyp from being frightened. How fine the bandage and soothing liniment did feel! He knew he would be all well soon!

“Just then the master came back carrying a little round collar—it was rather wide and yet it was not at all heavy and rough. He put it around Gyp’s neck, just holding in Gyp’s arms enough so that he could not reach his bandage. The wide collar got in his way. But Gyp understood, and when the foot was all well, off came the collar which had helped so much.”

SEPTEMBER 30: Mr. Fox’s Marketing

“Mr. Fox was spending his time near a fine barnyard,” said daddy. “But one day when Mr. Fox was hovering near-by, the farmer spied him.

“‘Bang, Bang, Bang,’ went the farmer’s gun.

“‘Oh me, oh my,’ said Mr. Fox. ‘This is no place for me to hunt. There is a horrid man with a gun around here. How very inconsiderate of him when I want to do my marketing and when I like his chickens so much. He should be flattered to think I like his barnyard.’

“But the farmer wasn’t flattered in the least, and off went the gun again.

“Mr. Fox ran for all he was worth and got safely back to the woods.

“When he reached his home, Mrs. Fox said, ‘Well, and what luck to-day, my dear?’

“‘None at all,’ said Mr. Fox. ‘That marketing place is no good.’

“‘Why not?’ asked Mrs. Fox as she raised her head.

“‘Because, my dear,’ said Mr. Fox, ‘there is a man around with a gun.’

“‘Oh dear,’ shivered Mrs. Fox. ‘Did you hear the gun?’

“‘Indeed I just escaped being killed.’