Chapter IV: Part 4

“But don’t you think it was clever of him to get the family into the pantry by turning on the light? This is a true story of Biddle Birdsall, the clever gray pussy-cat.”

MARCH 16: The Naughty Colds

Mr. and Mrs. Cold were having a very good time. Now, when most people have a good time it means that they’re playing or singing or laughing or dancing or reading or hearing music.

Perhaps it means they’re having a party of some sort, or perhaps it may mean they’re in swimming or having a picnic. Oh, there are lots and lots of ways of having good times as every one knows.

But when Mr. and Mrs. Cold have a good time it is something very different from what we mean by a good time. In the first place, Mr. and Mrs. Cold are very disagreeable people. They have always been disagreeable. Their daddy and mother were the same way, and as for Aunt Grippe and their Uncle Bronchitis—well, they’re horrid old creatures, I can tell you.

Mr. and Mrs. Cold have very mean children, too. There is Sadie Sneeze, for example. She has the worst sort of a disposition! She just loves to plague people and make them as uncomfortable as she can.

Then there is Charlie Cough. He likes to hurt creatures. You can just imagine how mean he is. And there is Susy Sore Throat, and Hatty Headache. They are all children of Mr. and Mrs. Cold.

“Let’s go on a trip,” they said to the children.

“All right,” said the children. They always agree to go a-traveling, and the worst thing about them is that they have many cousins and relations, and their cousins and relations are just as busy a-traveling as they are!

“I think,” said Mrs. Cold, “we’ll go and call on a little girl named Annette. She is such a nice little girl, I’d like to make her feel uncomfortable. Let’s give her a good dose of us.”

And the Cold children clapped their hands.

“Is she nice?” they said. And when their mother and daddy said:

“Oh, she is wonderfully nice,” they were just overjoyed. That is how mean they are. They love to be horrid to nice, nice boys and girls and grown-ups!

So they picked up their suitcases with plenty of Sadie Sneeze’s best frocks, and plenty of Charlie Cough’s extra neckties, and lots of Hatty Headache’s hair ribbons and Susy Sore Throat’s collars and off they went. Their hair ribbons and collars and dresses aren’t like nice children’s, for they are mean like themselves!

“Oh, please,” said Annette, when they all arrived, “I didn’t ask you to come and see me. I don’t need you. I have a nice daddy and a nice mother all of my own. I don’t want Mr. and Mrs. Cold, and I have two nice brothers, and I don’t want any others, or even any sisters. Please go away.”

But the Cold family paid no attention. They were so mean they liked being where they weren’t wanted.

But the time passed and the dream king found out that Annette had some horrid visitors. The dream king hurried to tell the fairy queen about it.

“Did you ever hear of such rudeness and such unkindness as that horrible Cold family show?” he said.

“We’ll put a stop to this, Dream King,” said the fairy queen. “Thank you for telling me. I know that little girl Annette. Yes, I know her well. She has golden hair and fair skin and blue eyes. And she lives in a city house. Ah, yes, I know her. Just like that horrid Cold family to go and bother some one who is nice!”

The fairy queen set to work. She called together all her assistants and they hurried to Annette’s house when she was fast asleep.

They gave the Cold family a good talking to and they waved their wands over Annette so that the Cold family were driven away.

And in the meantime the old dream king had told the dream fairies about Annette and they made up the most wonderful package of dreams, lovely dreams sent to her as she was getting all, all well again. But the dream king himself made up this poem for her:

“Annette is so nice, Annette is so sweet,
Just Annette herself is a great big treat!”

MARCH 17: Why the Shamrock is Worn on St. Patrick’s Day

“It is said,” daddy told the children, “that the shamrock keeps away the snakes which St. Patrick drove out of Ireland, for they cannot live and thrive where the shamrock grows.

“But there is a legend about St. Patrick which I think I’ll have to tell you to-night.

“What are said to be St. Patrick’s footprints can be seen on the rocks off the shore by the Skerries harbor. The story goes that once a chieftain named Dichu drew his sword to strike St. Patrick. When he was about to do this cruel deed his own arm became perfectly stiff until he said he’d be obedient to St. Patrick. Then St. Patrick taught him to be good and kind.

“Still another interesting story is that of the idol worshipers. St. Patrick went into the place where these people were and found them worshiping the idols. There was a huge pillar of stone with the chief idol on top of it. It was covered with slabs of gold and silver, and around it in a circle were twelve other idols. St. Patrick smote the chief idol with his crozier and the idol crumbled to dust at once.”

MARCH 18: St. Patrick

“Daddy, do tell us this evening more about St. Patrick,” asked Jack and Evelyn.

“He was born in 372,” said daddy. “When he was only sixteen years old he was stolen by pirates. They did not treat him at all well, and he was sold by them into slavery in Ireland.

“His master had him look after pigs in the mountains. But Patrick had a strange dream in which the Lord told him to run away and set out for a far-away country. He had been seven years in Ireland, so he was used to its language and all its customs and manners. After a time he was ordained a deacon, then a priest, and finally he became a bishop. At this point the pope told him to return to Ireland to preach the gospel to the Irish people. Since then he has always been known as St. Patrick. One story is that on a bitter cold morning St. Patrick and a number of his followers found they could not possibly build a fire. They had had no breakfast and were half frozen. St. Patrick listened to their complaints for a while, and then he told them to gather up the snow in a pile. This they did. St. Patrick breathed on it, and it became a fire.

“Another tale is that St. Patrick beat the drum so loudly when driving the snakes out of Ireland that he knocked a hole in it, but that an angel appeared and mended it, so that the drum was afterward kept as a relic.

“It is told that in one part of Ireland from which St. Patrick drove the snakes and toads he chained one huge serpent by a lake called in Irish Lough Dilveen and told him to stay until Monday. The people around the district still claim that every Monday they hear the serpent calling out in the Irish dialect, ‘It’s a long Monday, St. Patrick!’

“St. Patrick is said to have died on the 17th of March, 493, aged 121. His grave is at Dunpatrick, Ireland, and a tombstone now bears his name cut in Irish characters.”

MARCH 19: The Clocks

“I think I shall tell you the story of the talking that went on one day in a clock shop when the old clock mender had gone to his lunch,” said daddy.

“‘My master is so lazy!’ said the Eight-Day Clock. ‘He keeps saying: “Oh, dear, I must wind up that Clock.” And then he grabs a newspaper and sits down and reads. He quite forgets about me. He should wind me up when it is time. Gracious, I strike so he can tell I need to be wound up. But he doesn’t pay much attention. He just winds me up after I have had to stop for days. And such a fine Clock as I am, too.’

“‘You may be a fine Clock,’ said the little Watch with the broken mainspring, ‘but I don’t see as it does you any good. You are always being brought here.’

“‘I can’t help it,’ said the Eight-Day Clock. ‘You see, I get so upset over not being wound up and I get so tired and worried wondering if my master will remember, that I get feeling run down. Then I weep a Clock’s tears, which only we Clocks and Watches know about. We feel so badly when we are not treated right. And then when we feel badly it upsets our works and we have to be brought to the clock mender’s shop. But I wish we could teach our masters a lesson,’ said the Eight-Day Clock.

“‘We will,’ said the Cuckoo Clock.

“‘What will we do?’ asked the rest.

“‘We will be so hard to mend,’ said the Cuckoo Clock, ‘that we will make the clock mender charge great big prices. And then our masters will look after us.’ And all the Clocks at once looked happier.”

MARCH 20: A Party and Polly

“Polly want a cracker, ha, ha,” laughed the parrot.

“No, Polly doesn’t want a cracker, ha, ha,” the parrot continued. “For there is no one in the room to give me a cracker, and I’ve eaten up the one I had in my cage. I have some seed and some water, but not a trace of a cracker.”

Polly, the parrot, stepped out of her cage and looked about the room. She flew this way and that, and she had a good-sized room in which to fly—a room with very high ceilings.

“Polly doesn’t see a cracker,” she said to herself. She couldn’t talk to any one else, you see, because there was no one else in the room. And she knew perfectly well that the pictures on the walls and the rugs on the floor didn’t care about being talked to. She had never heard them say anything or fly about or walk about—and she knew very well why they couldn’t.

Because they weren’t live things. They weren’t people, nor were they animals, nor birds. They were nothing but rugs and pictures and extremely, extremely silly.

She hadn’t been looking about long when her mistress came in all dressed up in a most beautiful manner.

“Well, Polly,” her mistress said, “we are having a party to-day.”

“Polly have a party, Polly have a party,” said the parrot.

And when the guests arrived Polly looked down from her perch and said: “Polly have a party, Polly have a party.” How every one did laugh and admire the nice, cheerful, friendly Polly Parrot. And her mistress was very proud of Polly!

MARCH 21: Salt, Pepper and Sugar

“Creatures and things aren’t to be admired who won’t take the trouble to go out of their way to do nice things,” said Sugar of the Sugar Bowl. “And as the Sugar Bowl can’t go walking around looking for nice things to do at least it can admire the Salt Cellar and the Pepper Shaker for the work they do in seasoning and making things have a good taste.”

“Ah, Sugar Bowl,” said the Salt Cellar, “I am glad to hear you talk this way. For some time I have been afraid that you didn’t have enough character. I was very much afraid that you were becoming too sugary and too weak!

“The Pepper Shaker would tell you, too, how much he thinks of you, but if he comes about too much he is apt to make people sneeze. He doesn’t like to do that. He can’t help it if too much of him is used, but he hates to be used like that. He likes to add to the taste of things, but not to be made out a cruel creature.

“Yes, he had a terrible blow once. He was treated so badly! It wasn’t fair to him at all.

“Some very mean boys and girls thought it would be fun to put sneezing powder in the flowers which they would give to their friends to smell. Then as their friends began to sneeze they would laugh.

“Well, a great deal of my Pepper friend was used then. He made those people sneeze and he didn’t want to in the least. Oh, he did feel so badly about it. It wasn’t funny, he said, it was mean, out and out mean! The people who sneezed were miserable. Their noses hurt, their throats hurt and they couldn’t sleep for several nights.

“One little girl who had sneezed so hard and so much lost her voice for several days, for the sneezing powder got down in her throat, and her throat has never been quite so strong since.

“So I think we should all be used in our places and not too much of any of us, for if too much sugar is used things will be sickish and if too much pepper or salt is used the poor pepper and salt creatures are taken a mean advantage of!”

MARCH 22: A Sun Parlor for Birds

“There was once a grown-up lady,” said daddy, “who had loved the stories of the fairies and of birds and flowers when she had been a little girl. She had so loved to read of all the kind deeds of the fairies that she had made up her mind that when she grew up she would do something kind too.

“Well, this lady had the roof of her house made into a Sun Parlor. There were trees all round, and moss, and little pools of water which she had fixed to look as much like out-of-doors as possible. The Sun Parlor she had inclosed in glass. Of course the glass made the sun shine through all the brighter. And she had little wee doors so the birds could get in and out, but so small that a cat could never get into this bird home.

“But still more wonderful was a big cellar where all kinds of good apples, bread crumbs, more water and countless goodies were kept.”

“But how could the birds get from the roof to the cellar?” asked Jack.

“I don’t wonder you ask that,” said daddy. “The lady had all that part beautifully arranged. In the Sun Parlor were tunnels which led down into the cellar, and the birds used to love going through these dark passages into the ‘Goody-shop’ as it was called in Bird language—and it sounded the same to them as it would to you in Boy-and-Girl language.

“At first the birds were tempted into their winter home by the bread crumbs that were in the Sun Parlor. For, of course, as you can imagine, it took the birds some time to get used to a beautiful summer home in the winter that was really just for them. Soon, though, little birds know when people are being kind to them.

“Of course the lady let all the birds who wanted to come in have just as good a time and stay just as long as they wanted to. But she especially wanted little sick birds who had perhaps fallen out of their nests.

“One day the lady came across a baby Robin whose family had arrived before the warm weather. The baby Robin had fallen from its nest, and very gently the lady picked him up and took him to the Sun Parlor. The mother was crying near-by for she saw her baby being taken away from her and she couldn’t help at all.

“But she saw from the top of a tree where her little sick baby was taken. How happy and relieved she was—for, of course, she had to be in her nest with all the other little Robins. But she sang every day the most wonderful songs for the lady who watched over her baby Robin until it was quite strong and able to fly.”

MARCH 23: The Automobiles

“Honk-honk, it seems a pity,” said one automobile to the other. “I know I seem like the rudest sort of an old thing. I scare folks, and children just run when they see me coming. But it does seem a pity. Yes, it seems a shame that I can’t help it.

“One day I was resting. My owner had gone inside a building. I heard a little girl and an old lady talking. The little girl said, ‘I’ve been quite ill and my heart is just beginning to get strong. I have a horrible time crossing the street, for I simply cannot walk across. Those old automobiles make me run.’

“The old lady said to the little girl, ‘I know just how you feel, my dear, for I have been ill too, and I am not supposed to run fast. It hurts me when I run fast and yet I have to hurry to get out of the way of the automobiles.’

“‘I don’t see why they have to make people run, when they’re not going to fires and they’re not going after accidents,’ said the little girl. ‘It does not seem fair in the least.’

“‘It doesn’t,’ said the old lady. ‘But I don’t suppose the people who run automobiles are ever sick. They don’t know what it means to have a horn tooted at them when they feel they cannot run.

“‘And it seems a pity that folks should be in so much of a hurry, as they run along in their automobiles, that they can’t give those who are walking a fair chance, too.’

“Sometimes I wish I weren’t an automobile.”

“Sometimes I wish I were one with a different owner,” said the second automobile.

“Maybe we will be sold and nice people will own us, who will consider those who are walking,” said the first automobile.

“Let’s hope so,” said the second automobile.

“There’s the first star of the evening,” said the first automobile. “We’ll make a wish.”

So the modern automobiles wished in the old, old way, their wishes!

MARCH 24: The Trailing Arbutus

“We mustn’t waste any more time,” whispered one of the trailing arbutus family to another.

“No, we mustn’t. We must awaken for we are first to awaken every year. And all the families in this part get up soon.

“Years ago,” continued the second arbutus, “some children came here to look for trailing arbutus flowers. They said to each other:

“‘It must be too soon. There aren’t any.’ But they looked under some of our leaves and several of us were trying to peep out as fast as we could, so we would not disappoint the children.

“Many of our sisters and brothers were picked and I believe they came out later in water.

“But those same children have come back every year, and now they are almost grown-up. They always say,

“‘Here is the first place we find these lovely spring flowers.’ And so we know what is expected of us. Our roots always hand on this story to all the arbutus flowers.”

And now along came the grown-ups and some children.

“We hide our heads under the leaves because we’re shy, but we love children and the whole beautiful world, so pick lots of us, and we’ll be bright and gay,” softly whispered the flowers.

But the children only knew that the flowers were very, very fragrant, and oh, so very sweet!

MARCH 25: The Telephone Dog

“The telephone always seemed very important to Rogue, the collie,” said daddy. “He had known his mistress to rush out after the telephone had rung and she had answered it, as if some one were ill, or something had happened which she had found to be of very great importance.

“She was working in the garden one day when Rogue heard the telephone ring. Evidently she didn’t hear it, for she stayed out in the garden and didn’t come in to answer it. It rang and it rang, and Rogue didn’t know what to do.

“Finally he thought up a scheme, and this is what he did. He ran out in the garden and he stood before his mistress and barked and barked without stopping. First she stroked him and didn’t seem to think anything special was the matter, but that, perhaps, he wanted to play.

“He kept on barking, and after a few minutes she said: ‘What is the matter, Rogue?’

“He started to go towards the house, barking, and turned around to see if she were following him. When she didn’t he went and pulled at her skirt. Then she went into the house, following Rogue, and he stopped before the telephone which was still ringing.

“She answered it and found that it had been ringing a long time, but it was so important that they had kept on ringing to see if she wouldn’t hear it after a while.

“Then she knew that Rogue had let her know the telephone was ringing and wanted her to come to answer it, for that was something he couldn’t do. But he could let her know that it was ringing, now that he had found a way of doing so.

“And now Rogue always lets his mistress know when the telephone is ringing. She works in her garden a great deal but she never misses a telephone call because Rogue hears it, barks for her, and leads her in before the telephone.”

MARCH 26: The Kettle’s Trouble

“I’m not angry,” said the kettle. “I’m hurt. My poor porcelain feelings are most dreadfully hurt. A child tried to move me and in so doing she spilled some of the boiling water over herself.”

“I wasn’t quite boiling,” said the water; “very nearly boiling I was, though.”

“Don’t interrupt,” said the kettle. “You’ve caused me enough trouble. Well, the child got quite badly burned. It hurt awfully, for burns always do.”

“Yes,” said the butter, from the ice box in the corner of the kitchen, “she came to me to be comforted. Butter is excellent for burns.”

“But she blamed me for burning her,” said the kettle. “She said that ‘the horrid old kettle burned her,’ and it wasn’t I at all.”

But the water, fire, paper, sticks, coal and match each in turn quickly said they were not to blame but only the cook, for starting the fire in the first place!

MARCH 27: Mr. Measles’ Puzzle

“Go away, go away,” said Peter Goblin. “You mustn’t come around here. No, you mustn’t. I won’t have it, not for a moment will I have it.”

“May we talk to you, then?” asked Mr. Measles, as he hurried off.

“Yes, I will come and talk to you, but you mustn’t stay around here. Goblins don’t get measles, but children do, and I won’t have it. Hurry off. Hurry off.”

“Wouldn’t they like to have us?” asked Mr. Mumps. “Just think how we’d make their faces puff up and look so fine and fat.”

“Yes,” said Peter Goblin, crossly, “and make it hard for them to swallow. No sir, no sir, you get right away from here.”

“How about me?” asked Mrs. Croup.

“You go away, too,” said Peter Goblin.

“Can’t I have just one little look at a nice little boy or a nice little girl?” asked Master Chicken-Pox.

“You most certainly cannot,” said Peter Goblin.

“I don’t see why not,” said Mr. Measles crossly. He had come back a little because he had heard the others talking to Peter Goblin and he thought perhaps Peter had given in. Of course he had never known him to, but he might—one could never tell.

“I thought I’d told you to start off,” said Peter Goblin. “Now I won’t put up with any more of this nonsense. Be off—all of you. Be off, right away.”

“You promised to talk to us,” said Mr. Measles. “You will, won’t you?”

“But we’d rather have a little chat with a child first,” said Mr. Mumps.

“Maybe you would like to,” said Peter Goblin, “but you’re not going to. And so, one, two, three—go! Every one of you. I’ll follow along.”

“Now, what is the use,” Mr. Mumps muttered, “of being able to make some folks fat when one isn’t given the chance?”

“You don’t want to make them fat and well,” said Peter Goblin.

They had all wandered quite far away from the children and so Peter Goblin felt they were safe. He would get many of his goblins right to work to keep an eye on them, for goblins cannot get measles, mumps, chicken-pox or croup.

“Yes, I make them fat,” said Mr. Mumps. “I never bother about more than their cheeks. They grumble so after I’ve made them fat that I get disheartened.”

“Good thing you do,” said Peter Goblin. “You’re certainly mean enough.”

Mr. Mumps knew Peter was right, so didn’t say another word. Mr. Measles spoke next.

“We wanted to have you talk to us,” said Mr. Measles, “because we cannot understand you.”

“Why not?” asked Peter Goblin. “I try to protect the children from getting measles, mumps, chicken-pox and croup. Of course they have to help me by trying to keep as well and strong as they can so as to escape you. Whenever one of you gets past us, how badly we do feel. You often do, but we try our best to keep you out. We can’t keep you out entirely but we can help.

“And then good, kind doctors drive you away.”

“We hate doctors,” said Mr. Measles.

“Well,” said Mrs. Croup, “we shouldn’t hate them so much, because we give them a lot of trouble, and we love to give trouble.”

“That’s so, we do,” said Master Chicken-Pox.

“But,” said Mr. Measles, “people say, ‘oh, don’t catch the measles. And be careful not to catch the mumps. Don’t go near any one with chicken-pox or you might catch it.’”

“Now, to catch a thing,” continued Mr. Measles, “means to chase after it or try to get it in some way. If they don’t like us why do they talk about catching measles? They say ‘Be careful not to catch Mr. Mumps.’ It’s very silly, for if they really don’t like us, they should say, ‘Don’t let Mr. Mumps catch you.’”

“It’s rather an absurd expression,” admitted Peter Goblin, “but stay away from children and talk about it for a good long while. That’s what you must all do!”

MARCH 28: Winter’s Exit

“When we speak of a person making an exit,” said daddy, “we mean that the person has gone out, and so when we speak of the winter’s exit, we mean that the winter has made his departure. The winter was quite angry that Mr. Sun was so eager to see the spring.

“‘I’d think,’ said the winter, ‘you’d be a little scrap more polite, anyway. It always makes me so mad that I just hang around and hang around, and laugh when I hear folks say: “Isn’t the winter ever going?”’

“‘Are you going to make your last bow soon?’ asked Mr. Sun.

“‘To-morrow,’ said the winter. ‘Yes, by to-morrow I’ll really have to go. And after this last little snow-storm there’ll be no more until next year. Ah, what a sad thought that is to me, though it’s not such a sad thought for others. They seem to be so absurdly fond of young spring. They spoil him frightfully.’

“‘And you won’t really send any more blizzards?’ asked Mr. Sun.

“‘I can’t,’ said the winter, ‘because you would cross that old Equator.’

“Mr. Sun smiled and the winter said: ‘I’ll take a rest now and fool the people! They’ll think it’s really spring, and then I’ll give them my fine farewell to-morrow.’

“And sure enough on the morrow there was a light fall of snow. The spring hardly knew what to make of it at first, until he found it was so light a storm.

“‘That’s the winter’s bow as he makes his exit,’ said Mr. Sun to the spring.

“And the spring sent out the early Breezes and said: ‘Whisper to the birds, the buds, the children that I’ve really, really come, and that winter has made his exit!’”

MARCH 29: Another Biddle Story

“I must tell you another story about the gray cat, Biddle Birdsall,” said daddy. “His mistress Gertrude was away at school. His mistress’ mother and daddy were out, and the cook was out. It was a very sad household for a cat who wanted a drink of milk.

“Then he had an idea! He went into his master’s study and emptying the waste-paper basket in a pile on the floor, he pushed the waste-paper basket towards the pantry door.

“When he had finished pushing the basket and when it was right up by the door he turned it upside down and climbed upon it.

“‘There,’ thought Biddle, ‘now I have it.’

“And he had! He opened that door with his two front paws, turning the knob until it was undone and he could push the door open.

“Then he moved the basket away, opened the door wide, and purring delightedly to himself, he walked inside the pantry.

“There was the milk in the saucer, and then, as you can easily guess, Biddle had the milk which he wanted. When he was drinking it the family came home and saw Biddle and the waste-paper basket and saw just what he had done. And this is another true story of the cat, Biddle Birdsall,” ended daddy.

MARCH 30: The Squirrels’ Spring Work

“A little girl named Gwen had fixed a squirrel house on a pear tree near an old apple tree,” said daddy. “Now, the apple tree was near Gwen’s bedroom, and the squirrels could jump from the apple tree to her window-sill, where they were very likely to find nuts waiting for them.

“When the days began to get a little warmer Gwen hung just outside the window-sill a little hammock and waited to see if the squirrels would dare to swing in it. Having all the nuts Gwen put on her window-sill and seeing her do such kind things so often made them pretty tame. And, too, they appeared to realize that it was Gwen who had seen to the building of the little house.

“But the hammock seemed very strange to them at first. However, one very brave squirrel thought he’d try it and jumped into the hammock. Gwen was watching back of a curtain, and it was all she could do to keep from crying aloud with joy, for she was so pleased that one of the squirrels was actually using her little hammock. After a while the other squirrels tried it.

“Before long one of the old squirrels began to scold for all he was worth. Oh, he was very much annoyed, and all the squirrels stopped swinging in the hammock. They seemed to be paying great attention to the old squirrel, and Gwen wondered what it was all about.

“The old squirrel was the leader, and he was the one who always gave the directions and did all the managing. This, in squirrel language, was what he said:

“‘Now, don’t you know you can’t spend all your time idling! You are the laziest lot of squirrels I have ever known. Don’t you know that you must get to work? This is the season for us to tap the sirup from the maple trees, and you are spending your time swinging in a hammock. It is all very well to play, but then there is work to be done. We don’t want to waste our time and let all the good sap go, do we? And you really do want the maple sirup, don’t you?’

“Off they started to scamper to the nearest maple tree. Gwen put on her hat and coat and followed along to see what they were going to do. They got all the sap they wanted and smacked their lips over it. They enjoyed the work really, for it meant good times to follow, and they were glad the wise old squirrel had told them about it in plenty of time.”

MARCH 31: The Bunch of Keys

The keys were all talking in their jingling way. “I open a drawer in which birthday presents are locked up before the birthday has come,” said one of the keys. “I know so many secrets, all about presents and nice things for celebrations.”

“I open the cake tin,” said another key, “and there is going to be a birthday cake to-morrow all decorated with candles. There is going to be a party.”

“So I’ll be used too,” said the candy drawer key.

“And I will too,” said the birthday drawer key.

“And I will too,” said the key which opened the money box, “for some little treats will be bought.”

“We’ll jingle to-morrow, all right,” said the keys in chorus, “for we are going to open up secrets and pleasures and treats for a birthday celebration.”

And the keys all sang:

“If you’re a key, a key,
You can see, can see,
The opening of joys,
For girls and for boys.”

APRIL 1: Marketing

“It is surprising,” said Mr. Robin, “how many creatures forget that they’re not the only ones who go marketing.

“Ladies go to the shops and they think they’re the only ones who see that their families are fed. But they’re not at all. Now, all of the robins go a-marketing. We are very good at it. And most of the gentlemen birds do the marketing when the mother birds are watching over the eggs and the little birdlings.”

“That is so,” agreed Mrs. Robin; “the dear father birds are splendid about looking after the food for the home when we’re busy guarding the nests and seeing that the eggs hatch out into dear little birdlings.

“And you always know where to get the best worms.”

“To be sure,” said Mr. Robin, “and that is what I meant when I said that though we did not go to the same markets as people we went marketing, too.

“What a horrible thing it would be if people did come to the lawns and began digging up all the worms! Gracious, the poor birds would have a dreadful time!

“But they don’t do that any more than we go to the grocery stores and tell the grocer to please do us up a package of potatoes and another of onions, and one more of meat which we’d order at the meat shop.

“It is fair the way things are divided up. In this way the lawns don’t run short of worms as they otherwise might do.”

APRIL 2: The Buds’ Secrets

“Some of the tree buds,” said daddy, “were talking about themselves softly. ‘We do so enjoy being liked,’ said the little bud which had grown the most. ‘We love to be encouraged—helped along.’

“‘But how can any one help a bud?’ asked a Fairy who happened along then.

“‘The Sun encourages us by shining and smiling at us. The South Wind whispers secrets to us and we are helped so much by the secrets—for the South Wind tells us such lovely things. And she promises us more sunshine, more warmth, more brightness. And then there are the Clouds and their promises. They tell us they will not forget about the April showers. They never have, and I don’t believe they ever will.’

“‘And,’ the bud continued, ‘it is so glorious to burst into bud and bloom again after a long winter when the branches of the tree are bare that we like to do it slowly and enjoy every second of it. Besides, the tree has been so used to being lonely that it would be too much of a shock if we came forth all at once. We just peep forth first of all and tell the tree that we are coming, for spring is here.’

“‘Ah, how young I feel,’ said a very little bud.

“‘We all feel so young, too,’ said the other buds.

“‘You are all wonderfully young,’ said the Fairy. ‘You are buds, wonderful spring buds, and you’ll soon be leaves!’

“The buds came forth a little more and smiled gently at the Fairy to show her how pleased they were at the kind things she was saying to them, and when they smiled a little more green showed.

“The grown-ups that day said, ‘How far the buds came out to-day. They’ll soon be leaves if they keep coming out at this rate.’

“But the little Fairy knew the secrets of the buds.”

APRIL 3: The Clock and the Watch

“Now when I say,” the watch began, “that I have to hurry and catch up—or rather try to catch up—I mean that my master has a foolish way of trying to hurry me up at the last moment. He waits and fusses and wastes his time, and then he wonders how he can reach somewhere on time—reaching there almost before he starts if he wants to be on time. Then I hurry and try to catch up to him as he seems in such a rush. And the trouble is I’m way ahead of the time he wants me to be. I try to keep up with his hurrying—for after he has wasted a great deal of time he does try to hurry. In fact he runs around all day trying to catch up with himself, and I run around with him. But it’s of no use. He tried putting me way ahead of time one day not long ago, but it was senseless when I disagreed with every other watch, and every one said to my master, ‘Your watch is fast.’ We watches must agree, you know, and so I just get nervous trying to catch up with the lost moments for my master, and the only thing, I think, for him to do is to expect less of me and to start off everything ON TIME!”

APRIL 4: Billie’s Springtime

“I’d like to tell my story,” said Billie to the Fairy Wondrous Secrets. “People are always wondering what babies think about and what they are planning to do when they grow up—if they are planning to do anything or not. They wonder so much about us, and so I’d like to tell my story. I don’t know about other babies. But I would like to tell about myself, if no one minds.”

“I’d like to hear,” said the Fairy Wondrous Secrets.

Now Billie was in a baby-carriage which was out on the front porch of a little house in the country. Billie’s mother was busy and so was Billie’s daddy, but Billie, they knew, was quite safe in the carriage on the porch where the soft spring air was blowing.

No one was around but the Fairy Wondrous Secrets and if any one had come around the Fairy Wondrous Secrets would have vanished quickly.

“I’m really a little girl,” Billie began, “though my name is something like a boy’s name, I believe. You see my great big daddy’s name is Bill and my mother wanted to name me after him. She couldn’t have my real name Billie, but she had every one call me that, so it’s my daytime every-day name, and my best, dress-up name is Mary Ann, or Marion or some such fine name after my mother.

“I came to the world in December,” said Billie. “You see, Fairy, I thought it would be fun to arrive in the world when everything was so exciting. Christmas was coming on and it was very gay and merry.

“I’ve had a nice winter, but now is the best time I’ve known, for it’s springtime. And I’ll tell you, Fairy Wondrous Secrets, I feel as though it were all my own springtime.

“I feel the soft, warm wind blow over my little pink cheeks which every one admires so much and I smile and I croon and I make soft little singing sounds as the trees do. And I look around to smile at the trees and the bushes, too, and to let them see my blue eyes. I ask them if they think my eyes look like the blue sky, for the bushes and the trees are always looking up at the sky, so they should surely know.

“I can see the yellow forsythia upon the bushes, and how gay and lovely it is. The lilacs are in bud, and there are white blossoms on the bushes. Back of our house there are some waterfalls and they laugh and gurgle as they dash over the rocks, something the way I laugh and gurgle.

“I believe it is their way of kicking with fun. I kick with fun when my mother puts me in the wash-basin every morning. The wash-basin, Fairy Wondrous Secrets, is my bathtub, and I splash and kick and laugh and have such a good time! I don’t care if the water spills over the floor any more than I imagine the waterfalls care that they spill water over the rocks. They enjoy it! So do I!

“I can see the ducks and hear them quack, quack. I hear that sometimes they lay seven eggs a day. The chickens and the hens and the roosters walk about and chatter, and one day a lady passed and said ‘Hello,’ to a chicken and the chicken got up from the ground most politely as a mannerly person would do, I’m told.

“The pussy-willows are out and the skunk-cabbage is in bloom. There are red flowers and yellow flowers and little star flowers. The trees are full of buds or little leaves or blossoms of different colors. There is a little turtle who is sunning himself by the brook near-by and who is an interesting creature, I have heard. He wears a shell over his back as I wear a little knitted jacket.

“At night I hear the crickets when I wake up for my bottle. And I believe these creatures all like the country, too. The chickens and the ducks say that in the cities they aren’t wanted and they wouldn’t be allowed to wander about, so they wouldn’t leave the country for anything.

“And one evening I saw a moon in the sky. My daddy told me it was a moon and surely he knows! And over the moon there was a bright gold star, and I made a wish. This was my wish: that other babies might have happy homes as I have, where they don’t want to cry, because there is no reason to cry. I’m well looked after, I’m never spoilt and they love me; so why should I cry? But what I’m thinking about mostly, these days, is of how lucky I am to have such a daddy and mother and to see the beautiful springtime in the country.”

APRIL 5: Brenda’s Easter Visit

“Her name is Brenda,” said daddy, “and when I saw her yesterday she told me that every year at Easter time she went to the head nurse of the big hospital and found out the names of all the children. Then she went shopping, and it took her a long time to pick out things for little sick children. She picked out for each child a big round chocolate egg which rattled, for inside it there were little sugar candies; also a chocolate chicken and a chocolate bunny. She always picked out ones that had lots of expression too. Around the egg she tied a big red ribbon, around the chocolate chicken’s neck she tied a bright green ribbon, and around the bunny’s neck she tied a bright purple ribbon. Then she put them in a little box and wrote on the box the child’s name.

“Last year Brenda went to the hospital the day before Easter. It was far from being a pleasant day. There was a cold wind in the air and no sun.

“She arrived at the hospital just as all the little children had had their wounds dressed. They were lying in their little white cots trying to keep back the tears that wanted to come.

“Brenda asked the nurse if she could go inside with the gifts.

“‘Yes, indeed!’ said the nurse. ‘The children would love that. The child’s name in the first cot,’ continued the nurse very softly, ‘is Elsa. She has hurt her back, and no one knows how long she will have to lie there.’

“‘Elsa,’ said Brenda, ‘happy Easter. A little chocolate bunny, a little chocolate chicken and a big chocolate egg all said they wanted to wish you a happy Easter.’

“Elsa opened her half shut eyes and clutched the box. She opened it eagerly. There they all were! And the chocolate bunny did have the funniest expression! He would have made any one laugh, and his purple ribbon bow was sticking way up on one side with such a saucy expression. Elsa burst out laughing. Afterward the nurse told Brenda it was the first time she’d seen Elsa laugh since she’d been brought to the hospital.

“Then Brenda took the rest of her boxes around to all the other little sick children. And such happiness as there was in the ward!”

APRIL 6: An Uninvited Guest

The children were just finishing their lunches which they had been eating in the school yard and were going back to their classes when what should they see but a bear!

“Oh, oh, hurry, scurry, run, run,” they all cried.

“Oh, what an escape!” some of them panted, when they were safe in a nice big barn down the road.

But the bear was having the time of his life.

“Well, well, well,” he growled, “I really don’t understand it at all. Children come to the circus and gaze and gaze at us, and tell their mothers and their daddies how nice they think we are. But how they did run! And I had come to pay them a nice call.

“Sniff-sniff, what is it I smell?” continued the bear. And then he jumped around for joy. “Goodies! Food! Wonderful, wonderful food! How kind of the dear little children. They really expected me to lunch—for they’ve left lots of food—and when I came they didn’t want to make me uncomfortable by watching me eat.

“Ah, now, I have had a fine meal, a luxurious meal, fit for a king—no, fit for a bear!” And the bear rubbed his front paw over his well-filled tummy and again growled delightedly to himself some more, saying over and over again: “Delicious; such a meal!”

But along came the keeper of the animals of the circus and led the bear back to his cage. For a circus was traveling through the country and when they had stopped for a rest this bear had escaped. But what a tale he had to tell when he got back to the circus again!

APRIL 7: The Tired Honeysuckle

“I’m very tired,” said the Honeysuckle, “and I’d really almost rather not come up this spring.”

“But you are supposed to come up every year,” said the Hyacinth. “You are like me, my dear: your roots are good and lasting. We don’t have to be replanted from seeds every spring.”

“Yes, what you say is perfectly true,” said the Honeysuckle. “But then I am old, so very, very old.”

“How old are you?” whispered the Hyacinth in a very low voice which the Wind carried on his shoulders.

“I am so many years old I can’t remember. This garden I’ve heard people say has been kept just like this for over a hundred years, and the house near-by is just as old—in fact, it is older. I’ve been here a very large part of that time.”

“Well,” said the Hyacinth, “then I don’t blame you for feeling tired. I should think you would want to rest. Let them start another Honeysuckle growing. You’ve worked hard enough.”

“Ah,” said the Honeysuckle, “that’s just what you don’t understand. I am tired, very tired. But ah, I must blossom because of the people.”

“What people?” asked the Hyacinth.

“The people in this house. You see, I am just outside a window, growing on my vine, and my sweet fragrance can be carried indoors. Of course yours can, too, dear old Hyacinth, though you aren’t so old, are you? But I last all through the summer, and you are just a glorious spring flower.”

“Then it’s no wonder you get tired out. And you have to give the bumblebees honey. Your honey is very fine, I have heard.”

“And don’t forget the humming-birds,” said the Honeysuckle. “They love me every bit as much as the bumblebees do. And I love them too! The little dears! But I must tell you the reason why I come up each year, even though sometimes it seems so hard.

“Years and years ago I was planted by a little girl—a little girl, Mary Alice, who loved flowers and who could always make them grow. And above all the flowers she loved her red Honeysuckle best of all. She watched over me. She gave me drinks. She dug up the earth around my roots. She made me so comfortable. And for a very special occasion she would pluck off a spray of my red blossoms and wear them.

“Now Mary Alice grew up to be a big lady—though she was never very big. She always seemed like a little girl to me, for she was so dainty, so small and so lovely. Her eyes were very blue and her hair very golden. But as the years went by each spring I noticed that silver was growing in her hair, and then one spring I saw that it was quite white.

“During all this time there were other little children growing up—and now there are some more. And I always saw my little girl—for I thought of her as that even when she was quite, quite old—smiling at all the little faces, and the children would smile at her—never scowls—always smiles. Somehow no one could have scowled at Mary Alice, and I don’t believe she ever scowled at any one. For when her hair was white, her forehead had no wrinkles.

“Every spring she would be waiting for me. ‘There comes my honeysuckle,’ she would say. The last few years it has been very hard to come up. My roots have lost their strength, but I have come along as best I could, for I have thought of Mary Alice and her smiles.

“Last year she was sitting by her window and looking out at me. ‘That honeysuckle is as old as I am,’ she said.

“And not long after that I missed seeing dear little old-young Mary Alice and her smiles when I wafted my fragrance through her window.

“But one day I saw the other people of the house and the children, too, looking at me. ‘The honeysuckle that she loved,’ they said. ‘Oh we hope it will keep on coming up each year, for it reminds us so of her. But it looks pretty old now.’

“So you see, little Hyacinth, I must come up, even though I am so very tired and old!”

APRIL 8: The Flower Parade

“We’ll tell you a story,” said the white lilac bush while the purple and Persian lilac bushes listened as did the garden flowers.

“We’d like to hear a story,” the fairies said.

“You see,” said the white lilac bush, “we are all a part of the great Flower Parade. When the snow leaves the ground the crocus flowers appear and take the lead in the parade. They are like the drum-major who leads the procession, but instead of tossing a fancy stick into the air, they lift up their little heads and tell the world that spring has come.

“Next follow the hyacinths, the tulips, daffodils, narcissus flowers, garden violets, pansies, and little daisies. They all are about in the same part of the parade. And when they come we appear too, as well as the flowering almond shrubs and many others.

“But the pansies, little daisies and garden violets blossom all through the season, so they’re like the small boys who run along by the side of the parade—almost anywhere, at any time.

“And after we go the flowers will still keep on parading. The lilies-of-the-valley are marching now, and soon the dear forget-me-nots with their blue, blue eyes will come.

“The rockets, peonies, honeysuckles and roses all will follow along, making a very handsome part of the parade. And later on the phlox, larkspur so blue, and foxglove will follow.

“These are the flowers that come up year after year and they are the ones which belong to the great Flower Parade. It takes a whole spring and summer and early autumn to see the whole parade. But it’s worth seeing, and though we can’t be here all the time, we’re glad for our part of the parade—we are.”

And the fairies knew that the lilac bush was right and a parade of gorgeous garden flowers would continue all summer.

APRIL 9: The Big Parade

“I want to tell you of a parade which took place some time ago,” said daddy.