Chapter VI: Part II: A Group of Workers (2)

One day when the Scotch king, Robert Bruce, lay sick and discouraged in a lonely shed, he watched the patient efforts of a spider to repair its web. Six times she tried to throw the frail thread from one beam to another, and six times she failed.

"Six times have I been beaten in battle," said Bruce. "I know how to pity that poor spider."

But the spider was not discouraged. A seventh time she flung her thread, and this time she succeeded in fastening it to the beam.

Bruce sprang to his feet. "I will try once more," he said, and went forth to victory. Since that day, the story goes, no member of the family of Bruce will injure a spider.

THE WOODMOUSE.

Do you know the little woodmouse,
That pretty little thing,
That sits among the forest leaves,
Or by the forest spring?
Its fur is red like the chestnut,
And it is small and slim,
It leads a life most innocent,
Within the forest dim.

It makes a bed of the soft, dry moss,
In a hole that's deep and strong,
And there it sleeps secure and warm,
The dreary winter long;
And though it keeps no calendar,
It knows when flowers are springing,
And it waketh to its summer life,
When nightingales are singing.
MARY HOWITT.

A MOUSE'S STORY.

Men call me a thief. I wonder if they are right. I used to live in the fields, and I found nuts and acorns in the woods for my little family. Then a man came. He dug up my field and planted his own crops. He destroyed my home and killed my little children. He said that the nuts were his, and the field, too, was his. I thought they were mine.

Now I have to live on what I can find near his house. I am sure I eat a great deal that he would not care for. Usually I am half-starved. It seems to me as if the world were big enough for me to have a corner of it in peace.

I dare say the man thinks that he is wholly in the right. He says I am very troublesome, and he sets a trap every night to catch me. One night I was caught by the paw, and held for hours in an agony of fright and pain. I have been lame ever since. He would have been kinder if he had killed me outright.

There is another dreadful trap which does not hurt at all at first, and it is often used for this reason. There is a little door which opens easily, and you find yourself in a wire house. There you starve to death, unless some one comes to drown you. If we are to be caught in traps, I wish that we might be put out of pain at once.

WISE RATS.

Rats are clever and intelligent, and in their way are very useful. In large cities they eat the garbage which collects in harbors and at the mouths of drains. This would cause sickness if it were not removed.

Although the rat's work takes him into the foulest places, he always keeps himself neat and tidy. To wash his coat he uses his tongue and paws in the same way that a cat uses hers, and he invariably takes such a bath after he has been eating or working.

Rats are disliked and hunted by men, yet they often shield our homes from the danger of disease. When rats infest a place it is proof that there is work for them to do, and though they may easily become a plague, we should remember that it was probably our own carelessness which first brought them.

The intelligence shown by rats is remarkable. They have frequently been known to carry eggs up and down stairs in their paws; one rat pushing the egg and others receiving it. It happened, one day, that a trap was set and carefully watched. A young rat was about to step upon the fatal spring, when the watcher saw an old rat rush to the rescue. The little one was seized by the tail and promptly dragged off to his hole. Probably he was told to be less reckless in future.

Rats have great courage and devotion, as many stories prove. Once, when some rats were being driven from a ship, a young rat was seen carefully making its way along a rope, with an old and feeble rat upon its back. It shrank from the stick in a seaman's hand, and it might easily have saved its own life if it had been willing to leave its companion. Instead of running away, however, it went on bravely and carefully in the face of danger. The gallant animal was allowed to reach a place of safety, amid the cheers of the crew, who knew how to appreciate such devotion and sacrifice.

Rats are said to become warmly attached to the friends who care for them. A minister had a pet rat which liked to sit on his desk. One day, having poked its nose into the ink-bottle, the rat was in evident discomfort in consequence. The minister went for a saucer of water, saying, "There, wash your face!" The neat little fellow carefully scrubbed its inky nose, first with one paw and then with the other, holding up at last a clean and satisfied face for its friend's inspection.

While rats may be useful and brave and wise, they are not good housemates. Cleanliness and care, however, are usually sufficient to keep them out of houses and storerooms, and a good cat makes an excellent policeman. In our wish to be rid of the company of the rats there is no excuse for treating them with cruelty.

THE SQUIRREL'S STORY.

Do you know who planted that little butternut tree in the field? I planted it; I, a tiny gray squirrel.

To tell the truth, I did not think of setting out a tree when I dropped my nut in the ground. I meant to leave it in a safe place until I was ready to eat it, and I forgot where it was. The first thing I knew it was sending up a fine green shoot through the loose earth.

I suppose you think I steal your nuts. Please remember that I plant nut trees, too. That ought to be put down to my credit.

I have a very pleasant home, high up in a large elm tree. It is carefully hidden so that the boys may not see it. That is the most important thing to think of in building a house.

My house is made of the smallest twigs, of dry grass, and of straw that I found in the field. I built it near a house where all the family are kind to me. The children feed me with apples and nuts.

I have had some happy days in my life, but I have had some sad ones, too. The saddest days were when I lost my two little children.

The brightest child I ever had was Chippy. He liked to ask questions and look at every new thing he saw. This was all very well if he had been a little more careful. One day when I was away, Chippy saw a box under the tree. Down he went to see what was in the box. Of course you know what happened. Chippy was caught in a trap.

The boy who had set the trap carried Chippy home and put him in a cage. He was kind to the little fellow and gave him fruit and nuts to eat. Still Chippy was not happy. He longed for the green trees and a frolic in the open fields.

For several days after Chippy was caught, I was very unhappy, but I tried to be cheerful for the sake of my dear little Bushy Tail. Then I lost this little one in a way that is almost too sad to think of.

Bushy Tail was playing in a tree one day, running up and down and jumping from limb to limb, when some boys saw him among the green leaves.

They began at once to stone him. Poor little Bushy Tail ran up the tree as far as he could, but at last a stone hit him. For a minute he clung trembling to the branch, and I hoped he was not hurt, but another stone struck him and he fell.

The boys shouted when they saw him fall, but a little girl ran and picked him up so gently that I have loved her ever since that day. I was his mother, but I could not help him.

She carried him to a house near by and put him in a box filled with soft grass, but the little fellow was badly hurt. Three days later I saw her bury him in her little garden, and I knew his pain was over.

I went home feeling that I could never be happy again, but a great surprise was in store for me. When I had climbed up to my nest, there sat Chippy, safe and sound.

"My dearest Chippy, how did you get out of the cage?" I asked.

"Frank let me out," said the joyful Chippy. "He was watching me this morning, and at last he said, 'Chippy, I don't believe I should like to run in a wheel if I had been used to running in trees. I think those wires must make your feet sore. I am sure I should like my own home better than this dull cage. Chippy, old fellow, I am going to let you out.'

"Didn't I run! I forgot to say 'Thank you,' I was so happy, but I think he knew how glad I was."

FORBEARANCE.

Hast thou named all the birds without a gun? Loved the wood-rose, and left it on its stalk? At rich men's tables eaten bread and pulse? Unarmed, faced danger with a heart of trust? And loved so well a high behavior, In man or maid, that thou from speech refrained, Nobility more nobly to repay? O, be my friend, and teach me to be thine! RALPH WALDO EMERSON.

THE STEEL TRAP.

In a little village in the northwestern part of America there once lived a boy named Amos Hunt. In that part of the country the trade in furs is extensively carried on, and Amos frequently caught some of the smaller wild animals in his steel traps.

One morning, early in the winter, Amos went into the woods to look at two of his traps. As he came near the first one, he saw that a fine mountain mink was caught in it. The poor creature was struggling to escape, but the teeth of the trap held its leg so firmly that the more it tried to get away, the more cruelly its flesh was torn.

Amos ran toward the trap, when suddenly his foot slipped, and he was thrown violently to the ground. He felt a sharp pain in his ankle, which was held fast so that he could not move. He was caught in the other trap, which, in his excitement, he had forgotten.

He was not frightened at first, for he thought he could easily set himself free, but the chain would not yield an inch. Soon his ankle began to swell, causing him the most intense pain when he tried to move. The teeth of the trap pressed closer and closer into the aching flesh, and he knew that he could only wait for help to come to him.

Not far from where he lay was the mink, suffering similar agony, and after struggling in vain to set himself free Amos watched the frightened, trembling little creature. It panted with terror, uttering now and then low moans of pain.

For the first time, Amos realized how cruel he had been, and as he thought of the long hours which would pass before any one came to look for him, he wished that he might at least set his fellow-sufferer free.

"Poor little creature!" he said. "This may be a punishment for my cruelty. I know now how much pain my traps have given."

No one came and the long day went by. Night darkened, and the woods were cold and dreary. Amos was chilled through, and thought with longing of the warm fire at home. The little mink was still now. Amos hoped its sufferings were over. He almost wished that his own might end in the same way.

Suddenly, very early in the morning, there was a noise in the bushes, and a man came towards the traps. He saw at once what was the matter and ran to set the boy free.

"Now," said he, "you must get on my back and I will try to carry you home."

"Wait a minute," said Amos. "I have a fellow-prisoner there in that other trap. If he is dead, I wish you would bury him. No one shall ever have his fur to sell, and I will never catch another animal in that fashion."

The hunter walked over to the other trap and looked at the mink closely.

"I think it is still alive," he said.

"Put my comforter round it," said Amos. "I am going to take it home."

So the mink was carefully wrapped in the comforter and laid in the hunter's bag. Then they started homewards. There was great rejoicing when the missing lad appeared, and the little mink was taken out of the bag by gentle hands and kindly cared for. It became tame and affectionate, and when it was quite well again Amos took it to the mountains and let it go free.

As for the boy trapper, that was the last time that he ever set a trap for any of the creatures of the woods. "Even a cage-trap must cause much suffering from fright," Amos would say. "I shall not soon forget how terrible it is to be a prisoner."

Adapted from a story by Mrs. C. Fairchild Allen.

One lesson, shepherd, let us two divide, Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels. WORDSWORTH.

THE RABBIT.

Rabbits are such gentle, pretty, furry little creatures that boys and girls like to make pets of them. A caged pet needs much more care and intelligent kindness than one that can run free, and the poor little rabbit is often made very miserable.

A boy or girl who is truly kind can take little pleasure in playing jailer to some unhappy prisoner who longs for the sunshine and green grass. Sometimes, however, the care of such a pet is forced upon one, and it is well to know how to make imprisonment as easy as possible.

The rabbit lives on vegetable food, cropping leaves and grass, and gnawing the young shoots of trees. Its teeth are beautifully adapted to the purpose. In the front of both jaws are two long, flat teeth, with, sharp edges like a chisel. As so much filing and scraping wear away the teeth very fast, these keep on growing from the root. Each upper front tooth meets one in the lower jaw, so that the constant rubbing against each other keeps both the right length. Sometimes one tooth is broken and the other goes on growing till it stands out like the tusk of an elephant. Then the poor rabbit, unable to gnaw its food, dies of starvation.

A tame rabbit should have carrots and turnips to gnaw, and sometimes young tree-twigs and cabbage stalks. If it has nothing hard to rub its teeth against, they will grow too fast, and the rabbit will be unable to bite anything.

In feeding tame rabbits, try to give them their green food with the dew upon it. A sprinkling of fresh water will answer the same purpose. They need plenty of water, and both food and drink must be kept fresh and sweet. Rabbits love the sunshine. They were made to live in warm, sunny lands, and they are too often shut up in cold, damp places.

A rabbit is the most timid creature in the world, but the devoted little mother will fight for her babies if she sees them in any danger. When she burrows in the warm, sandy earth to make a snug home for her family, she strips the soft fur from her own breast to line the beds of grass for her little ones to sleep in. Sometimes a mother rabbit's chest is raw and bleeding for days after making her nest. She is timid because she is so defenseless, but no one can call her a coward. Timid folk are often braver in times of real danger than the strong and daring ones.

Rabbits require variety in their food as much as we do. In summer there are many weeds which are a great treat to them. Dandelion, plantain, clover, grass and hay, with an occasional sprig of parsley, will give them much pleasure. In winter they may have carrots, turnips, and parsnips with barley meal and some oats. Too much green food is likely to make them ill, and too much grain is equally harmful. If we prevent them from finding their own food, we ought to give them the best we can, so that they may be well and happy.

DAVID'S STORY.

A man was fishing by the river. Splashes near by, round the bend, sounded now and then. David grumbled mildly to himself. Voices rose suddenly, and the splashing ceased. Presently a small boy came breaking through the bushes.

"Well, Sammy?" said David inquiringly.

"It's mean," said Sammy, in an explosive fashion. "A boy came and spoiled all my fun. Now I haven't anything to do."

"Too bad," said David. "How was it?"

"I was throwing stones at the biggest bullfrog you ever saw. That boy came along and made him jump."

"Anything else?" asked David. His voice was calmly indifferent.

"He said I was a coward," added the small boy.

"So you are!" said David. "The meanest kind of coward I know."

Sammy sat down on a flat rock to consider this astonishing remark. David drew up a lively fish, which he killed with a sharp blow on the back of its head.

"What did you do that for?" asked Sammy, glad to change the subject.

"To save his feelings," was the brief answer.

"Ho!" said Sammy contemptuously. "He hasn't any feelings."

"Nonsense!" said David in sudden wrath. "Does he wriggle? Yes. Why? Because he suffers out of water. I've caught him to eat, and I owe it to him not to make him suffer any more than is necessary. What did that boy say to you about the frogs?"

"He said frogs were good for something in the pond."

"So they are," said David. "When they are growing up they live on the decaying weeds and the rubbish which would be dangerous if left in stagnant water. What else did he say?"

"He said they were pretty," said Sammy scornfully.

"That's true, too," said David. "That boy knew a good deal. They are as handsome as they are harmless. Did you ever know of a frog's doing any harm? Well, that's more than can be said of boys."

Sammy was silent for a minute.

"They don't know much," he said at last.

David looked round quickly.

"Now who told you that?" said he. "In the first place, if ignorance were any excuse for tormenting a poor creature, I might make you wretched for an hour or two. Fortunately for you, it isn't. We don't have to stop and ask what you know before we can be kind to you. But you make a mistake if you think frogs are stupid. See how well they dive and swim! I have been trying all summer, and I can't dive like that. They don't ever go down on their shoulders and stick their heads in the mud. I taught a frog to come and eat out of my hand. That was a brave thing for him to do. He knew as well as you know what some boys would have done to him."

Sammy was beginning to look ashamed.

"There's just one thing more," said David. "When you have to kill anything, kill it as quickly as you can. Don't let it suffer pain. There isn't any excuse for half the suffering there is in this world. Did you ever hear the story of Theodore Parker and the frogs?"

"No," said Sammy; "I should like to."

"When he was a little boy, perhaps less than four years old, he had to go home alone by a frog-pond where he had seen boys stoning frogs. He raised his hand to throw a stone at a frog, when he heard a voice say, 'Don't.' He looked all around but could see no one, and he raised his hand again to stone the frog. Again he heard a voice say, 'Don't.' Still he could see no one. He was frightened, and running, home to his mother he told her about it, and asked who it was that said, 'Don't.' She took him on her knee and told him that it was the voice of God speaking in his heart, and that if he would always listen to it he would grow up to be a good man."

"Will you take me fishing this afternoon?" said Sammy, after a long pause.

"No, I will not," said David with emphasis. "I don't go fishing for fun, and I have here all that I need."

"May I go swimming with you then?" persisted Sammy.

"Of course you may," said David cordially. "We'll see if we can swim any better than the frogs. I haven't much hope of it, but we can try."

"All right," said Sammy as he rose to go. He had gone not more than thirty feet before he stopped. "I won't stone them any more, David," he called back over his shoulder. Then he went on into the woods.

I would not enter on my list of friends, Though graced with polished manners and fine sense Yet wanting sensibility, the man Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. COWPER.

SOME READY HELPERS.

We often fail to understand some of our best friends in the animal world. We know so little about them that we think they are useless and uninteresting. Frogs, and especially toads, are often the objects of unjust dislike, yet their lives are very useful and full of interest.

The toad and frog are somewhat alike. Both come from eggs laid in the water, and both begin life as little swimming tadpoles.

The young toad, when he is a tadpole, is sprinkled all over with very fine spots, which look like gold-dust, while the frog tadpole is dark.

The first few weeks of a toad's life are spent in a ditch or a pond. Here he lives on water-weeds and dead leaves. After a while he eats water-insects and small grubs.

While living in the water the little toad looks very much like a fish. He has a large head and a long tail. He breathes through two branches, like feathers, which are called gills. These gills grow on each side of his head.

The toad changes very much before he is ready to live on land. In the water he has no legs, but soon he has four. His gills are gone and he draws in air through his throat. He is going to begin a new life. In the spring the toads go back to the shore of the pond. Mrs. Toad knows that her eggs must be hatched in the water, although she prefers to live on the land.

Frogs must live near the water, for they will die if their skins are not kept moist and cool. Yet they cannot live long in the water, and a drowned frog is no uncommon sight. Kind-hearted boys and girls should remember this, and be ready to lend a helping hand to some poor frog that finds the sides of his swimming-place too steep for him to climb.

Young toads are very sensitive to heat, and secrete themselves in cool places during the day. A summer shower will bring them out by the dozens, so that many ignorant people think that the thirsty creatures have "rained down." Mr. Toad carries under his skin a great many small sacs full of liquid. This keeps him cool and comfortable, no matter how dusty his home may be. If he is frightened he can defend himself with this liquid, which is harmless to the hands, but probably bitter and disagreeable to the taste, since dogs and cats show signs of discomfort after taking toads in their mouths. Care should be taken to wash one's hands after touching a toad, as this liquid is also very irritating to the eyes, and might be rubbed into them.

The most curious thing about a toad is its tongue. This is very long, and its tip is turned backward into the mouth. It can dart out and snap up a fly or a beetle so quickly that it is almost impossible to see the motion.

Toads are not only harmless, but they are our very good friends. If they are not disturbed they will live a long time in one place, and destroy many bugs and insects that injure our gardens.

It has been estimated that every year in this country property to the amount of $400,000,000 is destroyed by insects. If this is true all creatures which feed upon insects are entitled to our care and gratitude.

The United States Department of Agriculture has published a paper on the toad. It estimates that he saves to the farmer, by eating the cutworms which destroy the crops, about twenty dollars every season.

Toads eat the common house-fly, which is such an annoyance to us. A toad has been seen to snap up eighty-six flies in less than ten minutes.

Toads are sometimes kept for pets, and they are not lacking in intelligence. Once a toad lived in a garden, and every day at the dinner hour he came to be fed. It happened that the dinner hour was changed, and when the toad came there was nothing for him to eat. Mr. Toad made up his mind that he would not lose his dinner twice. On the second day he came at the new hour, and after this he was as punctual as the rest of the family. No one could tell how he knew that in the future his dinner would be served two hours earlier.

The toad is often the victim of thoughtless cruelty. He can do no one any harm. He cannot even run away when he is stoned and tormented. The fun of teasing him must be like that of beating a baby or a helpless cripple. No one but a coward could ever think it an amusing thing to do.

Perhaps no animal is so misunderstood as the bat. He seems such a queer compound of mouse and bird, and to most of us he is such a stranger, that we do not have a very friendly feeling for him.

Of course you know that he is not a bird at all. Birds have feathers and the bat has soft, smooth fur. He is absolutely harmless, unless frightened or hurt, and he is a very useful little fellow. He eats mosquitoes and house-flies and the insects that cause most of the worm- eaten apples.

Bats fly only at night. They soon become friendly with any one who is kind to them, and will come to be fed or stroked. One who has studied them says that the good they do is very great and that the value of one of the little animals might easily amount to fifty dollars a year.

Are we not unjust to any living creature when we shrink from it because to us it does not seem beautiful? It may well be that our eyes are too dull to see its real beauty. But whether we can see the beauty or not, it is only fair that we should recognize the service which we are so willing to accept.

A TRIUMPH.

Little Roger up the long slope rushing
Through the rustling corn,
Showers of dew-drops from the broad leaves brushing,
In the early morn,

At his sturdy little shoulder bearing,
For a banner gay,
Stem of fir with one long shaving flaring
In the wind away!

Up he goes, the summer sunrise flushing
O'er him in his race,
Sweeter dawn of rosy childhood blushing
On his radiant face;

If he can but set his standard glorious
On the hill-top low,
Ere the sun climbs the clear sky victorious,
All the world aglow!

So he presses on with childish ardor,
Almost at the top!
Hasten, Roger! Does the way grow harder?
Wherefore do you stop?

From below the corn-stalks tall and slender
Comes a plaintive cry;
Turns he for an instant from the splendor
Of the crimson sky,

Wavers, then goes flying toward the hollow,
Calling loud and clear,
"Coming, Jenny! Oh, why did you follow?
Don't you cry, my dear!"

Small Janet sits weeping 'mid the daisies;
"Little sister sweet,
Must you follow Roger?" Then he raises
Baby on her feet,

Guides her tiny steps with kindness tender,
Cheerfully and gay,
All his courage and his strength would lend her
Up the uneven way,

Till they front the blazing east together;
But the sun has rolled
Up the sky in the still summer weather,
Flooding them with gold.

All forgotten is the boy's ambition,
Low the standard lies,
Still they stand, and gaze--a sweeter vision
Ne'er met mortal eyes.

That was splendid, Roger, that was glorious,
Thus to help the weak;
Better than to plant your flag victorious
On earth's highest peak!
CELIA THAXTER.