Chapter V: Part I: CIVIC Virtues (2)

Do you realize that a dog is the only animal which
makes people its companions and playmates?

How should we treat dogs?

* * * * *

MEMORY GEM

If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching, or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin to its nest again,
I shall not live in vain.

LITTLE LOST PUP

He was lost!—not a shade of doubt of that;
For he never barked at a slinking cat,
But stood in the square where the wind blew raw,
With drooping ear and a trembling paw,
And a mournful look in his pleading eye,
And a plaintive sniff at the passerby,
That begged as plain as tongue could sue,
“Oh, mister, please may I follow you?”
A lorn wee waif of tawny brown
Adrift in the roar of a heedless town.
Oh, the saddest of sights in a world of sin
Is a little lost pup with his tail tucked in.

Well, he won my heart (for I set great store
On my own red Brute—who is here no more),
So I whistled clear, and he trotted up,
And who so glad as that small pup?
Now he shares my board, and he owns my bed,
And he fairly shouts when he hears my tread.
Then, if things go wrong, as they sometimes do,
And the world is cold and I’m feeling blue,
He asserts his rights to assuage my woes
With a warm red tongue and a nice cold nose,
And a silky head on my arm or knee,
And a paw as soft as a paw can be.
When we rove the woods for a league about,
He’s as full of pranks as a school let out;
For he romps and frisks like a three-months’ colt
And he runs me down like a thunder bolt.
Oh, the blithest of sights in the world so fair
Is a gay little pup with his tail in the air!
—_Arthur Guiterman._

WRITE A STORY ABOUT THIS PICTURE.]

THE HUNTING PARTY

Mrs. Pussy, sleek and fat,
With her kittens four,
Went to sleep upon a mat
By the kitchen door.

Mrs. Pussy heard a noise;
Up she sprang in glee.
“Kittens, maybe it’s a mouse—
Let us go and see.”

Creeping, creeping, soft and low,
Silently they stole,
But the little mouse had crept
Back into its hole.

“Well,” said Mrs. Pussy then,
“Homeward let us go;
We shall find our supper there,
That I surely know.”

Home went hungry Mrs. Puss
With her kittens four,
Found their supper on a plate
By the kitchen door.
—_Selected._

QUESTIONS

What do you think of people who do not care for and
feed the cats they own?

Do you know that a cat that is well cared for, and kept
in the house at night is not likely to catch birds,
because cats catch birds in the early morning and at
twilight?

What do you think of people who move away from a place
and leave their cats behind? What will become of the
cats?

What should people do with cats they do not care to
take away? Do you know where the nearest S. P. C. A.
office is?

What good service does the cat do for people?

Why are rats and mice dangerous to our health?

How many toes has a cat on front paws? On back paws?

Which way does the fur lie on the under side of the
legs?

THE LOST KITTY

Stealing to an open door, craving food and meat,
Frightened off with angry cries and broomed into the street;
Tortured, teased, and chased by dogs, through the lonely night,
Homeless little beggar cat, sorry is your plight.
—_Ella Wheeler Wilcox._

QUESTIONS

If you cannot care for or feed a stray cat, what is the
kindest thing to do?

How does it save the birds to see that stray cats
either are given a home or are taken to a cat refuge?

MY PECULIAR KITTY

I have a little kitty,
Just as cute as she can be;
But my! she is peculiar!
For she _eats_ her catnip tea!

After every meal she eats
She tidies up her head,
And washes carefully enough;—
But she never makes her bed!

I’m told a kitty cannot talk,
But my kitty every day
Tells me that she loves me
When we are at our play!

Yes, she tells me very plainly
And I will tell you how,—
I ask, “Who thinks a lot of me?”
She answers, “Me! Me—ow!”
—_J. E. F._

POOR LITTLE JOCKO

I.

On the porch of a comfortable old house, shaded by fine trees, a group of young girls were gathered around a small table, sewing.

Suddenly the harsh notes of a hand-organ came to their ears, disturbing the peaceful stillness of the summer afternoon.

Marion Johnson, who was visiting her cousins, laid aside her work and listened.

“Why, I do believe it is the very same man that came to our town a week ago,” she exclaimed. “He had with him a poor, miserable looking monkey, which he called Jocko.”

Just then they saw the organ-grinder, with the monkey perched on the, organ, coming up the village street. Seeing the girls on the porch, he turned up the walk.

“I think I shall call Aunt Kate,” remarked Marion, rising and going into the house.

Aunt Kate could always be depended upon to help any dumb creature needing a friend.

Aunt Kate’s face lost its usual look of quiet good humor, as she glanced over the porch railing and saw a tall swarthy man at the foot of the steps, carelessly turning the handle of a small squeaky organ.

Keeping time to the music, a weak little monkey danced very wearily. When his steps dragged he was brought up quickly with a sharp jerking of the chain which was fastened to his collar.

A cap was held on his head by a tight rubber band which passed under the chin. His gaudy dress was heavy and warm and seemed to weigh down his tired limbs.

Now and then, when he dared, Jocko laid a tiny brown hand on the tugging chain in an effort to ease it. With an appealing look he glanced up at his master, as if trying to make him understand how painfully the collar was cutting his thin neck.

II.

Aunt Kate’s mild blue eyes almost flashed as she motioned to the organ-grinder to stop playing.

“You no lika music?” he asked brokenly, glancing up at her in some surprise.

“Yes, that is right,” she answered, speaking very slowly and distinctly.

“We do not like the music; and we do not like to see that poor monkey dance; and, above all, we do not like to see you hurting his neck by pulling that chain.”

The look of sullen anger which came over the man’s face quickly disappeared when he saw the coin in Aunt Kate’s hand.

“I will give you this,” she said, holding up the piece of money, “if you will stay here and let Jocko rest for one hour.”

The organ-grinder smiled and sat down on the steps as a sign of agreement.

At first, Jocko could scarcely believe that he might rest his weary little legs and feet. After a while, however, he threw himself at full length upon the porch floor as some worn out child might have done.

Marion was left on guard to see that he was not disturbed when the others went to get food.

When they returned they found Jocko resting on a soft cushion, a comfort his little body had never known before.

Only after being promised more money did the organ-grinder permit Marion to take off Jocko’s hard leather collar, underneath which she had discovered sores.

She bandaged the tiny neck with soft linen spread with salve. She took off his cap, too, with its tight-cutting band.

When water was brought, Jocko drank with pitiful eagerness. Many hours had passed since he had had a drink, and his throat and lips were parched. He ate the food they offered him like a wild creature, for he was very hungry.

Every once in a while he would glance at the organ-grinder as though he feared punishment.

When the hour was up, the organ-grinder would stay no longer. As his master led him away, Jocko lifted his hat, just as if he wanted to thank Aunt Kate and the girls for their kindness.

“I never knew before,” said Marion, “how cruel it is to expect little monkeys to live such unnatural lives. I do hope the man will be more kind to Jocko after this.”

—_Mary Craige Yarrow—Adapted._

QUESTIONS

Why didn’t the girls and their aunt like to see the
little monkey dance?

What did they enjoy seeing it do?

Have you ever been very, very tired?

Can you imagine how you would feel if some giant would
not let you rest?

What kind of life is natural for monkeys?

Did you ever give a penny to an organ-grinder with a
monkey?

If everyone stopped giving money to men who use monkeys
for begging, how would it help the little monkeys?

ROBIN REDBREAST

“Cheer up! Cheer up!” sings Robin Redbreast every morning. “Listen to me! Listen to me! Oh, excuse me! I see, I see a feast!” and down he hops, hops, hops to the spot where he sees a nice fat worm wiggling out of the ground.

Perhaps it is an earthworm, perhaps it is a worse worm; but if it is an earthworm, you will have fun watching Robin.

He seizes the worm with his bill, then braces his feet against the earth, and pulls and pulls with all his might.

Out comes the worm with such a jerk that Robin almost topples over; but he doesn’t. He either eats the worm or flies away with it to his hungry little birdies.

Down he drops it into one of the wide open mouths in the nest.

Do you know how many earthworms one baby robin can eat in one day?

A man who loves birds once counted the worms that one pair of robins fed to their little ones, and found that each little robin ate sixty-eight earthworms in one day.

Sixty-eight earthworms if placed end to end would measure about fourteen feet. Just think what busy lives Mr. and Mrs. Robin Redbreast live, and how they love their little ones.

Robins eat many other kinds of worms besides earthworms, and they eat insects, too. They work hard to feed their babies, and in this way they do a wonderful thing for us, for the insects they eat would destroy the plants which we need.

You know bread really grows on tall grasses called wheat and rye, and oatmeal grows on a grass called oats.

There are millions of insects which like wheat and rye and oats as much as we do, and they would eat up all the crops if it were not for the birds that eat the insects. Now you can see why we call the birds our friends.

WHO KILLED COCK ROBIN?

Who killed Cock Robin?

No; it was not the sparrow with a bow and arrow. No—more likely a boy with an air rifle killed him, or a man with a gun who did not know what a wicked thing he was doing.

He did not know that he had killed one of his best friends.

He did not know that without the work of beautiful Robin Redbreast and other birds the world might go hungry.

What if robins do eat a few cherries? They like mulberries better. A wise farmer plants a Russian mulberry tree for the robins, and the mulberries save the cherries.

QUESTIONS

Do you know that millions of men and boys hunt and kill
birds “for fun” every year?

Do you know that millions of birds are killed each year
to be used in trimming women’s hats?

How many different birds can you name?

Can you tell the kinds of food each of them eats?

Do you know what kinds of nests they build?

What do you think of people who kill robins?

Have you ever placed food in a sheltered place for
birds in winter when it is hard for them to find a
living?

MY FRIEND, MR. ROBIN

When I was only about six years of age, a Robin Redbreast that we used to feed got so tame that he would fly in through the window to our breakfast table.

In the spring he delighted us by bringing a small family of Roblings to the window sill of the room as if to introduce them to the people who had helped him through the hard winter!

Another special bird that I remember was a one-legged sparrow that used to be among the birds that came when we were living in Bucking-ham-shire. We always called him “Timber-toes.”

He came to us for two or three winters, so that, even with but one leg, he must have picked up a living somehow.

—_Little Folks._

+-------------------------------------------------+
| A WINTER MENU FOR BIRDS |
| |
| Crumbs of bread swept off the breakfast table. |
| |
| Morsels of fish and meat. |
| |
| Bones hung on strings from tree branches. |
| |
| Strips of bacon rind cut up into small bits. |
| |
| Small seeds of any kind. (These may be gathered |
| in summer and saved.) |
+-------------------------------------------------+

QUESTIONS

Did you ever make a house for a little house wren?

Little Jenny Wren is looking for a house every spring.
She is a very friendly neighbor. Why not make her a
house with a doorway too small for Mrs. Sparrow to
squeeze through? Make the opening only one inch wide.

* * * * *

The meadow lark is one of our very helpful birds. Do
you know the colors of the meadow lark’s feathers?

IF ALL THE BIRDS SHOULD DIE

Now, I want to tell you something that is worth knowing. It is this. If all the birds in the world should die, all the boys and girls in the world would have to die also. There would not be one boy or girl left alive; they would all die of starvation.

And the reason is this. Most small birds live on insects; they eat millions and millions of insects. If there were no birds, the insects would increase so that they would eat up all vegetation. The cattle, and horses, and sheep, and swine, and poultry would all die, and we should have to die also.

Now, what I want all of you to remember, is that every time you kill one of these little insect-eating birds, it means that thousands of insects the bird would have eaten are going to live to torment us; and every time you take an egg from one of these little birds’ nests, that means one less bird to eat the insects. I do not like mosquitoes and insects. I think it is better that the birds should live and eat the insects, than that the birds should die and the insects eat us.

—_George T. Angell._

QUESTIONS

If a bird in a cage could speak, what do you think it
would say?

Can it tell you when it has no drinking water?

Do you know that thirst is worse than hunger?

Do you know that a person can do without food much
longer than without water?

What do birds do for farmers?

What do they do for you? Don’t you think it would be
foolish to destroy them?

Do you think it right to keep wild birds in cages? Why
not?

Did you ever notice the beautiful doves or pigeons in
the city?

Why are they so tame?

* * * * *

Don’t rob the birds of their eggs, boys,
’Tis cruel and heartless and wrong;
And remember, by breaking an egg, boys,
We may lose a bird with a song.

FURRY

My house is in a little grove of oak trees.

Every winter I feed several gray squirrels with nuts.

Every day about noon a big father squirrel comes and scratches on my kitchen window.

There he sits on the sill, watching with bright eyes until I open the window and throw out some nuts.

The more timid squirrels are seated on the ground looking up at the window. They catch the nuts and scamper away with them up to the tops of the trees. But not Furry. He takes nuts from my hands, and holding them in his little finger-claws, gnaws away the shell faster than I can count ten. He acts quite like a little pig sometimes, for he asks for more than he needs.

What do you think he does with them?

He jumps down with one in his mouth and starts to dig. As soon as the hole is deep enough to suit him he buries the nut, packing the earth carefully over it to make it look as though the ground had not been disturbed.

Then back he comes for another nut.

If all the nuts he plants were acorns and he should forget to come and find half of them when he is hungry—how big my oak forest would be!

QUESTIONS

I.

Have you ever fed a squirrel?

Where have you seen the largest number together?

Why were they not afraid?

How do mother squirrels carry their babies from one
place to another?

How do mother cats carry their babies?

If mothers did not love their babies so much, what
would happen to all animals and people?

Do we have to thank squirrels for some of our trees?
Why?

II.

Did you ever wish your doll or rocking horse were alive?

Could anyone make them live?

Isn’t being alive the most wonderful thing you can
think of?

Doesn’t it make you glad to think of the little wild
things living in the out-of-doors?

Name some of the animals living in the woods.

Would the country be as pleasant without them?

Why should you dislike to hurt any of them?

III.

Do you know that if people do not stop hunting wild
ducks, mountain sheep, deer, and other animals they may
all be killed?

Did you ever see a reindeer?

Did you notice its beautiful eyes?

Would it be fun to fight a baby?

Are not many animals as helpless as babies when they
are hunted?

Don’t you think it is cowardly to shoot little helpless
animals “for fun”?

THE GROCER’S HORSE

I. The Careless Driver

It was the week before Christmas. Everybody was ordering all sorts of good things to be sent home “just as soon as possible.”

The grocer’s boy, John, was on duty early. Soon many baskets were filled with orders to be delivered.

The horse was hurried out of the stable before he had quite finished his breakfast, and John soon had the baskets piled into the wagon.

“Be lively, now,” the grocer said. “Get back as soon as you can.”

John jumped on the wagon, seized the whip and gave the horse a sharp cut to begin the day with.

John kept the whip in his hand. If the horse held up his pace a minute to give himself a chance to breathe, another snap of the whip kept him on the run.

At the different houses where he left the groceries John rushed in and out as quickly as possible. In several places he was given fresh orders for articles that were needed.

So the morning passed, and dinner time arrived. As John put the horse in the stable he could not help seeing that his breath came hard and fast, and that he was wet with sweat.

“I guess it won’t do to give him any water, he is so hot,” John said, as he hurriedly put a scanty allowance of dry feed into the manger.

The worn-out horse, trembling in every nerve with the fatigue of going hard all the morning, was almost choking with thirst.

When John hurried in to his dinner, the first thing he asked for was something warm to drink. His mother gave him a cup of hot cocoa, and a good dinner, which he ate rapidly. Then off he started for the afternoon’s work.

“Hurry up,” said the grocer as soon as John appeared. “Get out the horse and take these baskets; they are all rush orders.”

“I went to Mrs. Bell’s twice this morning,” said John. “I should think she might give all her order at one time and not keep us running there all day.”

“I can’t help it. She is a good customer. Hurry up,” answered the grocer.

John ran out to the barn. He certainly had meant to give the horse water before he started out again, but being hurried, he forgot it. In a few minutes, whip in hand, he was urging the tired, thirsty horse again over the road.

Toward the close of the afternoon the horse began to hang his head. When John touched him up with the whip he did not go any faster. When he stopped for the third time at Mrs. Bell’s house his legs were trembling and he closed his eyes as if he were going to sleep.

Mrs. Bell looked out of the window and said to her Aunt Sarah, who was visiting her, “I think it is a shame for Mr. Rush to let that boy race his horse so all day. Every time he comes here the horse is in a sweat, and now he looks as if he would drop. It is wicked to work a horse so!”

Her aunt replied, “Yes, the horses have to suffer for man’s thoughtlessness, and woman’s, too. He’s been here three times to-day, hasn’t he?” But Mrs. Bell did not see the point of the reply.

II. What Happened in the Barn

It was seven o’clock before John put the horse in the stable. He remembered then that he had given him no water all day. As he did not want to be obliged to go out to the barn again he gave him a pail of ice-cold water, which the horse drank greedily. Then he put his supper before him and left him.

He did not stop to rub down the aching legs or to give the faithful, exhausted creature any further attention. He just threw a blanket over him and closed the barn for the night.

When John came to the store the next morning a very angry looking grocer met him at the door. “You can go home as soon as you like. I won’t have a boy that drives my horse to death,” he said.

“Is the horse dead?” asked John, turning pale.

“It is not your fault if he is not dead. I have been up nearly all night with him, and I must get another horse to take his place until he is well.”

“You told me to hurry every time I went out,” answered John.

“Well, if you had any sense, you would know when a horse is used up and rest him,” replied the grocer.

The horse died that day; and the grocer, the boy driver, and Mrs. Bell were all to blame.

The grocer ought not to have trusted a boy who had no sympathy for animals. Such a boy is not fit to drive and care for a horse.

John was too selfish to give the horse time to breathe or to eat, and he did not care whether he was made comfortable in the stable or not.

Mrs. Bell was thoughtless in giving her orders; so she made the horse take many unnecessary trips to her house.

So a willing, patient animal was neglected and worked to death, when with good care he might have lived many years and done faithful work. This all happened because the man, the boy, and the woman had never learned to be thoughtful and kind.

—_Mrs. Huntington Smith—Adapted._

QUESTIONS

What do you think of a man who is cruel to horses?

Do you think people respect such a person?

Did you ever hear that “cruelty is the meanest crime”?

How would you treat a pony? A horse?

Did you ever read “Black Beauty”?

Which should you like better for a friend—a man who is
kind to animals or a man who does not care how they are
treated, just so that he gets his work done?

When you are hurt, or sick, what do you do?

Can a horse or any animal tell a friend when he is sick?

A LETTER FROM A HORSE

To the Lady of the House:

Please order your supplies for the day early in the
morning and all in one order. One daily trip to your
door is enough. Two trips will wear me out twice as
fast.

Telephoning in an extra order doubles the work for the
sales clerk and bookkeeper as well as for the driver
and horse. This adds to the cost of all you buy.

Hurry up orders make whippings for me.

Please think of those who serve you, both people and
horses.

Your obedient servant,
The Delivery Horse.

P. S. Some boys play with a whip over my back, not
meaning to hurt me, but I cannot see the fun. It makes
me nervous, and I get so tired by night from being
worried that I tremble all over. I know boys do not
think about that part.

T. D. Horse.

A PLEA FOR THE HORSE

Every horse will work longer and better if given three
ample meals daily; plenty of clean, fresh water; proper
shoes, sharpened in slippery weather; a blanket in
cold weather; a stall six feet by nine feet or room
enough to lie down; a fly net in summer and two weeks’
vacation each year. Do not use the cruel, tight check
rein, or closely fitting blinders which cause blindness.

SPARE THE WHIP

QUESTIONS

I.

Wouldn’t you have much more work to do if there were no
horses?

Have you ever been very tired?

Have you ever been very thirsty?

Could you ask for a drink of water?

Can a horse ask?

Don’t you suppose animals suffer terribly with thirst?

What would a horse say if he could talk?

Can you drive?

Did you ever stop to think that it is because a horse’s
mouth is so tender that the great strong animal does
what the driver wishes?

What do you think about jerking the reins?

Should we have as nice and comfortable houses or food
or clothing if we had no horses?

II.

Is the horse a laborer?

Has he a right to wages? What should they be?

How many meals a day should a horse have?

Can you imagine how it would seem if you were very,
very hungry to be taken into a place where tables were
spread with tempting food, and be driven past them
without a bite?

How do hungry horses feel when they see and smell
apples and grass?

Can you run as fast when you carry a heavy load as you
can with a light load?

Can a horse?

Did you ever burn your mouth?

Did you know that the steel bit, if put very cold in
the horse’s mouth, will burn off the skin of the tongue
and make the mouth sore—and perhaps prevent the horse
from eating?

Could the bit be easily warmed by dipping it into hot
water, or breathing on it to take out the frost?

Did you ever stop to think that every creature that is
alive can suffer?

III.

Did you ever see a driver stop on a cold day and go
into a restaurant for a bowl of warm soup or a cup of
coffee?

Did he put a blanket on the horse?

Did you ever see a horse taken into a stable and given
a warm meal on a cold day?

Did you ever see non-skid chain-shoes for horses?

Do you know that burlap tied on the horses’ hoofs
answers the same purpose, and costs only a little time
and forethought?

* * * * *

The driver can best help this horse to get up by
spreading a blanket or carpet over the icy roadway
under his feet.