Chapter C: M. Hammil

A Day at the Farm.

It was Margery's and Trixy's birthday; they were exactly the same age, so they had only one birthday between them, but they had always gone shares in everything as long as they could remember, so they were quite happy in sharing their birthday. And what a splendid birthday this one had been! First of all, they had been allowed to choose their birthday treat, which was to go to Woodcote Farm.

They had driven to the farm in the morning, sitting on the box-seat of the waggonette by John, and as soon as they arrived they had gone all round the farmyard, and looked at the dear little ducks and chickens, and every other living creature on the place. They had well shaken the apple tree and filled their pockets with lovely rosy apples. After dinner they had gone out into the big field to have a game with old Dobbin. Dobbin seemed to understand that the children wished to catch him by his long tail, and would stand still until they nearly touched him, and then with a toss of his head would gallop off to the other side of the field, followed by the children, until at last, quite out of breath, they had flung themselves down under the willow by the side of the little stream.

The afternoon was warm, and Trixy was surely getting a little sleepy, when Margery suddenly jumped up. “Come, Trix,” she said, “I hear the waggonette;” and off they ran as fast as they could.

MARY HAMILTON.

Doggie's Woes.

I'm a doggie who has many troubles to tell,
For my master and mistress don't treat me quite well.
The worst of my woes I really must say
Is a horrid old muzzle I wear every day.

It's put on so tight and is so very strong,
Why if I tear and bite it the whole day long,
It would not come off, oh dear me no,
My spirits are sinking each day more low.

Then again there are those stupid fluffy things,
Who have funny beaks and curious wings;
Well, what do you think, they come round and stare,
And say to each other, “What's that fellow there?”

Yet I'm quite unable to frighten them now
Except by a very loud bow wow wow;
They know I can't bite them with this muzzle on,
So I hope I shall not have to wear it for long.

Off to the Front.

“We are off to the Front!” cried the three children when they were ready for their walk.

“Have you got all you want for the Front?” asked their mother, laughing.

“Yes, everything,” said May. “Tom has a drum and Bertie a bugle, and I am the rest of the army.”

“Very well. Don't be too long at the War, because tea will soon be ready. Better go to meet your father.”

“So we will!”

And away went the three over the white snow in the bright winter day; Tom beating the drum till it was a wonder the parchment did not burst, and Bertie blowing the bugle till he had hardly any breath left. What a splendid noise they all made together! Birds flew out of the hedges and rabbits scuttled away as the army marched on, feeling very warlike indeed; and presently met the army's father.

“Please be our General, father,” they begged, “and lead us against the enemy.”

“Certainly,” he replied; “but first we will return to camp and storm the tea-table.”

So home they went in the same fashion, with drum beating and bugle blowing.

After tea, the younger children also volunteered for the Front, and Uncle Bob was little Dick's horse, for of course cavalry was needed. How Uncle Bob pranced and galloped! The trumpeter nearly fell off his back, but went on blowing the trumpet all the same. Uncle Bob told him to blow it well away from the horse's ears, so Dick sat backwards. As for Baby, big brother Gerald put him on the rocking-horse, to be a rough-rider.

“The great thing is to learn to stick on,” said Gerald, “because you will find falling off is very easy. Hold the horse's nose, Nellie; it seems rather a wild one.”

At last everybody joined the army, except the cat. She sat on a chair and turned up her whiskers; for cats like peace and quietness, and there cannot be much of either when soldiers go to the Front.

Tommy's First Day at School.

“Tommy, my dear,” said the old Tabby Cat,
“Here is your pinafore, put on your hat,
And go off to school with the others at once:
We don't want our kitten to grow up a dunce.”

But Tommy was naughty, “I won't go,” he said.
“Well, choose,” said his mother, “between that and bed;
You either shall go off to school as I say,
Or go straight to bed for the rest of the day!”

At this Tommy's cousin looked in at the door,
And gave a loud mew of surprise when he saw
The kitten was crying:—“Why, what's that I see?
Come, Tommy,” he said, “come to school then with me.”

He took Tommy's paw, and old Tabby Cat said,
As she stood at the door with a cap on her head,
“Now, Tommy, remember! if good you will be,
I'll catch you a mouse or a rat for your tea.”

So Tommy was dragged by the paw up the lane,
Nor stopped he his mewing at all till they came
To where old Dame Smut kept a school for those cats,
Who learnt something more than the killing of rats.

The kitten ceased mewing, and gazed on the rows
Of good little cats, and he murmured, “Who knows
That p'raps after all I shall like school as well,
And quite enjoy learning to write and to spell!”

When lessons were over, Dame Smut said, “I see
That Tommy a very good kitten can be.”
And Tommy in triumph laughed gaily the while
He ate up the mouse for his tea with a smile.

EDITH GRABHAM.

Mister Jack-in-the-box.

“Hullo, hullo, here I am again!” cried Mister Jack-in-the-box, as he sprang up in a great hurry one day.

Then he looked all round him. He was wondering what could have happened to all his friends.

“This is very funny,” he said to himself. “I wonder where they can all be; they can't have gone to a party and left me behind. Besides, they have not had time to put on their best clothes, for I have only been having forty winks.”

That was what he thought, but he had really been asleep for a long time, and a great many things had happened which he knew nothing about.

Presently, Dobbin, the big wooden horse, came walking slowly by.

“Hullo,” cried Mister Jack-in-the-box, “How are you, my fine friend?”

“I am looking for a hairy skin,” said Dobbin, sadly. “Every horse is wearing one now; the fashion has changed since you went to sleep.”

“But I have only been having forty winks,” cried Mister Jack-in-the-box.

“Forty hundred,” corrected Dobbin. “Here comes Mister Zebra, he will tell you I am right in what I say.”

And Mister Zebra did.

“I don't know what will happen next,” he said, tearfully. “I am told that Teddy Bears are always asked for now that no one cares for zebras. I do think it is a little hard. I know Teddy Bears are hairy, but not one of them has a striped coat like mine.”

“Look at my legs,” said Dobbin. “No hairy horse ever had legs like mine.”

“I passed a whole new family on my way here,” sighed the Zebra. “There was an elephant that walked without wheels, a boat with sails, a doll with a voice, crackers with toys inside them, a Father Christmas with a real beard, and——”

“A hairy horse!” cried Dobbin.

“A hairy horse,” answered Mr. Zebra.

“Cheer up, cheer up, you boys,” chuckled Mister Jack-in-the-box. “There is plenty of room for us all in the world. Suppose we make a family all to ourselves, just we three old friends.”

And that is what they did.

NORA PITT-TAYLOR.

Hector Protector.

Hector Protector was dressed all in green,
Hector Protector was sent to the Queen,
The Queen did not like him, no more did the King,
So Hector Protector was sent back again.

The Muzzle that Fitted too much.

Tip tries to get his muzzle off—
But no—the strap's too tight!
The naughty ducklings laugh and jeer:
They see he cannot bite.

_In the Farmyard._

When Mrs. Quack, was coming back,
From seeing Mrs. Hen,
What did she see, but chickens three.
Quite far from mother's pen.

And then she found, all romping round,
Their mother in delight,
Two pups that she, could only see
Like balls of black and white.

A naughty chick, who tried to pick,
The wing from off a bee,
Was only told to be less bold,
And ran away quite free.

“Ha! ha!” said she, “'tis plain to see,
The farmyard's full of fun,
And so I think, I'll have a drink,
And warm me in the sun!”

By E. M. Whitaker

FIR TREE FARM.

Fir Tree Farm was the name of the big stone house, so the Squirrels thought they could not do better than call their house Fir Tree House, which they did.

There were three of them, Mr. and Mrs. Squirrel and Miss Brighteyes, their daughter.

Every morning at one o'clock they had lunch on the big branch that was very high up, because, you see, they knew very well that James and John were about, and James and John thought it fine fun to chase them. James and John were a terrible pair of pickles, very different to Joseph, the black poodle, but then he was a Frenchman, and he could not bear the ways of James and John, whom he looked upon as common terriers.

They used to bark at him, and make dreadful fun of him when he went out shopping with his mistress, carrying the basket for her.

James and John longed to make him fight them, but he never did, because nothing would make him put down the basket, and no dog can fight with a basket in his mouth.

Little Miss Brighteyes rather liked the look of the pickles; she thought James was lovely, with his black and white coat, but she never ventured to go down and speak to them—she was not brave enough for that—but once or twice she threw nuts down on the top of them, and this made them very angry, because they were not at all accustomed to be the ones who were teased.

They used to get into trouble sometimes, and many a good thrashing the farmer gave them, especially on the day when they snapped at the beautiful frills Joseph wore on his legs, and made him drop a basket of fresh eggs. They were rather sorry for themselves that day, and Joseph was so pleased that he did not know what to do with himself.

Poor old Jane, the brown cow, found them a terrible worry.

They used to hide in the big wheelbarrow, where her dinner was put, when the grass was poor, and jump up and frighten her when she came to eat it, and they didn't mind a bit when she snorted at them—they rather enjoyed it.

But one day Jerry, the old horse, who lived in the paddock with Jane, spoke to them very gravely about it.

Now James and John had a great respect for Jerry; they thought he was quite the wisest person they had ever met, and when he explained to them how very rude it was to sit in Jane's dinner place, they promised not to do it again.

One day the farmer's daughter came to Fir Tree Farm, and when she went away she took James with her.

John was very sad at first, and Miss Brighteyes felt dreadfully sorry for him; even Joseph tried to be nice to him, but it was Jerry who comforted him best, and gave him good advice.

Then he set to work to be useful, and behaved himself so well that the farmer used to send him to bring the horses in from the fields.

NORA PITT-TAYLOR.

Pity the sorrows of a Poor Little Dog.

There was a little dog
And he had a little tail,
And he used to wag, wag, wag it,
Whenever he was glad:
But whenever he was sad,
On the ground he would drag, drag, drag it.

He had a little nose,
As of course you will suppose,
And on it a muz-muz-muzzle
And to get if off he'd try,
Till a tear came in his eye,
But he found it a puz-puz-puzzle.

He'd sometimes find a bone,
When he'd sniff it with a groan,
Because he couldn't gnaw, gnaw, gnaw it;
And he'd say as on he went,
With his head in anguish bent,
“I'm sorry that I saw, saw, saw it.”

Too Sure.

On a tree
Birdie sat,
Down below
Lay pussy cat.
“Come down here
By my side,”
Said the Cat,
The bird replied:
“For you, Miss Puss,
I have no love
I'd rather stay
Up above.”

“I'll come to you”
The pussy said.
Rose, stretched herself,
And shook her head.
She climbed the tree
(The cunning cat),
And reached the bough
Where Birdie sat.

She made a spring,
Her prey to seize,
But Birdie flew
Away with ease.
The pussy thought,
“Too sure was I,
I quite forgot
That birds could fly.”

Firefly.

Through a sad misfortune Mr. Northcote's beautiful estate had to be sold up. He was a great rider and lover of horses; but everything had to go, and Firefly, his beautiful bay, was sold with the other horses.

After the day of reckoning Mr. Northcote went abroad. There success awaited him; he worked hard to retrieve his lost fortune, and after a few years he returned to England once more a wealthy man.

One day he hailed a hansom, and before stepping into it was giving the cabman the address, when the horse grew suddenly restive and uttered a strange whinnying sound.

“What's the matter with yer?” cried the cabman, giving the animal a touch of the whip.

“Don't beat him! He's all right!” said Mr. Northcote, coming to the horse's head.

Again came the strange whinny, and the deep velvety eyes looked into Mr. Northcote's like those of a human being; and they spoke to him, too, as plainly as words could speak: “Dear master! Don't you know me? I'm your poor old Firefly!”

“Firefly! It's Firefly! My beauty!”

And then, to the cabman's great astonishment. Mr. Northcote laid his cheek against the horse's nose.

“To think you should have come down to this, Firefly,” he murmured, with something very like tears in his eyes. Firefly whinnied again softly.

The poor horse had changed masters several times, and had had a hard life the last few years; but all his troubles were over at last.

Of course Mr. Northcote bought him from the cabman, and three months later, when the beautiful spirited animal was galloping round the fields, it was hard to believe he had ever been a cab-horse!

CONSTANCE M. LOWE.

What a Mistake.

Our doggy almost seems to talk,
He watches us so carefully,
And when we're going for a walk
Looks up as if to say—“take me!”

He'll carry books a long, long way,
But, this I feel I ought to own,
He _buried_ Auntie's glove one day,
He must have thought it was a bone.

A Monkey.

Ostriches.
]

Charlie's Playthings.

Charlie, tired out with play, fell asleep on the nursery rug one winters afternoon. “Hullo, Charlie!” said his sister's biggest doll, walking up and patting him familiarly on the back. “Look,” she said, “there goes the omnibus to Fleet Street; let us go and see if there's room for us.”

Charlie very soon found himself riding on the top of his toy omnibus, with the conductor driving and shouting, and a wooden doll calling out “Fare, sir; fare a penny!” He drove along too through his own toy village. “_This_ isn't Fleet Street!” he said.

“No,” said the doll; “we are now driving to the Zoo.”

Charlie wondered more and more, but he said nothing until the omnibus stopped and all the dolls got down. He found himself then hustled into a tiny train, the engine of which whistled loudly, and had a piece of cotton wool coming out of its funnel for smoke.

“Here is the Zoo,” said the doll; “and there are the animals going to bed.”

Charlie looked. Why, the Zoo was his Noah's ark, and the animals belonged to it! “_This_ isn't the Zoo!” said Charlie.

At this point up came a very grandly dressed gentleman doll with an eye-glass.

“This gentleman would like a game of nine-pins, Lady Arabella,” he said; “pray come this way,” and he led them to a lawn where a set of nine-pins were.

“Those are my nine-pins,” cried Charlie.

“Nonsense!” said the doll. “They belong to this gentleman.”

“You are a very rude doll,” observed the possessor of the eye-glass to Charlie. “How dare you say my things are yours!”

“So they are,” shouted Charlie; “and I'm not a doll, and you _are_ one, and you belong to my sister, and you are made of wax, so there!”

The gentleman doll grew very angry at this. “How dare you!” he said loudly. “Policeman! hi! Policeman!” and one came hurrying across the street.

Charlie laughed; he recognised one of the little wooden policemen in his toy box.

“Hush!” cried the doll; “the soldiers are coming!”

Marching down the street came Charlie's tin soldiers, all with drawn swords, and most of them on horseback.

Charlie boldly advancing laid his hand on the bridle of the general's horse. Immediately there was a great clatter of arms, and Charlie would have been cut to pieces if just then he had not woke up to find himself on the nursery rug.

EDITH GRABHAM.

How Pussy Caught her First Bird.

Said Mother Puss to little Kit,
“You're old enough, my dear,
To get your dinner for yourself.”
Said Kit, “I will, no fear!”

As Kitty lay in hiding,
Close by, upon a twig,
There lit a tiny birdie,
And Kitty's eyes grew big.

She crept a little nearer,
Then made a sudden spring,
And caught that tiny birdie
Before it could take wing.

Then back she raced to mother,
No need to further roam;
“You see,” she said, “dear mother,
I've brought my dinner home.”

A. E. BONSER.

A Rat Hunt.

Bobbie was only a little stable lad; the only relation he ever knew was a brother, whose vocation was sweeping crossings. One day, a brougham ran over him, a crowd collected, he followed them to the hospital, and was told his brother was dead. The gentleman, whose brougham it was, came and spoke to him, and then he remembered him taking his hand and leading him to a big house. He was taken to the kitchen and well fed, and after staying there a day or two, was sent into the country.

Mr. Wake, after questioning the delicate-looking child, felt he could repay him for the loss of his brother by taking care of him.

The first thing to be done was to send him to one of his farms in the country, where kind but rough hands would do more than smoky town.

The people he lived with grew very fond of him, and treated him in every way as their own.

He had a terrier dog given to him by one of the farm hands, and this he took a great interest in. Now Floss was a good rat catcher, and as rats were most destructive in the barn, Bobbie used to take Floss up there, by the hour together, and hunt them.

One day he caught fourteen rats and mice and laid them at his little master's feet.

On another occasion, they had been waiting some time for a rat, which had made quite a home of three sacks of corn in a corner of the barn, when Floss suddenly darted round and sniffed one corner, and then kept his eyes fixed on something which Bobbie could not see. Floss moved a little on one side, and as the rat made its intended escape, he pounced upon it. The rat was also very sharp, and bit and scratched poor Flossie's face; this worried him so much, that he gave it one dreadful bite, which killed it.

Bob was very kind to animals, and took Floss to bathe his face, and treated him quite as an invalid till his face was well.

Nip and the Pigeons.

The children had been ill with whooping-cough, and as soon as they were well enough they were told, to their great delight, that they were going to stay at a farmhouse by the sea.

“Oh! Mother,” cried Gerald, “do let us take Nip with us! I am sure he would be miserable without us.”

“I thought you would want to take him,” answered Mother, with a smile, “so I arranged with the people at the farm that Nip should go with you!”

The children were overjoyed at hearing this, and rushed out to tell Nip, whom they found lying in front of his kennel wondering what all the excitement was about.

A chorus of excited voices shouted the good news to him, and he wagged his little stump of a tail, and barked so loudly that he made almost as much noise as the children.

A few days later they were settled at the farm, and of course were charmed with everything, and were never tired of visiting the calves, the ducks, the chickens, the pigeons, and the little baby pigs.

When the children fed the pigeons Nip had to be tied up, to his great disgust, because the birds were afraid of him and would not peck up the grain while he was loose. This, perhaps, was why he took a dislike to the pigeons. “Stupid things!” he would growl. “They can do nothing but sit and say 'Coo, coo!' all day!”

But Nip soon had good cause to change his opinion. One day the farmer was going to market ten miles away, and knowing that he would need to send a message back immediately, he took one of his carrier-pigeons with him. Some hours later the pretty white bird flew down into the farmyard, and, tied to its feathers, the children found a tiny roll of paper containing the farmers message.

“Not so stupid, after all,” thought Nip, with a sniff, and felt a little ashamed of himself.

CONSTANCE M. LOWE.

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES

1. Added Table of Contents. 2. Silently corrected simple spelling, grammar, and typographical errors. 3. Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed. 4. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.