Chapter L: A. B. C

SAILOR BABIES.

Birds, and birds, and birds! Have you any idea how many kinds of birds there are? I am very sorry you could not count them all. And such queer fellows many of them are! There are butcher-birds and tailor-birds, soldier-birds--the penguins, you know, who stand on the sea-shore like companies of soldiers, "heads up, eyes front, arms (meaning wings) at the sides"--and sailor-birds. It is about one of the sailor-birds and his babies that I am going to tell you now. She is called the Little Grebe, or sometimes, by her intimate friends, the Dabchick. She is a pretty little bird, about nine inches long, with brown head and back, and grayish-white breast. She and her husband are both extremely fond of the water. "We are first cousins to the Divers!" they sometimes say proudly. "The Divers are never happy away from the water, and neither are we. It is very vulgar to live on land all the time. One might almost as well have four legs, and be a creature at once!" (The Divers are a very proud family, and speak of all quadrupeds as "creatures.") Mr. and Mrs. Grebe have very curiously webbed feet, looking more like a horse-chestnut leaf with three lobes than anything else. They are excellent swimmers and divers; indeed, in diving, the Great Northern Diver himself is not so quick and alert. If anything frightens them, pop! they are under the water in the shaking of a feather; and you may sometimes see them in a pond, popping up and down like little absurd Jacks-in-the-box. As they think the land so very vulgar, of course they do not want to bring up their children on it.

Oh, dear, no! They find a pleasant, quiet stream, or pond, where there are plenty of reeds and rushes growing in the water, and where there is no danger of their being disturbed by "creatures." Then they go to work and make a raft, a regular raft, of strong stems of water-plants, reeds, and arrow-heads, plaited and woven together with great care and skill. It is light enough to float, and yet strong enough to bear the weight of the mother-bird.

While she is building it she sits, or stands, on another and more roughly built raft, which is not meant to hold together long. Mr. Grebe helps her, pulling up the water-plants and cutting off the stems the right length; and so this little couple work away till the raft-nest is quite ready. Then Mrs. Grebe takes her place on it, and proceeds to lay and hatch her eggs. There are five or six eggs, and they are white when she lays them; but they do not keep their whiteness long, for the water-weeds and the leaves that cover the raft soon decay, and stain the pretty white eggs, so that they are muddy brown by the time they are hatched. Well, there little Madame Grebe sits, brooding contentedly over her eggs, and thinking how carefully she will bring up her children, so that they will be a credit to the family of the Divers. Mr. Grebe paddles, and dives and pops up and down about the nest, and brings her all sorts of good things to eat,--worms for dinner, minnows for supper, and for breakfast the most delicate and appetizing of flies and beetles. One day, when he brings his wife's dinner (a fine stickle-back), he finds her in a state of great excitement.

"My dear," she says, "I am going to move. I cannot endure this place another hour. I only waited to tell you about it."

"Why, what is the matter, my love?" asks Mr. Grebe, in amazement.

"Some creatures have been here," answers little madam, indignantly,--"huge, ugly monsters, with horns; cows, I believe they are called. They have torn up the reeds, and muddied the water; and, if you will believe it, Dabchick, one of them nearly walked right over me; then I flew in his face, and gave him a good fright, I can tell you. But the whole thing has upset me very much, and I am determined to leave the place."

"Very well, my love," says the dutiful Dabchick. "Whatever you say is always right!"

Accordingly, when she has finished her dinner, Mrs. Grebe puts one foot into the water, and paddles her raft away as skilfully as if she were an Indian in a birch canoe. She steers it round the corners, and paddles on and on, till she finds another quiet nook, where there is no sign of any "creatures." Then she draws in her paddle-foot, and broods quietly again, while Mr. Grebe, who has followed her, goes to explore the new surroundings, and see what he can pick up for supper.

After a time the muddy brown eggs crack open one by one, and out come the young Dabchicks, pretty, little, fuzzy brown balls. They shake themselves, and look at each other, and say how-d'-ye-do to their mother and father; and then, without any more delay, pop! they go into the water. "Hurrah!" says one. "I can swim!"

PRETTY POLLY PRIMROSE.

Out here papa finds her,
Lifts her tenderly,
Carries her safe home again,--
Never once wakes she.

When the breakfast all is o'er
Polly opes her eyes.
"Surely, mamma, I did dream,"
Says she in surprise,
"That I went out to the Park,
Where the birdies sing."
Mamma smiles; how can she chide
The winsome little thing!

AMANDA M. DOUGLAS.

LOOK AT THE BABY.

This way and that way, one, two, three.
Come if you want a dance to see;
With his chubby hands on his dress so blue,
See what a baby boy can do.

One foot up and one foot down;
See him try to smile and frown;
He would look better, I do declare,
With some more teeth and a little more hair.

One, two, three, chick-a-dee-dee!
This I take the fact to be,
That there never was, on sea nor shore,
Such a queer little dance as this before!

AN UNLUCKY SAIL.

When little Sam was six years old, he began to go to school. His teacher gave him a merit card whenever he was good all day. But sometimes he whispered, or made a noise in school, and then he did not get one.

"I will give you a penny whenever you bring home a card," said Sam's father.

After that Sam was very good, and brought home a card almost every day. He saved up his pennies, and when he was seven years old, he bought a pretty toy boat.

Sam's sister Hattie went with him to the duck-pond to see him sail the boat. But soon she grew tired, and went back to the house.

"I wish I had something to put into my boat," thought Sam.

He looked around and saw Hattie's doll under a tree. Hattie had forgotten it when she went to the house. It was a pretty wax doll, with long flaxen hair, and blue eyes that would open and shut. It was dressed in pink silk, and had a little straw hat with a pink feather.

"I will give Miss Dolly a sail," thought Sam.

He put the doll in the boat, and pushed it out on the water.

"Hattie, Hattie!" he cried, "come and see your doll taking a sail."

Just as he spoke an old duck swam against the boat, and gave it such a push that Miss Dolly fell off into the water. Before Sam could reach her with a long stick she sank to the bottom of the pond.

Hattie cried until she had no tears left to shed, and Sam felt like crying, too. He knew he ought not to have taken his sister's doll.

He went on saving his pennies just as he had done before he bought the boat. And when he opened his tin bank on his next birthday he found that he had nearly three dollars. What do you think he bought? I am afraid you would never guess, so I will tell you. He bought a new doll for Hattie, and it was even prettier than the one he had drowned in the duck-pond.

FLORENCE B. HALLOWELL.

TO STRAWBERRY TOWN.

A dear little maid, with sun-bonnet red
Tied carefully over her little brown head,
With two little bare feet, so active and brown,
Has started to travel to Strawberry town.

"And pray where is that?" Oh dear! don't you know?
It's out in the field where the strawberries grow;
Where papa, and Henry, and Sue, in the sun,
Pick the sweet, big, red berries so fast, one by one.

"It's a very great ways," says the dear little maid,
"To Strawberry town, and I'm so afraid."
And so as companions, to keep her from harm,
She takes two fat kittens, one under each arm.

She trudges along with brown eyes opened wide,
The kittens hugged sociably up to each side;
With ears sticking up and tails hanging down,
She carries them bravely to Strawberry town.

MARY A. ALLEN, M.D.

FLOSSIE AND HER SHOE-BOAT.

Flossie took to the sea very early. She did not like to be bathed, but she was very fond of playing in the water.

One day, when she was at her bath, her mother's back was turned, and little Miss Flossie turned her slipper into a boat and set it afloat in her little bath-tub. Then she pushed it about and made believe it was sailing. By and by it got full of water and sank, crew and all. This made her cry, and that made her mother look round. Flossie's shoe-boat was taken from her, and then she cried more. Her mother knew best, and was very firm. Miss Flossie had to give up being a sailor, and put on her pink dress and go downstairs.

R. W. L.

NELLIE'S LUNCH.

Little Nellie lived in California. Her papa was going on a visit to his old home in Maine, but Nellie was to stay at home with her mamma. Just before her father left, her mother took his great-coat, brushed it, and said, "I have put some handkerchiefs in this pocket, and in the other one is a nice lunch of cake and fruit."

The father and mother were so busy that they took no notice of Nellie. But she had heard what mamma said. Her first thought was that she must put something in papa's pocket, too.

Her mother had been changing Nellie's clothes, and a soiled little stocking lay on the floor. The child had a small cake of maple sugar in her hand that she was eating. She took up the stocking and crammed the sugar down into the toe. She then rolled it up tight and tucked it down in one corner of her papa's pocket. No one saw her do it. The first that was known of what she had done was one day after her papa had reached his old home. He was searching his pocket for something when he felt the little stocking. He took it out, and when he saw what it was, what a good laugh he had! And how it made him think of his little Nellie, who was so far away!

Nellie's papa showed me the little stocking and the cake of sugar. He said he would save them until Nellie was older, and she could then see what a nice lunch she had put up for her papa.

NELLIE BURNS.

DIME AND THE BABY.

Bow-wow! Here I am again! I told you before that my name is Dime; but the baby calls me "Bow-wow." Do you know why? It is because I always say "Bow-wow." It is all the word I know how to say.

Do you know our baby? She has big black eyes, and her mouth looks like a pink rosebud. She is a sweet little girl. I love her dearly. I did not like her when she first came. That was a long time ago. My master was very fond of her. That made me feel cross. I used to bark at baby and show all my teeth. After that they did not let me come near her. I did not see the baby for a long time. I did not care for that.

My master did not seem to like me then. When he saw me, he said, "Go away, Dime! Go away, bad dog! You are not good to the baby." So I was not happy. I made up my mind to bite that baby.

It was a long time before I got a chance to bite her; but one day I found her alone. She was in her little crib. I put my paws on her crib.

But I did not bite her, after all. Shall I tell you why? She was too pretty to bite. So I kissed the baby, and I have loved her ever since.

Now, my master likes me again. He pats my head and says, "Good old dog! Good Dime! You love the baby, don't you?"

I am glad I am not a cross dog now. I feel better when I am good. Don't you?

S. E. SPRAGUE.

WIDE-AWAKE LAND.

"Come, Freddie, time you were in bed long ago," said mamma.

"Don't want to go!" cried Fred. "I wish I never had to go to bed!"

But in a few moments Fred was snugly tucked away. Everything grew dim, and Fred's eyes began to close. Very soon he heard a little voice from somewhere, and started up.

Perched on his knee was the queerest little man he had ever seen. In one hand he held a long pin, and this he often thrust at Fred.

"What are you doing that for?" asked Fred. "To keep you awake," said the little dwarf. "You are in Wide-Awake Land, and no one goes to sleep here."

Fred sat up in bed and looked about. Was it really Wide-Awake Land? Needn't he ever go to bed again? "O, I am glad!" he said.

There were many other boys and girls in this queer land, and most of them looked very unhappy.

"What is the matter?" asked Fred of a little boy who was crying hard.

"I'm tired and sleepy," sobbed the boy.

"Why don't you go to sleep then?" asked Fred.

"Humph! I guess you haven't been here long, or you'd know."

"No, I've just come; I think it's nice."

"Wait till you get sleepy," said the boy. "I used to think Wide-Awake Land would be nice. I believe Sleepy Land would be nicer now."

"Yes," added Fred; "but why can't you go to sleep?"

"Because the little men that you see everywhere carry pins. They prick us when we try to sleep. O, I wish I hadn't come!" And the boy began to cry again. Fred thought he was very silly, and ran off to find some other new-comer.

Night came at last. Big lamps were hung on the trees and made the place as light as day. The little men were flying about to keep the sleepy ones awake.

Fred got sleepy at last, and began to nod. A little man thrust a big pin into him. "You must keep awake," he said. Fred tried hard, but his eyes would shut, and then would come the wicked pin. At last he screamed aloud.

"Why, Fred! what is the trouble?" and he looked up. There was mamma.

"I don't like Wide-Awake Land," cried Fred. "I will go to sleep when you want me to after this."

"I think you are dreaming, Fred," replied mamma.

"I was, but I am awake now."

"Well, dear, you are in Sleepy Land now. So good night, and pleasant dreams."

ELIZA M. SHERMAN.

LULU'S FIRST THANKSGIVING.

Lulu was six years old last spring. She came to make a visit at her grandfather's, and stayed until after Thanksgiving.

Lulu had lived away down in Cuba ever since she was a year old. Her cousins had written to her what a good time they had on Thanksgiving Day; so she was very anxious to be at her grandfather's at that time. They do not have a Thanksgiving Day down in Cuba. That is how Lulu did not have one until she was six years old.

She could hardly wait for the day to come. Such a grand time as they did have! Lulu did not know she had so many cousins until they came to spend the day at her grandfather's. It did not take them long to get acquainted. Before time for dinner they felt as if they had always known each other.

The dinner was the grand event of the day. Lulu had never seen so long a table except at a hotel, nor some of the vegetables and kinds of pie.

Lulu had never tasted turkey before. Her grandmother would not have one cooked until then, so she could say that she had eaten her first piece of turkey on Thanksgiving Day.

After dinner they played all kinds of games. All the uncles and aunts and grown-up cousins played blind-man's-buff with them.

THE SUN-KISS.[1]

[1] Small purple flower; grows by the wayside in the South.

In a land where summer lingers,
Far from Northern rains and snows,
Where, like loving, clasping fingers,
Twines the jasmine with the rose,

There I found a little maiden:
Oh! her eyes were black as night,
And her tiny hands were laden
Down with blossoms pearly white.

Sought she all along the wayside,
'Mong the ferns and waving palms,
Where the tiniest flower might hide
From her sweet protecting arms.

"What fresh treasure are you seeking?"
Asked I of the little one,
For a myriad blooms were peeping
Through the mosses to the sun.

"Have you never heard, dear lady,
Of the sweetest flower that blooms,--
It is neither proud nor stately,
Like the lily and the rose;

"But it brightens every pathway,
Springing 'neath your careless tread.
Till the sun, with quickening ray,
Kisses soft its drooping head.

"Then its petals quick unclosing,
Freshly sweet with morning dew,--
It is left for our supposing
That the story must be true,--

"How it shyly waits the coming
Of the glorious King of Day,
And that hence the pretty naming
Of a Sun-Kiss, so they say?"

ELIZABETH A. DAVIS.

THE COUNTRY WEEK.

Mrs. Brown read a little article in the newspaper one evening, about "Country week for poor children."

"Husband," said she, "I have an idea. We have such a good farm, and so many nice things, suppose we take some boarders this summer, who can't afford to pay anything."

When she told him what she meant, Mr. Brown thought it a very good idea, indeed.

"The currants and raspberries are ripe. I'll see if Mrs. Anderson knows of some nice children, who will have to stay in the hot streets of the city all summer. We will ask them to come here."

Of course, Mrs. Anderson knew of some nice children. She belonged to a mission-school, and knew dozens of them. So, the next Wednesday, when Mr. Brown drove down to the station, there she was, and two little ones with her, Lina and Carl Schmidt. Carl was almost a baby, and went to sleep as soon as they were in the carriage; but Lina held her breath with delight as she rode to the farm. She was half afraid, too, and held on very tightly if old Billy went faster than a walk. As Mr. Brown watched the bright little face he began to think his wife's idea was a splendid one.

"Well, little one," said Mrs. Brown to Lina, when they reached the house, "what do you think of the country?"

"Oh, I do want to take such long breaths!" said Lina, "I wish my mamma could see it too."

"The first thing for these small folks," added Mrs. Brown, "is some of Brindle's nice milk."

Carl waked up long enough to drink some, and say, "Dood, dood." Then he grew sleepy again, and Mrs. Brown laid him on a shawl upon the grass, under the trees. The hens gathered around him, looked at each other and clucked, as much as to say, "What kind of a queer creature is this?" Young Mr. Bantie was about to peck him to find out, when they heard a little voice calling "Biddy, Biddy, Biddy!" from the barn. Off they went, half flying and half running.

Mrs. Brown had given Lina a tin pail, with corn in it to scatter to the hens. They came from all directions, and got around her so closely that she was afraid to stir. She had taken out one handful of the corn, but was afraid to throw it. Then the greedy hens began to peck her hand, and try to get it out of the pail. She began to cry so loud that every one ran out of the house to see what was the matter. It was funny enough to see her, standing in the middle of that greedy crowd of hens, with her eyes shut very tightly, and her mouth very wide open.

When Carl waked up, he wanted some more milk. Mrs. Brown said, "We'll go down and see Brindle milked, and you shall have it nice and warm." Lina had seen pictures of cows, but never a live one. She had no idea they were so big. Mrs. Brown asked her if she would like to milk; but she thought she would rather stand at a little distance. As for Carl, he shut up his eyes, and tried to get out of sight of the creature. However, he liked the warm milk very much.

Lina spent most of the next day in the garden. She helped pick the peas and beans, and stem the currants. She went with Mr. Brown to find the eggs, and held Billy's halter while he drank at the trough. Every day was full of pleasure, and Mr. and Mrs. Brown had just as good a time as the children. At the end of the week they couldn't bear to let them go; so it came about that the children's week, for Lina and Carl, lasted all summer.

J. A. M.

THE ROAD TO SCHOOL.

[FROM THE GERMAN.]

In winter, when it freezes,
In winter, when it snows,
The road to school seems long and drear,
O'er which the school-boy goes.

But when the pleasant summer comes,
With birds and fruit and flowers,
The road to school, how short it is!
And short the sunny hours!

But to the boy who loves to learn,
And wisdom strives to gain,
The road to school is always short,
In sunshine, snow, or rain.