III.—THE LITTLE POND.
Out in the pasture, was a little pond. This little pond was quite deep in the time of the spring and autumn rains. At such seasons Myra and I would take our little raft made of boards, and by means of some stout sticks would push the raft around on that little pond for hours. The wind would raise little waves, and these waves would splash up against the sides of our little raft with a delicious sort of noise.
We used to dress a smooth stick of wood in doll’s clothes. We used to call this wooden dolly by the name of Mrs. Pippy. We would take Mrs. Pippy on board our ship as passenger. Somehow, Mrs. Pippy always contrived to fall overboard. And then, such screaming, such frantic pushing of that raft as there would he, before that calmly-floating Mrs. Pippy was rescued!
Just beyond the further edge of the pond was a little swampy place where great clumps of sweet-flag used to grow. Sweet-flag is a water-plant whose leaves are very long and slender and their stem-ends, where they wrap about each other, are good to eat. In summer this little sweet-flag swamp was perfectly dry. But when the rains had come and the little pond was full, this little sweet-flag swamp was covered with water.
Right between the pond and the swamp lay a big timber, stretching away like a narrow bridge, with the pond-water lapping it on one side and the swamp-water lapping it on the other. Such exciting times as we used to have running across that little bridge after sweet-flag!
“Run! run!” we would cry to each other; and then, away we would go, running like the wind, yet very carefully, for the least misstep was sure to plump us into the water!
When the water in the swamp had nearly dried up, a bed of the very nicest kind of mud was left. Taking off our shoes and stockings, we would dance in that sticky mud until we were tired. Then we would hop over the timber and wash our small toes clean in the pond.
Percia V. White.
Clever Tommy.
“You like clever cats, Arthur,” said Laura; “and I am sure this is one. See how funnily he is drinking the milk with his paw. Did you know this cat, mamma?”
“Yes, my dear, I was staying at the house when his mistress found him out. We used to wonder sometimes why there was so little milk for tea, and my friend would say ‘They must drink it in the kitchen, for the neck of the milk jug is so narrow, Tom could not get his great head in.’
“But Tom was too clever to be troubled at the narrow neck of the milk or cream jug, and one day when his mistress was coming towards the parlor through the garden, she saw Tom on the table from the window, dipping his paw into the jug like a spoon and carrying the milk to his mouth. Did he not jump down quickly, and hide himself when she walked in, for he well knew he was doing wrong.”
“And was he punished, mamma?”
“No, Laura, although his mistress scolded him well, and Tom quite understood, for cats who are kindly treated are afraid of angry words.”
“Did you ever see Tom drink the milk in this way?”
“Yes, for his mistress was proud of his cleverness, and she would place the jug on the floor for him. When she did that, Tom knew he might drink it, and he would take up the milk in his paw so cleverly that it was soon gone.”
