The Sun's Babies

by Edith Howes

"When she saw Tinyboy she hid her face shyly in her curls"

The Butterfly stopped next at a bluebell's door. He had no need to call out there, for a little lady dressed all in blue sat on the doorstep.

"Good day, Red Butterfly," she called as they came near. "Who is this on your back?"

"This is Tinyboy," said the Butterfly. "He is looking for a playmate. Will you come?"

The blue lady looked at Tinyboy and shook her head. "I don't like red," she said, pointing to Tinyboy's red clothes. "I like boys in blue suits."

"That's right," called a merry voice from the next bluebell. Tinyboy looked and saw a little fellow in a bright blue suit laughing up at him. "The blue lady is my playmate," he said, "and you are not to take her away."

So Tinyboy and the Butterfly went on. By and by they came to a big red poppy with a black velvet floor. "Why, that is just like my house," Tinyboy said when he saw it. "Is it my house?"

"No," said the Butterfly. "Your house is at the other side of the garden. Tinygirl lives here."

The Butterfly stood on the edge of the poppy, and Tinyboy looked in. There sat a dear little Tinygirl on the doorstep, swinging her feet just as Tinyboy had done in his house, and looking just as lonely as he had been. She was dressed all in red silk, and her wee cap of black velvet was just like his.

She smiled at Tinyboy and Tinyboy smiled at her, and said: "Will you play with me?"

"Of course I will," she said at once. "Come into my house and play ball."

THE MOSQUITO BABIES

On the top of the pool floated a dainty raft of mosquito eggs, glued together by their careful mother to keep them from sinking. In a day or two tiny wrigglers came out of the eggs, and began to dart about in every direction to find their food.

They were the queerest little water-babies! Their bodies were long and jointed, and from every jointed bit little bundles of swimming hairs stuck out on both sides. They had feelers on their heads, and they breathed through their tails—of all strange places! When they wanted a fresh supply of air they stood head downwards in the water, with tails stuck up to breathe.

How those babies did wriggle about, to be sure! They seemed never to be still for a moment. They would take in air, then sink to the bottom of the pool and draw in tinier creatures than themselves with their mouth hairs, then, having made their meal, wriggle up again to the top. And every movement was so wonderfully quick! It had to be so, indeed, for young dragon-flies and water-spiders and many other enemies were always waiting to swallow them if the chance came.

After a few days the wrigglers changed their shapes in the strangest ways. Funny round shields grew over their heads, and two little tubes grew up from the top of each shield. These tubes stood above the water when the babies were at the top, and now the tail curled round, and was not used for breathing any more, for the babies breathed through the two little tubes.

Under the shield the babies were busily making their wings and growing into mother and father mosquitoes. But though they were so busy, they did not rest; they moved about almost as much as ever, but now their heads were so heavy that they tumbled and bobbed up and down instead of wriggling. So everybody in the pond called them tumblers.

Now came their last days in the pond. One by one they pushed themselves out of their old skins, and stood on top of them to dry their wings. Then they left their old home, flying off to the nearest bushes for their first rest, and from there seeking out their food. "We want only juices," said the father mosquitoes; "juices of fruit or sweet green things."

But the mother mosquitoes said: "We want blood. Nothing but blood. Where is it? Where is it?"

THE SCRAMBLER

He was a young blackberry plant; but he was so tiny that he could scarcely be seen. Indeed, there was such a crush of growing things round him that it was a wonder he was not choked. He had started life under a hedge where the tangled weeds grew so thickly that even air was scarce; it looked for a time as if the little Scrambler must die.

But his heart was bold; he did not give up. He pushed and pushed till he rose a little higher and could breathe a little more freely; then he grew a number of strong curved hooks on his arms.

"Kindly allow me to hold on to you," he said to the nearest weeds. He held on to them with his hooks and rose yet higher in the crowd.

"Take your hooks out. You are hurting us!" cried the weeds. They tried to grow above him and to crush him down, but he had the start now, and he made the most of it. Higher and higher he grew, holding on to the taller plants, and sending out new hooked branches on every side to help in his support. At last his head rose above all the surrounding plants. He could breathe freely in the sweet air. "Ah! this is delightful!" he cried. He grew fast, spreading himself out widely on both sides.

Next he turned his attention to the hedge. "I must climb to the top," he said, "so as to escape its shadow and get all the sunshine there is." Hook by hook and branch by branch he climbed up the side of the hedge until he could look over the top.

"Why don't you grow thick stems of your own instead of hanging on to other people?" grumbled the hedge. But the Scrambler took no notice; he was busy making his flowers. "Now that I have been so successful, I must do my duty and bear seeds," he said to himself.

When the buds opened he was starred with pretty white blossoms tinged here and there with pink. He put plenty of honey in the honey-cups, so the insects came in crowds and carried his pollen from flower to flower. "That is well," he said. "Now my seeds will set."

Soon the petals fell and the seeds set. "I must make a sweet berry, so that the birds will carry my seeds away to grow," he said. So he set his seeds in berries that turned black and sweet and juicy. The birds came and picked them, and carried the seeds away to grow.

"I wonder you like to see your children going so far away from you," said the Hedge.

"It is the best thing for them," replied the Scrambler. "There is no room for them here. They would be choked if they fell beneath my branches."

There was indeed no room for them there. The Scrambler had not only covered the top of the hedge, but had grown over the other side too, down to the ground.

WOOLLYMOOLLY

Woollymoolly blamed the sweet-peas and sunflowers and gold and purple pansies; but I blame Woollymoolly for not doing as he was told. He never would do what he was told, and that caused all the trouble. When he was only a few weeks old he jumped down from the railway truck, away from his mother; and though she called him and called him and called him, he just ran and ran and ran till he was lost. Then a big kind lady found him and took him home and fed him; and he became a Pet Lamb.

At first she gave him milk, but as soon as he could eat grass he was tethered to a peg in the back garden and allowed to nibble for yards and yards and yards all round. That should have been enough, for there was plenty of grass; and if he tired of grass there was clover; and if he tired of clover there were soft sow-thistles and milky chickweed. But after the first week he never was content with the back, for through a hole in the fence he could see in the front the sweet-peas and sunflowers and gold and purple pansies.

His peg was moved from day to day, to give him fresh choice of the grass and clover and soft sow-thistles and the milky chickweed, but he would not be content. He raced round and round and tugged at his rope, until one day the peg came out. Then with a rush he was on his way to the front garden, dragging rope and peg behind him. But his mistress heard the patter, patter, patter of his naughty little hoofs, and she ran fast and caught him, and hammered the peg in again. Then she told him plainly what to do. "Stay where you are tied," she said. "This is your garden, all amongst the grass and the clover and the soft sow-thistles and the milky chickweed. You must never, never go into the front to eat my sweet-peas and sunflowers and gold and purple pansies."

She was good to him. She brought him juicy turnips, and he grew big and fat and strong. One day she let him wander in the road, and at once he thought of the forbidden front. The little gate was shut and latched, but through the picket fence he could see the shining of the flowers, the sweet-peas and sunflowers and gold and purple pansies. So he waited and he waited and he waited, till at last that careless, lazy, good-for-nothing butcher boy forgot to shut and latch the little gate. Then in crept Woollymoolly, and all the sunny day, while his mistress forgot him in her household work, he gobbled up the sweet-peas and the sunflowers and the gold and purple pansies.

At last his mistress thought of him, and went to bring him in. She searched up the road and down the road and back and forth across the road, and at last she found him gobbling in her garden. "Oh, you wicked, wicked lamb!" she cried. "You have eaten all my flowers. You have pulled and smashed and trampled all my pretty garden. You have greedily gobbled up my sweet-peas and sunflowers and gold and purple pansies."

The next day came the careless, lazy, good-for-nothing butcher boy again, but this time when he went he carried with him in his cart the lamb who would not do as he was told. "I have done with him!" his mistress cried.

What happened to him afterwards I will not say, though maybe you can guess. At any rate, he never disobeyed again, nor walked amongst the sweet-peas and the sunflowers and the gold and purple pansies.

THISTLE-MOTHER

Thistle-mother looked up and saw that the winter was over, for the sun was creeping higher and higher in the sky, and the birds were practising their spring songs. So, unfolding her arms, she spread them over the ground, and began to push herself up into the warm air.

Her home was on the roadside, where grasses and weeds grew so closely together that it was hard to find room. As she grew, they began to complain. "Don't push so," they cried. "And oh! how horribly prickly you are! You are scratching us dreadfully."

"I am very sorry," she said, "but I really cannot help it. I seem to grow like this without knowing it."

"Well, you might at least go somewhere else to live, where you will not disturb so many people," they grumbled. But this was just what she could not do. She went on growing; as the others shrank back from her prickly arms she could look over their heads.

One day she saw a cow eating the grasses near her. She shuddered as its long tongue twisted itself round their poor helpless stems, and forced them into its great mouth. When it passed her by untouched she felt thankful that she had so many thorns on her arms. "At last I know why I grow like this," she thought. "The prickles are very useful, after all."

When the summer came she began to make her children's cots. She wove the overlapping sides of brightest cot-green, strong and fine. Then, remembering the cow, she put a sharp prickle at each point, and closed the points together. She made warm fluffy beds, and in them she placed her children.

They were tiny, helpless things, white and soft. They looked up at the shining walls as she gently put them in their cots, and asked: "Mother, must we always stay in here?"

"No, dear ones," said the mother; "when you are strong and brown you shall fly out over the world. But rest now while I make your wings."

Nothing daintier or more beautiful than their wings had ever been seen. They were snow-white and glistening, and long and fine, and softer than the softest silk. She tied them firmly to the little shoulders, and in the middle of each wing she placed a long lilac-coloured plume. Then she gently opened the cots a little, and the plume-ends floated out into the sunshine. The children sang for joy.

"We have the most beautiful wings in the world," they sang. "Now we can fly away."

"Not yet," said Thistle-Mother. "Wait a little longer. You must grow brown and strong first."

The lilac plumes glowed in the sunshine, and the cots swung in the summer winds. "Now your time is coming, for your plumes are turning brown," said Thistle-Mother; the children looked at one another, and saw that they themselves had turned from white to lilac.

"Shall we be brown next?" they asked.

"Yes," she answered, "when your plumes are curled and twisted. Rest again."

Soon the plumes were curled and twisted, and Thistle-Mother opened the cots widely at the top. Now the children were brown and strong. When they saw the blue sky they sprang to meet it; but, instead of flying up, they tumbled in a heap on their mother's arms.

Thistle-Mother laughed tenderly at them. "You were in too great a hurry," she said. "Lie here till the wind comes. He will lift your wings and give you a start, and then you can fly away. And, children, when you have seen the world, and feel ready to settle down, be sure to choose a good growing-place. Then in time you too will become Thistle-Mothers. Ah! here comes the wind. Good-bye, my little ones."

"Good-bye, mother dear," they called gaily, for the wind was lifting them and spreading their wings. They floated up into the air, and flew off, their beautiful white feathers glistening like silver in the sunlight. "What a glorious place the world is!" they called to one another as they flew over the land. They went everywhere and saw everything. Those who remembered Thistle-Mother's words chose a good growing-place and settled down and became Thistle-Mothers themselves; but the careless ones, who forgot—well, nobody knows what became of them.

Left alone, Thistle-Mother folded her tired arms and sank into the ground, to sleep till summer and cot-making time should come again.

SALLY SNAIL'S WANDERINGS

"I smell strawberries," said Sally Snail. "They are somewhere across the road. I shall go and find them."

"Nonsense!" said the others. "It is too dangerous a journey. There are always boys and carts and birds, and all sorts of monsters on the road. You will never reach the other side alive."

"I am going," said Sally. She started off on her strong, creeping foot, leaving a shining wet trail behind her.

Her curly shell covered her back, but her head was thrust well out, so that the eyes on her two long horns could see the roadway and give warning if danger were near. With her shorter horns she followed the scent of the strawberries.

Half-way across the road a starling saw her. He flew down at once, thinking he had found an easy tea. But Sally Snail was too quick for him. In an instant she drew her head and foot into her shell, and sat down so firmly on the ground that the starling could not move her. He pulled at the shell, but he could not pull it off the ground. He pecked at it, but he could not pierce it with his beak.

"I will wait till you come out," he cried. "You can't stay here always!" But a boy came running down the road, and threw a stone at the starling. The frightened bird flew off, and Sally Snail continued her journey. The boy did not notice her, so she reached the hedge in safety, crawled through, and found the strawberries.

What a feast she had! She cut pieces out of the sweet fruit with the files in her mouth, sucked them in, and swallowed them. "If the others knew how good these are, I am sure they would all come too," she thought.

She stayed there till all the strawberries were gone; then she had to go back to eating leaves again.

"There is a cabbage garden through that next fence, I am sure," she said one day. "I shall go and see." So she travelled next into the cabbage garden. Here she found her cousins, the Slug family.

"Dear me, how strange you all look!" she said. "Why don't you grow shells on your backs?"

"Don't give yourself airs. We have as blue blood as you," said the Slugs. They were touchy about their soft backs.

"How cross you are! I shall go and visit my cousins in the pond," said Sally.

However, the cabbages were very good, so she stayed till they were all cut and taken away. Then she crossed the garden, slipped through the fence, and came to the pond. Here her cousins, the Water Snails, were gliding across the top of the water, shell downwards, like a boat, and foot up like a sail.

"Oh! how lovely to be able to do that!" said Sally as she watched them.

"I have found you again!" said the Starling coming down with a swoop and a sharp peck.

Sally slipped into her shell, but this time she was not quite quick enough. The starling had caught one of her long horns, and now flew off with the eye from the end of it.

"It doesn't matter," said Sally. "I can easily grow another."

She crept under a bush and lived there for a time, and when she came out again another eye had grown at the end of the horn.

"I shall go home now," said Sally. She went home and told the others all about her travels. "We must certainly cross to the strawberry garden next year," said the Snails, "but now winter is coming fast—we must bury ourselves."

They crept into the ground, sealed up the mouths of their shells with lime so that no enemies could enter, and went to sleep for the winter.

MILLY MUSHROOM

She was very tiny at first, and quite brown. Her mother laid her gently on the ground and said: "Creep down into the warmth and grow." So Milly crept down into the warmth, and grew into a little white girl as thin as a thread. For a year she stayed under the ground with her brothers and sisters; then they all put on their best velvet hoods and puffed themselves out to go up into the world.

Billy Button sprang up first. He called down to Milly: "Come up, little sister. The sun is shining through a silver mist and everything is glorious."

"I am not quite ready," said Milly Mushroom. "I must grow bigger first."

She puffed herself out as fast as she could, and at last was ready to go up. She tied her hood over her face to keep the wind off her soft cheeks. Then she too sprang up.

"Oh, dear," she said, "how strange it feels up here!"

"You will soon grow used to it," said Billy Button. "Hurry up and grow, and turn pink like me."

Milly grew and grew and turned pink like Billy Button. Then she untied her hood and peeped out, showing her soft cheeks and pretty white collar.

"What a great world it is!" she said. "It is all so wide and high. I am a little afraid."

"This is only a bit of the world," said Billy Button. "I know, for the Flying Beetle told me. He has travelled far, and has seen wonderful sights. Ah! how I should like to travel!"

"I would rather stay at home," said Milly. She was trembling a little; everything seemed strange up here in the strong light.

"Grow close to me," said a friendly Thistle. "I will shelter you with my long arms." She stretched out one of her arms, and Milly nestled beneath it and was comforted.

All that day and night she and Billy Button grew so fast that when the next morning came they hardly knew one another.

"How big you are, Billy!" said Milly.

"So are you," said Billy. "You are quite a mushroom lady now. But goodness gracious! Whatever is that? What a monster! And how it shakes the ground!"

A boy was walking over the field with a basket in his hand. He was gathering mushrooms. He stooped and pulled Billy Button from the ground.

"Oh, the cruel monster! Oh, poor, poor Billy!" sobbed Milly Mushroom.

But Billy was not at all frightened. "Hurrah! I am going to travel at last!" he cried. "Good-bye, Milly. I shall see the world now."

He was popped into the basket and carried off, while Milly was left shivering under the thistle's arm.

She soon forgot her fright, however, though she often wondered what happened to Billy Button, and whether he enjoyed his travels. She grew taller and bigger every day, and changed her hood for a big flat hat so wide and shady that the little field-mouse could sit under it and talk to her. And the thistle covered her from sight with its friendly arms, so no monster ever found her to put her in his basket and carry her off.

WIGGLE-WAGGLE

Mrs. Earth-worm made a hole under the ground and put an egg in it. Round the egg she wrapped clear jelly to serve as food for the little one when it should hatch. Then she went back to her burrow.

Soon Wiggle-Waggle came out of the egg. He was the tiniest worm you could imagine, but he had a fine appetite; he ate all the jelly his mother had left for him. Then he began to nibble at the earth, and he liked it so much that he went on nibbling. There were all sorts of nice things in it—scraps of leaf and stalk and root and seed—just the things he liked best. The more he ate the bigger he grew; soon you would hardly have known him.

One day he thought: "I wonder what it is like above the ground? I will go up and see."

He began to burrow in an upward, slanting direction, breaking down the earth with his hard little mouth, and swallowing it out of the way. At last he reached the surface of the ground and poked his head through into the daylight. But he drew back quickly into his burrow again, for the strong light hurt him. He could not see it, for he had no eyes, but he could feel it on the skin of his head, and he did not like it. "It makes me feel quite ill," he said. He pulled some loose earth into the mouth of his burrow, and coiled himself round till night fell.

Then he came out once more. Ah! things were very different now! The air was cool and moist, and delightfully dark; hundreds of neighbour worms were crawling over the ground, feasting and talking and visiting one another.

"Oh! there you are at last," said his mother from the next-door burrow. "I have been listening for you. Fix your tail into the top of your burrow, and sway yourself round and feel for your food. Then you can slip back easily if an enemy comes near. There are many enemies about, so listen carefully. And never stay up till daylight comes, or a bird will catch you."

So Wiggle-Waggle entered into the busy night-life of the garden. At first he followed his mother's advice, keeping his tail in his hole while he felt for green leaves, dragging them into his burrow. Later, he grew more venturesome, and crawled out over the ground to make the acquaintance of his neighbours. He lined his burrow with soft leaves and gathered tiny stones together to hide the entrance from the eyes of his enemies. Life was busy and pleasant, and he grew big and strong.

But one night he stayed up too long; when the red light of morning sprang up in the eastern sky he was quite three feet from his home. He hurried, darting his head as far forward as he could reach, sticking his front bristles in the ground, drawing his body up in a loop, dropping it, and then darting his head forward again. He went swiftly, but not quite swiftly enough. An early blackbird saw him, and swooped down upon him. His head and half his body were already in his burrow, but the blackbird's beak closed on his tail.

He stuck all four rows of sharp bristles like tiny pins in the ground, and held on for his life, while the blackbird pulled hard for its breakfast. Snap! crunch! tear! It was dreadful. Poor Wiggle-Waggle parted in the middle, and the blackbird flew off with half of him.

Wiggle-Waggle was not dead, but he felt very unwell. He wriggled down to the bottom of his burrow, and kept very quiet for a long time. And a wonderful thing happened. New rings of body, and then a new tail, grew on the broken end, and soon he was a whole worm again, with only a join-mark to show that an accident had happened.

When he goes up at night now to feed and visit his neighbours, he is very careful not to stay too late. He is still living in his old home, unless the last heavy rain has flooded his burrow and washed him out.

THE LEAF FAIRIES

In the wood the Leaf Fairies were busy making their leaves. They made them of every shape and size, for each fairy had her own idea of what looked prettiest. Some made them long and narrow, like tall and graceful ladies; some made them round and dumpy, like fat little men; some made them heart-shaped, and some cut up the edges till they were all dainty points and curves. Some placed them sitting down on the branches, while others set them on slender stalks. There was no set rule for anything. Each fairy followed her own pretty fancy.