THE STORY OF THE DOG ON THE YACHT STARLIGHT.
NOW Gil once belonged to an officer in our Navy and he sometimes went to sea with his master.
Once when he went on a voyage a little kitten went too. She was everybody’s pet and a very friendly kitty. She was afraid of Gil, though, and would never let him come near her, but would make such a loud spitting and growling at him, when he tried to play with her, that poor Gil had to go away and play by himself.
One day kitty fell overboard and Gil saw her and plunged into the sea to save her. Kitty thought it was bad enough to fall into the water, but to see Gil come jumping after her was too much, and she was ready to die with fright.
When he opened his great mouth to take her and hold her above water, she felt sure that her last moment had come, and she fought and scratched so, that Gil could not get hold of her.
The officers stood watching Gil and pussy. Poor little mistaken pussy was getting very tired and would soon sink if she did not let good old Gil save her.
Suddenly Gil dove down out of sight and then rose again just under kitty, so that she stood on his back. Puss was so glad to feel something solid under her little tired legs, that she clung to it with all her nails. Then Gil swam slowly to meet the boat which had been sent to pick him up.
THE YOUNG ARTIST.
THE NEW PARASOL.
I’ve got a brand-new parasol
(Of pink silk trimmed with lace),
But auntie says ’twill never keep
The shine out of my face.
Why not, I wonder: if it’s held
Just in the proper place,
Why won’t it keep the sunshine out
Of anybody’s face?
She says thick clouds would hardly do
(Much less pink silk and lace)
To keep the merry sunshine out
Of such a dimpled face.
But mamma says, “Go take your walk,
And never mind aunt Grace.”
I ’spect I’ll have to let the sun
Keep shining in my face!
THE MAN WHO WAS SHAKEN BY A LION.
He was David Livingstone. He was a missionary, and a great traveller too.
He lived almost all his life in Africa. In some parts of Africa there are lions. Once he was staying at a certain village. Every night the lions broke into the yards and carried off a cow or two. So a party of natives went out to hunt for them.
A LION.
Livingstone was with them. They saw some lions, and tried to surround them in a circle. But the lions got away.
They were coming home when Livingstone saw a great lion. He was sitting on a rock not far away. He fired at him, but did not hit him. He stopped to load his gun again.
He heard the men shout. He turned and saw the lion all ready to spring.
(A lion crouches to spring, like a cat.)
The lion sprang upon Livingstone, and seized his shoulder with his great teeth. He shook him just as a cat shakes a mouse.
Was Livingstone frightened? He was frightened when the lion seized him. But after he shook him he wasn’t a bit afraid.
He said the lion shook the fear all out of him. He felt as if he was in a pleasant dream. He only wondered what the lion would do next.
He did not do anything next. He stood with his great paw on Livingstone’s head till another man fired at him. Then he sprang on that man and bit him.
Then he sprang on a third man and bit him. And then—he rolled over, dead! So Livingstone escaped.
Livingstone afterwards visited England. The little English children used to ask him to tell them the story of how the lion shook him.
The lion belongs to the cat family. Does not the lion in the picture look like a big handsome cat?
THE LAUGHING JACKASS.
He always begins his queer cry about an hour before sunrise.
Then he is heard again just at noon, and again at sunset. So he has another name. He is called the “Bushman’s clock.”
In Australia there are great tracts of land where few white people live. These tracts of land are called “The Bush;” and the settlers on these lands are called Bushmen.
LAUGHING JACKASSES.
The laughing jackass is a very sociable bird. He likes to watch [!-- location of illustration LAUGHING JACKASSES --] the Bushman at his work. He watches him as he pitches his tent, and builds his fire and cooks his supper. He is a kingfisher.
Kingfishers generally live near the water. But this great brown fisher lives in the woods. He eats crabs and insects. He relishes lizards very much, and there are plenty of lizards in Australia.
HE LISTENS TO THE CRY OF THE LAUGHING JACKASS.
He hates snakes. A great many snakes are found in Australia, and many of them are very poisonous.
The laughing jackass is not a bit afraid of them. He kills them with his long, sharp bill.
When he is angry he raises the crest on his head.
His color is a fine chestnut brown mixed with white. His wings are slightly blue.
The mother-bird lays her eggs in a hole in a gum-tree. She does not build a nest. She lays her eggs on the rotten wood at the bottom of the hole. Her eggs are a lovely pearl white.
Here is one of the black men who live in Australia. He is listening to the cry of the laughing jackass.
THE TRICK THEY PLAYED ON JOCKO.
Jocko was homesick. Jocko was a forest creature. He was born to tread the ground, and climb trees, and eat sweet wild fruits.
Jocko liked to leap from tree to tree, and run about over miles of woodland. Now he found himself in a cage. He called and cried, but none of his little brown playmates answered.
He could see only blue waves, and the ropes and masts and sails of the ship. He was tossed up and down. His cage swung from side to side. The motion made him sick—seasick.
After many days, he saw the land again. But it was not forest land. It was brown land—city land. No moss, no vines, no dewy green grass, no flowers! All stone and brick! His cage was carried into a hotel dining-room where people came and sat down and talked in German, and ate things that Jocko knew were not good to eat—bread and pies and cheese and sauerkraut and meat. Oh, how Jocko wanted a fresh sweet cocoanut!
But by and by Jocko was not so homesick. The cook was kind to him, and gave him sweet bits to eat. The visitors took him up and petted him. The little girl who lived at the hotel made him a nice bed in the little crib she used to sleep in.
So at last Jocko had a good time, and forgot about the woods.
But one day little Gretchen played a trick on him to see what he would do. She knew he was fond of white lump sugar. So she filled a bottle with lumps of sugar. Then she gave it to Jocko.
Jocko was wild with delight when he saw the sugar. He jumped up in a chair and lifted the bottle to his mouth.
But Gretchen had put in a cork. The sugar would not pour out.
It was very funny then to see what trouble Jocko was in. He would tilt the bottle up and try to drink the sugar out of the neck. Then he would try to shake it out at the bottom. Then he would sit still and look at the lumps. Then he would try to bite through the glass. Then he would jump down and run away. Then he would come back and catch the bottle again and roll the lumps about, and chatter and scold as he heard them rattle.
This went on for several days. Everybody came in to see little Gretchen’s monkey and his sugar bottle.
GRETCHEN.
But one day the cook let a jar of olives fall. It broke, and the olives rolled out on the floor. Jocko gave a little scream of joy. Like a flash, up he sprang to a high cupboard with his sugar bottle, and gave it a mighty fling. Down it came—crash!
Out the lumps rolled over the floor. Down sprang Jocko. He shouted with delight. He had a sweet feast.
Oh, how he munched and crunched and chattered! And now, what do you think happened?
He would seize every bottle and can and pitcher that was left within reach. Up he would run to the top of some high cupboard or shelf and dash it to the floor! Such mischief as he made!
Little Gretchen had to give him away at last because he broke everything he could lay his roguish paws upon.
[See another picture from this story.]
SOME OTHER THINGS BOBBY SAW AT SEA.
He saw the stormy petrels. They flew about the ship almost every day. They liked to eat the scraps the cook threw overboard.
THE STORMY PETREL.
The petrels are sooty black. Their feet are partly webbed.
They sit and float upon the water. They run about over the water. In stormy weather they fly through the dashing foam.
Bobby’s mamma told him many things about the stormy petrel. She told him how the stormy petrel flies far, far away from land. His home is on the sea. He can fly all day long and not be tired.
The stormy petrel hardly ever goes on land except to lay her eggs. Her nest is in a hole in some high cliff by the sea. She hatches one little bird. It looks like a ball of fluff. The nest smells very oily.
The stormy petrel is very oily, like all sea birds. He is so full of oil that the people of the Faroe Islands sometimes use him for a lamp. They take a dead petrel and run a wick through him. Then they set him on end and light the wick and he gives a very good light indeed!
The sailors call the stormy petrel “Mother Carey’s chickens.”
The name of Bobby’s ship was The Jefferson. Once when the Jefferson was in an English port, Bobby saw something very pretty. It was a bird’s nest. It was built in the rigging of a ship.
This ship had been lying in port a good while. The nest was built in a block where some of the cordage runs. It was built by a pair of chaffinches.
Now the chaffinch is not a sea bird; it is a land bird. It builds its nest in trees and hedges. It builds a cosey little nest out of moss and wool and hair. It is deep and round like a cup.
But this pretty pair of chaffinches found a new place in which to build their nest. It was even more airy than the top of a tree. See it in the picture! Day by day Bobby watched them as they flew busily to and fro. Many other people watched them too.
THE CHAFFINCHES’ NEST.
The chaffinch is a cheerful little bird. In the countries where he lives, he is heard merrily whistling in the spring time. There he sits singing to his mate who is keeping her eggs warm. Happy little fellow!
THE MOSQUITO.
Little boys and girls believe that all mosquitoes sting and bite.
But they do not. The male mosquito never does. He wears a plume on his head, and does nothing but dance in the sunshine.
It is the female mosquito that sings around our heads at night and keeps us awake. It is she who bites us. Look at her head. This is the way it looks under a microscope. Do you wonder that her bite hurts?
MOSQUITO’S HEAD UNDER A MICROSCOPE.
She lays her eggs in a very queer way. First she finds a puddle or a pool of warmish water. Then she fastens herself to some stick, or sliver, or stem, or floating leaf, by her first two rows of legs. Then she lays about three hundred tiny eggs.
The eggs cling together in the shape of a boat or canoe, and float upon the water. In about three days they hatch. Then the warm water is full of “wigglers.”
By and by these wigglers have wings. The outside skin bursts open. They lift their heads and shoulders out of the water. Then off they fly—a whole swarm of singing, stinging mosquitoes.
We are all glad when the cold weather comes and the mosquito goes.
I suppose you think if you lived in a cold country, you would not be troubled by mosquitoes.
But in Lapland, a very cold country, the mosquitoes come in crowds and clouds. Sometimes they are so thick they hide people in the road like a fog. What do you think of that?
THE LAUGHING GIRL.
The bobolink laughs in the meadow;
The wild waves laugh on the sea;
They sparkle and glance, they dimple and dance,
And are merry as waves can be.
The green leaves laugh on the trees;
The fields laugh out with their flowers;
In the sunbeam’s glance, they glow and they dance.
And laugh to their falling showers.
The man laughs up in the moon;
The stars too laugh in the sky;
They sparkle and glance, they twinkle and dance.
Then why, then, pray, shouldn’t I?
Oh, I laugh at morn and at night,
I laugh through the livelong day.
I laugh and I prance, I skip and I dance.
So happy am I and so gay.
THE LAUGHING GIRL.
“CLUCK-CLUCK-CLUCK! QUAW-AW-AWK! CR-R-R-R!” SAID THE HEN MOTHER.
ANNIE’S DUCKS.
There were seven ducklings. The very first thing they did was to go and tumble into a bucket of water.
“Cluck-cluck-cluck! quaw-aw-awk! cr-r-r!” said the hen-mother. She was so frightened she made just such a noise as she does when she sees a hawk.
She thought they would all drown. But they didn’t. They swam and dove and shook the water from their little wings.
One day when they were about a quarter grown, Annie found Fluffy-dumpty lying on the ground; she was quacking faintly. Her leg was broken! Annie ran to papa.
“O papa! mend her leg just as you did my arm!” she said.
Papa is a doctor; and when Annie was a very little girl she broke her arm and papa mended it. So he did up Fluffy-dumpty’s leg with a splinter, and then wound a bandage round it. Annie took care of her. Mary used to help Annie feed her with a spoon.
Fluffy-dumpty got well very fast. But when she was about three quarters grown, she met with another accident. She fell down a steep cellar way.
“Quack-quack! Take me out! Oh, take me out!” cried poor Fluffy-dumpty. The other six ducks crowded around and looked down at her.
“We can’t! we can’t!” they cried. “We haven’t got any hands. Call a boy, do!” So Annie called Sam, who took her out.
How thankful Fluffy-dumpty was! She smoothed down her ruffled feathers and said, “Quack-quack,” softly. The other ducks all talked at once.
“What a narrow ’scape you had, Fluffy-dumpty!” said one duck.
“How did you happen to fall into that horrid place?” asked another.
“What a fine boy Sam is!” said a third duck.
“He’s almost too good for a boy,” said a fourth.
But it all sounded as if they only said “quack-quack!”
Every day of their lives these ducks got into the garden, and ate the lettuce and strawberries and cabbage. So the gardener put a board over the hole under the gate.
“Never mind,” said big Broad-bill, “we know more ways than one.” Then the seven started off in a line, and marched round the garden till they came to another hole, and in they went. The gardener was very angry.
[See another picture from this story.]
VICK IN TROUBLE.
BERTIE had gone off and left Vick. He was so eager to see the soldiers parade that he forgot all about him. This had never happened before.
When Uncle Ned gave Vick to Bertie mamma said: “Now, Bertie, you must take the care of Vick. If a boy has a dog he must learn to care for him. You must see that Vick is fed. You must bathe and comb him every day; and you must give him plenty of exercise.”
But as I said, Bertie had forgotten Vick that day. Vick did not know what to make of it. His heart was almost broken.
“This is too bad!” he howled. “Here am I shut up with two saucepans and a dummy. No water to drink—no bone to gnaw—no little master to play with—wow-ow-ow-ow!”
What a dismal howl it was! Mamma heard him; she was in the kitchen making sponge cake. She could not leave it for a moment. But as soon as it was baked she let Vick out.
There was Bertie just coming round the corner! He looked quite ashamed. Yes, he had thought of Vick at last. He had come home for him.
Did Vick forgive him? Doggies always forgive. They have loving and generous hearts. He scrambled all over Bertie and licked his hands and his face and off they went to see the soldiers—a very happy pair.
Do you think Bertie ever forgot Vick again?
Do you ever forget to care for your pets?
IT WAS FUN TO SEE THEM EAT.
IN GRANDMA’S ATTIC.
Every summer grandma Cushing has two visitors. Their names are Blanche Cushing and Dorothy Cushing.
Blanche lives in Iowa. She has blue eyes and yellow hair and is seven years old. Dorothy lives in New York City. She has brown eyes and brown hair and is eight years old.
They love dearly to play in grandma’s attic. There are queer old bonnets and gowns and cocked hats hanging on the walls.
There are trunks full of caps and spectacles and old snuffers and no end of queer things.
I cannot begin to tell you everything the cousins play. But there is one thing they like to play ever so much.
PLAYING IN GRANDMA’S ATTIC.
They like to dress up in the queer old clothes and play Cinderella, and Mother Hubbard, and Red Riding Hood.
When Blanche gets on her great-great-grandma Cushing’s cap and spectacles and long mits, she makes a very charming little Mother Hubbard.
A VERY CHARMING MOTHER HUBBARD.
They sit in the big old chairs and tell stories. Dorothy likes to hear about the wolves. There are wolves where Blanche lives.
“Yes, one day when I was a very, very little girl,” said Blanche, “a horrid big wolf came up to the window and looked in. I was sitting in mamma’s lap, and he put his paws on the window and just looked at us horrid!
“And then another time, mamma, you know, was going out to meet papa, and she saw a big wolf on the ground, and she thought it was dead, and she was going right up, and it wasn’t dead a bit. It just got up and runned off to the woods, and mamma was awful scared and runned away too.”
When Blanche tells the wolf stories they play “scared.” It is fun to play “scared.” They shriek and run and hide.
One rainy day they had been playing Mother Hubbard.
“Now,” said Blanche, “I will tell a b-eautiful wolf story. It will make us awful scared. See if it doesn’t!”
So she climbed up into a big chair and began. But right in the middle of the story they heard something go scratch, scratch, very loudly.
“Oh, what is that, Dotty?” whispered Blanche, clutching Dorothy’s arm.
Scratch, scratch, it went again, and then there was a great rattling.
“Oh, it’s a wolf!” cried Dotty; and down the attic stairs they flew pell-mell; through the kitchen chamber and the great unfinished chamber, and down the back stairs; through the kitchen and the dining-room, and burst into grandma’s room all out of breath.
“What is the matter, children?” asked grandma.
“Oh, there’s a wolf in the attic,” they both cried out.
“Nonsense! we don’t have wolves in Massachusetts,” said grandma.
“Well,” said Dorothy, “something scratched dreadfully.”
So grandma went up to the attic to see about it. “Where was the noise?” she asked.
BRIGHT-EYES AT HOME.
They pointed to the dark place behind the big chimneys. Grandma went up and opened a door and out walked—a wolf! no; Towser, the old cat! Blanche and Dorothy sometimes have another visitor in the attic. It is a big rat. He lives in the barn. He has a road underground to the house cellar. Then he comes up to the attic through the wall.
The cousins never know when to expect him. He comes in without knocking. The first thing they know there he is looking at them with bright eyes.
They have named him Bright-eyes. They feed him with cake and cheese. He is very tame. Grandma says she never heard of such a thing as feeding a rat. She says Bright-eyes eats her hens’ eggs. He steals them out of the nests.