A FRIGHTENED LITTLE MOTHER.
She was a nice old mother, but not like yours, little children, because she was covered all over with feathers, and she had two wings, which, when she felt crusty, she would spread out until she seemed three times her usual size. She had always lived in the country, roaming around in the grass or scratching in the garden. She was a fluttering, fuming creature, but sometimes very civil and pretty-looking. This little mother was just an old hen.
Once upon a time she had been very quiet for three weeks. She had sat still the most of that time, and, indeed, the poor thing went half-starved often rather than forsake the little white eggs in her nest. She knew she must keep them warm, no matter what happened.
At last there came a fine spring morning, when Mrs. Hen stepped very carefully off her nest. In it there lay a mass of broken shells. She led into the sunlight a half-dozen golden balls. As they tottled along by her side, they looked very pretty. Of such a brood any mother might be proud.
Mother Hen was ever so proud. Any one could see that. She flustered about, calling one little bright speck to her, and then another, while scratching in the earth in search of something very nice for her pets.
Four weeks sped by. The country grew prettier and greener day by day. This kind mother thought she would give her darlings a treat—a sort of picnic. So off she started toward the meadow, the little brood walking after her. They went in single file through the path, the old hen's head bobbing up and down through the clover, as she encouraged the little mities waddling along to keep up with her. She came to a brook which fairly danced in the sunlight under the old willows. She drew near, and began to cluck, when, lo! her little brood stepped off all at once into the sparkling waters. The golden balls floated on the amber stream.
Poor old hen! how she fluttered and clucked and called! But all in vain; her children did not mind her. They knew more about water than she did, for these chicks were mere goslings. On they swam, and the poor hen did not know what to do.
But the little goslings came back after a while, and cuddled that night under their mother's wing.
A. E. T.
Let me tell you a story about a dog and a cat.
Wolf, the dog, was a great stag-hound, who could run almost as fast as a swift horse.
He loved to chase cats, and was their constant foe. One morning he spied a poor gray pussy in the garden, and away he went after her in full career.
She ran as fast as she could, but her short legs were no match for Wolf's long ones. The dog's master tried to call him off, but he was too excited to pay any heed to his voice.
Suddenly pussy stopped running. She crouched in the middle of the path, and looked pitifully at the great form of her foe.
On he came, panting. Suddenly he stopped, stared, and stood still, trembling.
Pussy began to purr.
Wolf turned around and walked slowly home. He could not hurt the little creature who gave herself up to his mercy.
Chesley Place, Kentucky.
I want to tell you about my baby brother. He is five weeks old, but has only been down stairs twice, as the March winds have been blowing very hard. He was born on the 20th of February, and we think he is so sweet!
There is a wild bush in our yard which bears red blossoms, and I have been gathering them, with some others, and arranging them in a box, and they look very pretty. With the red blossoms and pink peach ones, the yellow buttercups and the lovely little hyacinths, make it quite a pretty ornament.
I am ten years old. I study spelling, reading, writing, grammar, French, geography, botany, and arithmetic. My grandmamma teaches me at home. I hope my letter is not too long. Good-by.
Cicely de G. McC.
How glad we are to hear about the baby brother! Flowers brighten the house wonderfully. Do you make pretty bouquets for the breakfast table?
New York City.
Among the eager little ones who look anxiously for the coming of Harper's Young People is a brown-eyed little boy, three years old, named Carlos—called Carlie, for short. He knows all his letters, and recites some of the Mother Goose Melodies, and frequently makes funny speeches, sometimes to the great discomfort of his parents. While at the depot at Lockport waiting for a train, a very fleshy lady, weighing not less than two hundred and fifty pounds, came in, and very unfortunately seated herself next to Master Carlie and his mamma. He had been very naughty, and now wanted to make up with mamma. He said, "Please kiss me, won't you, mamma?" "No, no; I am displeased with you," replied she. He teased until she finally kissed him. But the kiss lacked warmth, and did not satisfy him, so he pleaded, "Kiss me again, mamma; give me a big kiss—one as big as—as that big fat lady," pointing his finger at her. Everybody present laughed heartily, except the "big fat lady," who failed to see the joke.
Another time he had been unusually trying all day long, and mamma was quite out of patience, and asked, "Carlie, why don't you be good? When papa comes home and I tell how you have behaved, it will make him have a pain in his heart." He looked up from his play, and said very seriously, "What makes you tell him, then?" His aunt, a very dignified, middle-aged lady, came to visit us, and of course all Carlie's accomplishments had to be shown off—the chief one being turning summersaults. After one or two failures, over he went and hurt himself against the bed. He rose rubbing his back, and looking very earnestly at his aunt, said, "Aunt Lydia, does it hurt your back when you turn summersaults?" He took it for granted she turned summersaults every day of her life, like himself. He occasionally tries to make rhymes (regardless of measure, however). One day he said, "One, two, three, a flea bit me;" and another time, in saying his letters, came to Y, said, "Y, y, y, what a smart boy am I." Every week mamma reads Harper's Young People to him, all the stories and letters, poetry, etc.; but that does not satisfy if I omit the advertisements, so they are read too. He is a queer little fellow.
"Mrs. California."
Gustavus W. S.—The editor would think it unfair to other exchangers to do what you propose.
Thanks to the little friends who have found arbutus, and sent it to us. The little boxes fairly smiled at us when opened, and the sweet shy perfume of the flowers was like a kiss from Spring herself.
Irene.—Messrs. Harper & Brothers have recently published a practical little volume entitled Money-Making for Ladies, by Ella Rodman Church. It gives many excellent suggestions to girls who, like yourself, are anxious to find some pleasant way of adding to their incomes.
Gertrude H.—Although we do not think your story, "The Morning Ride," quite good enough to print, we like it very much as the composition of a little girl who is only eleven years old.
Louis P. P.—Bancroft's History of the United States (new edition) will be adapted to your purpose. We do not advise the organization of a formal club. One or two friends and yourself will do better work if you read with each other when you can conveniently meet.