He stopped, and Margery looked at him with dazed and startled eyes. As gently as he could he told her how, two hours before, the drowned body of a little fair-haired boy had been swept by the torrent past the windows of the manor farm. Every effort had been made to bring back some spark of life, but it was too late. Struggling alone through the night in the great waters, the child's slight strength had long since given out, and the waves tossed their light burden hither and thither in cruel sport. He had striven with all his might, for his sisters' sake, and he had rescued them; for when the little dead body was recognized, all remembered the helpless family in the cottage cut off from any assistance, and a boat was sent out instantly for those who might still be alive. Here they were, just in time, and Margery and her little sister were that day restored safe and well to their mother's arms.
And long years after, when children of her own gathered around her knee, Margery would tell them on each All-hallow-eve the story of that dreadful night, and of their brave little uncle Rupert, who with boyish courage had risked and lost his life to save the sisters committed to his care.
[ANECDOTES OF COUNTRY LIFE.]
We once had a piping bullfinch that was given to my mother as a birthday present. Bully was very tame, and used to fly about the room every morning, settling now and then upon somebody's head; but he loved his mistress much more than any one else, and was never so happy as when perched on her shoulder, piping his little song, or pecking seeds from her lips. He once showed his love for her in a very pretty way. She had spent several days away from home, which made poor Bully very dull and sad, and returning late one evening, long after children and birds had shut their eyes for the night, went into the room, and spoke to him. Bully woke up, and was so delighted at the sight of his mistress that he at once began piping his tune in joyful welcome to her. The poor little bird had a sad end. It is, I believe, a well-known fact that bullfinches often die of grief or jealousy, but we did not know it at the time; and when we had the large cage of birds, our pretty bright Bully was put into it. He was so much vexed at seeing them share his mistress's attention that he sickened and died in a few days.
One summer we noticed that regularly every morning when the dining-room window was open, a small wasp used to fly in, generally with something in its mouth, and settle on the writing-table. On the side of the table nearest the window there were only sham drawers; but they had key-holes, and into one of them the wasp always crawled, coming out again in a few minutes, and flying away. But it was sure to come back several times, and occupy itself very busily in the hole. In a few days a little white wall gradually rose up in front of the opening, and at last quite closed it, as though it had been built up with a fine cement. About the same time several other key-holes in different parts of the house were closed in this manner, and that so effectually, that no key could be introduced into them. We once opened one with a sharp-pointed instrument, and found inside some fat green caterpillars. The wasp had laid its eggs inside the little house, and imprisoned the caterpillars to serve as food for its young ones as soon as they were hatched. We often wondered how the caterpillars lived so long, when there was apparently no food provided for them. But I have since read in some book of natural history that the wasp, when carrying them by their necks to their prison, sends them into a kind of stupor, which, fortunately for themselves, lasts until the end of their lives.
[WINDOW GARDENING.]
BY A. W. ROBERTS.
A window containing a collection of healthy and blooming plants stamps the owner as one possessing refined tastes and a kind disposition, together with a love for all that is beautiful in nature. Window boxes ornamented with English or American tiles, and lined inside with zinc, are too costly for the size of young people's pockets. Besides, there does not begin to be as much fun in a "store" window box as is contained in one made at home with the assistance of father or big brother.