"Indeed, I cannot deny,
Although an idea I had in my head,
Those fellows work better than I."
AMONG THE CRANBERRY BOGS.
New Jersey, 1877.
Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit: You would not think, from their names, that cranberry bogs are pleasant places, but I enjoyed very much a visit to one last year in the fall. Seen merely from the road, a bog doesn't show very well, for the leaves are small, and the vines are crowded in heavy masses; but, when you get near, the white and red berries look pretty among the dark-green leaves.
The meadow is checquered with little canals by means of which the whole surface is flooded in winter-time, so as to protect the vines from the ill effects of frosts and thaws. In the spring, the water is drawn off at low tide through the flood-gates.
When the cranberry-pickers are at work, they make a curious sight, for there are people of all ages, odd dresses, and both sexes among them, and often a tottering old man may be seen working beside a small child. The little ones can be trusted to gather cranberries,[page 67] for the fruit is not easily crushed in handling. Where cranberries grow thickly, one can almost fill one's hand at a grasp.
The overseer's one-roomed shanty, where he cooks, eats and sleeps, is on a knoll, and near it are the barrels in which the berries are packed, after they have been sorted according to size and quality.
Picking cranberries may be pleasant enough in fine weather, but it must be miserable work on a cold, drizzly day.
I hope this short account will be news to some of your chicks, of whom I am one, dear Jack; and I remain yours truly,
H. S.
MORE CRYSTALLIZED HORSES.
Piermont, N. H.
Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit: You ask in the March number of the St. Nicholas if any of us have seen crystallized horses "with our own eyes." We (Willie and I) have seen them many times; so has everybody else who lives here; that is, we have seen something very much like it, though we do not call it the same. When the thermometer is from thirty to thirty-six degrees below zero, horses and oxen are all covered with a white frost, so you cannot tell a black horse or ox from a white one; nor can you tell young men from old ones. Their whiskers, eyebrows and eyelashes, are all perfectly white. I've often had my ears frost-bitten in going to the school-house, which is only about as far as two blocks in a city.
When we see these sights, Jack Frost cannot paint his delicate pictures on the windows, for a thick white frost covers them all over, or rubs them out.
We like the St. Nicholas very much, and even our little sister, Mary, likes to look at the pictures, and she said that she wished she could see Jack-in-the-Pulpit. We intend to introduce her next summer to some of your relations that live by the big brook. We live about one hundred miles north-west of Concord, in the Connecticut valley, about half a mile from the Connecticut River. I am thirteen years old.—Good-bye,
E. A. M.
A TURTLE CART.
Dear Jack: Looking over the fence into my neighbor's yard last summer, I saw what seemed to be a Liliputian load of hay in a tiny cart, going along the path. Whatever power drew it, was hidden from my sight; but the motion of the cart made me half expect to see a yoke of tiny oxen turn the corner. In a few moments, a small turtle appeared in sight, plodding leisurely along and drawing behind him the cart I had seen, which was very small and light.
I was assured by my little neighbor that the turtle liked the business very much; but, belonging to the S. P. C. A., I felt obliged to know the facts. I found that the turtle had his liberty nearly all the time, and a pond of water specially for his use; and that, when the haying season should end, he would be turned out to pasture in his native bog for the rest of the year.
It was a very comical sight, and, knowing my little friend's tenderness of heart, I was sure the turtle would receive nothing but kindness at his hands. The shell was not pierced, but the queer trotter was attached to the cart by means of a harness made of tape, allowing him free movement of the head, legs, and tail. If any of your boys should decide to follow my little friend's example, I trust that they will be as gentle as he in the treatment of their turtles.—Yours truly,
E. F. L.